I wasn’t supposed to be here.

I was born three and a half months premature. At one point, I was clinically dead. Doctors told my mom not to even name me — they said I wouldn’t make it through the night. And if I did, they said I would never walk or talk.

But God had a different plan.

Because of that early birth, I was diagnosed with ataxic cerebral palsy. I spent much of my childhood in a wheelchair and endured seven surgeries to lengthen tendons in my legs. Today, I walk with forearm crutches — my “sticks.” Every step is a testimony. What medicine called limitation, God has used as evidence of His faithfulness.

My childhood was challenging. My father was imprisoned before I was born. My mom raised my sister, brother, and me on her own, working as hard as she could to provide.

When I was 9, we moved from Nebraska back to California. She wanted me to finish the school year, so I stayed with family friends. They convinced her to sign over custody to help cover my therapy. But when the school year ended, they wouldn’t let me come home.

My mom fought for years — until my 13th birthday — to bring me back.

I grew up feeling uprooted… unsure where I belonged. Isolation like that looks for an outlet. As a young teenager, I found mine in drugs and rebellion — trying to quiet the giants and build an identity somewhere, anywhere.

Just shy of 19, I became a father.

I was still trying to figure out how to be a man, and suddenly a little boy was depending on me. His mom and I eventually split, and when my son was 3, she abducted him.

That moment broke something open in me.

I was living in San Francisco at the time and burned through hundreds of thousands of dollars on drugs. Addiction doesn’t just take your money — it takes your clarity, your dignity, your purpose. I was running from pain, responsibility… and myself.

Then came the moment I couldn’t ignore.

At the lowest, darkest point of my addiction, alone in a bathroom, I looked in the mirror and knew I had to choose: be a father, or be dead.

There wasn’t room for both.

So I fought — harder than I knew I could — to get my son back. That fight forced me to grow up. I moved away from everything that was destroying me, and eventually, I got him back.

Life kept moving. I got married and became a stepdad to my first wife’s two children. We were both carrying deep brokenness. In times of trying to stay on the right path, I started college and ended up getting an associate’s degree, and being certified in alcohol and other drug studies, while being a case manager for a county-mandated drug center. I still struggled with addiction while stamping people’s files. It was easier to help others than help myself. The sudden death of my sister at 29 and shortly thereafter, the death of my mother, who fought breast cancer for 13 years, put a significant burden on my mental health. I was diagnosed with a severe case of OCD/anxiety disorder, while my wife was battling bipolar issues, which were all fueled by continued drug use and addiction. In the middle of my white-knuckled clutch on reality and sobriety, I decided a cross-country move would be best.

But sobriety alone doesn’t heal everything.

That marriage ended in divorce.

After that, I was sober… but mentally at my lowest. Anxiety had ruled me for years. Instead of turning to medication, I faced it head-on. Through discipline, faith, relentless mental work, and surrender to God, I fought my way toward healing.

It wasn’t instant. It wasn’t easy.

I took back ground that fear had stolen.

That’s where God met me — not in perfection, but in perseverance.

Then I met the woman who is now my wife. She didn’t meet a finished product — she met a man rebuilding. Sober. Healing. Learning to truly trust God.

We built our marriage on faith, not feelings.

I gained a brother in Christ, who is an elder at our previous church, by putting down some of my stubborn will and becoming obedient to His will through baptism. I continued my faith journey and found a lot more brothers and sisters in Christ (through a motorcycle ministry) with an anointed Pastor and open-hearted wife, and knew I found a home. Where in spite of my infancy in religion, shortcomings and visible disabilities, they embraced me and my family and decided we were suitable for service. Instead of being judged for my weaknesses, they saw my strengths and loved me for them.

Today, we’re raising our three children together, walking this life out with God at the center.

My life is proof that survival is just the beginning.

I survived being born too early.

I survived surgeries and wheelchairs.

I survived losing my place as a child.

I survived addiction, loss, custody battles, divorce, and mental torment.

But Jesus didn’t just help me survive — He transformed me.

My son — the one I fought so hard to get back — grew up, joined the Air Force, retired, and built a life of his own – became a prodigal. It’s been 12 years since we’ve spoken. He found a new family. Today, I have two grandkids I’ve never met.

That reality could crush me.

Through faith, the grace of God and my stubborn will, it hasn’t.

I’ve learned that not every story gets wrapped up the way we want — but God is still present in the middle of it. I still believe. I still pray. And I still trust that God is writing chapters I can’t yet see.

I was told I wouldn’t live. I was told I wouldn’t walk.

Now I walk — by faith.

As a father.

As a husband.

As a man who chose life.

By the grace of God and my stubborn will… I’m still here.

I’m choosing to Tell About That today, March 28th, in memory of the two angels looking over me – my mother and my sister, who would be 61 today.