I want to share my life journey and connect with everyone!
I grew up in Pensacola, in a home and church where faith and purpose were not just things we talked about, but things we lived every single day. My father worked an eight-hour job to provide for our family, but his evenings were spent at the Bible Institute under the guidance of Dr. Peter S. Ruckman. Over two thousand students attended the school, and Dr. Ruckman personally taught the majority of those classes. From a young age, I understood what discipline, learning, and commitment truly looked like.
My weekly rhythm was built on ministry. Mondays and Tuesdays were spent on church grounds, Wednesdays brought church services followed by classes, Thursdays were focused on church-wide service, and Fridays placed me directly on the front lines—street preaching and serving warm soup to those living on the streets. It was there, face-to-face with people in need, that I first learned compassion wasn’t just a spiritual word but an action that could change lives.
Saturdays were no less busy. The mornings began with breakfast and a personal challenge brought by Dr. Ruckman, after which we would break off into different ministries. My family was deeply involved in the Community Outreach Program, which went beyond the church walls to serve those in need. That experience left a mark on me for life—teaching me that faithful ministry doesn’t stop at the church door but begins when you step out of it.
And then, there were the summer fellowships at our home. These were more than just potlucks—they were gatherings of the soul. Fifty or more people would come together, arms full of food, but it wasn’t the food that made the night memorable. It was the worship, the Word, and the incredible music that filled the air. Guitars, banjos, a small drum set, and harmonicas blended into praises that echoed through the neighborhood. The songs would rise from hearts that had been broken and with raspy voices that carried the wear of a hard life—and yet, they were some of the most powerful songs I’d ever heard. Men and women, often rough around the edges, would sing in ways that moved others to tears. Our home became a place of worship—a place of love and welcome—where drunks, “ladies of the night,” and those burdened by sin could encounter Jesus most only: through open doors and open hearts. Everyone, every single one, loved the Lord, was saved, baptized, and went to Bible school.
I carry with me vivid memories—like working in the “country of red ants,” pulling weeds with a shovel, while Dr. Ruckman walked the grounds in prayerful reflection. Sometimes I would peek into his study window and see him surrounded by his Bible, but also taking a break with an old Mad Magazine. It was a reminder that even great men of faith were human, honest, and approachable. Those years left me with a profound respect for his dedication to the Word and his consistency in faith.
My father’s work also led me to the home of Bro. Lester Roloff, where he built fences, and I tagged along as the water boy just to be involved. The highlight for me was always the home-cooked meals at the end of long workdays. But what stayed with me even more was Bro. Roloff’s words: “God’s greatest blessings are upon those who show proper respect for the poor and the needy.” Those words sank deep into my spirit, shaping my perspective for years to come.
Later, my journey took me even farther from home—spending three summers in Japan with missionary Bro. Levi Smith. Life in Japan was simple, disciplined, and full of purpose. Most days, the meals were modest—pancakes with fruit—and once a week, the great delight of Yakisoba with a small can of Coke felt like a banquet feast. My tasks were humble: passing out flyers on the streets and cleaning the church. But those “small” tasks taught me that there is no act of service too small when done for the glory of God. Watching Bro. Levi poured his life into God’s work—making black-and-white films about the rapture, serving faithfully on the mission field until his passing at the age of 94—showed me what it truly means to finish well. The fact that he, like Dr. Ruckman, lived to 94 was not lost on me. I don’t believe in coincidences—it was a confirmation that the Lord honors lives fully poured out in His service.
Looking back, I see that my upbringing was not merely a collection of busy days or religious activities. It was a foundation built by God’s design—layer upon layer of faith, discipline, sacrifice, and love. Each moment, whether extraordinary or straightforward, taught me the power of Christ to transform hearts. Whether through serving soup on the street, sitting under the teaching of great men of faith, or opening my home to those the world had written off, I learned that God places us in people’s lives for a purpose.
This is why Ecclesiastes 3:1 means so much to me: "To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven." I believe every person who crossed my path was part of that season, teaching me joy, endurance, lessons, or compassion. And through it all, Jesus was at the center, shaping me into who I am today.
So when I tell my story, I don’t see it as a list of events—I see it as a testimony of God’s grace. My childhood, my experiences in ministry, the mentors and missionaries who spoke into my life—all of it pointed me to the same truth: the journey is far from over.