My name is Michael Rowe, and this is my testimony.

I was born in a small, poor town to parents who were addicts—who themselves were the children of addicts. Poverty and instability defined my childhood. We lived in tents at campgrounds, the backs of trucks, and even storage units. We never stayed anywhere longer than thirty days. But to me, as a child, that was normal. That was life. Every day felt like an adventure because I didn’t know anything different.

My mother was only fifteen when she had me, so in many ways we grew up together. And unlike some addicts, my addiction didn’t separate me from my family—because my family was the very place my addiction began. Addiction was our bond. It was how we connected, how we made friends, how we formed relationships. For as long as I can remember, addiction was simply “normal.”

It wasn’t until adulthood that I understood how broken that “normal” really was. As I grew older, my addiction grew with me. I found new friends through it, new connections, and eventually new destruction. My addiction ultimately led me into a path that put me in prison for ten years.

Prison is a cold place. There is something life-altering about spending a decade surrounded by people who see you as an enemy. Something mind-bending about being locked in a room with another man for days and weeks at a time. Something soul-shaking about stepping over dead bodies just to return to your cell, praying you wouldn’t be the next one. I saw horrible things—things you can never forget. And I lived it all alone. For ten years, no one wrote me, no one checked on me, no one remembered my name.

But God remembered me.

People often ask how I know God is real. I know because I’ve seen the devil run loose, completely unrestrained. I survived a war zone that many don’t come back from. And somehow, even when I was surrounded by death and hatred, God kept me alive.

When I was finally released, I relapsed hard. I overdosed in the back of a halfway house. I died. My house manager brought me back with Narcan. God wasn’t done with me yet. After that, probation violated me and sent me to Inspiration Ministries.

To be honest, at first I hated it. I hated every morning I had to wake up there, every rule, every routine. I counted the minutes until I could get my passes and leave. I wanted out—until a man named Bill Parker got ahold of me. Bill told me, “God isn’t done with you—and neither am I.” And slowly, something in me began to shift.

The real turning point came in an alley. It was me, another brother, a pastor, and a stranger filled with rage and jealousy, screaming at his wife and spiraling out of control. For some reason, this man wanted to tell us his story. When he finished, we asked if we could pray for him. We laid hands on him, and in that alley—not a church, not a revival tent—I watched God move. The man stopped shaking. He broke down sobbing. He asked for forgiveness. In that moment, I felt the presence of God so powerfully that it shook me to my core. That was when I knew—something real was happening.

From that moment on, everything changed. When I would leave on a pass, instead of thinking, “I finally get to go,” I found myself thinking, “I can’t wait to get back home.” Somewhere along the way, Inspiration Ministries became home. The men there became my brothers. They became the first people in my life to expect me to be a man, treat me like a man, and give me the opportunity to become one.

This ministry gave me my first real chance at life. It showed me how selfish I had been. It showed me that God had been protecting me all along, guiding me even when I wanted nothing to do with Him. I learned that the God I ran from was the God who carried me through everything I survived.

Today, I stand here as a blood-bought and faithful member of God’s family. I finally see that through all of it—poverty, addiction, prison, overdose—I was blessed. Blessed because I lived. Blessed because God kept giving me another chance.

Now I’m blessed again—blessed to talk about God, blessed to watch Him move in the lives of the men around me, blessed to be a tool in His hands, used however He sees fit. And I’m blessed to have a family of men and women who fight for me, guide me, and stand beside me as I walk out this new life.

I am grateful beyond words. God gave me more than a second chance—He gave me a purpose.