Serving the Poor

When people see the ministry God has entrusted to me today, it’s easy for them to see the fruit but not the field that had to be plowed for years to get here. They see the grace, but not the cross. They see the chapters now being written, but not the long, hidden chapters that came before.  

The truth is simple: every place of favor in my life was built on a cross I had to carry first, and then except the crucifixion of self that would follow.  

My Hidden Years 

People look at Breaking Free today and they see momentum—doors opening in multiple countries, restoration happening everywhere God sends us. But the vision didn’t start in a season of momentum but more immature emotionalism.  

God first called me into ministry 38 years ago.  

The vision for Breaking Free came in 1992—over 35 years ago now. That’s a long time for a seed to sit in the ground. And like any seed, it went through seasons that looked like death before life ever appeared.  

I went through years of falling down and getting back up, seasons of deep refining, shaping, sanctifying, seasons that demanded discipline and endurance long before anyone ever saw fruit. The foundation God laid in me wasn’t glamorous; it was forged in unseen circumstances and straight hardheadedness. The truth is I had nowhere to turn but Him, because everything else was sure death for me.  

Carrying the Cross I Didn’t Choose 

Then came Costa Rica.  

The children.  

The daily feeding.  

The hurting and hungry mothers.  

The practical care that had to be lived out, not just preached.  

And then COVID hit.  

Budgets collapsed.  

Travel stopped.  

The world felt like it was shutting down.  

And while others pressed pause, I found myself staring at a cross I never asked for or seen coming.  

Every one of our ministries had to be completely revamped or shut down.  

Then it dawned on me—God was calling me back to my hometown.  

He was using the catastrophe of COVID to direct me.  

The one thing I could not accept was letting those children go hungry. I could have lost every program, every plan, every bit of structure we had built—but not them. If I had surrendered that, I might as well have laid down and died. That was the one non-negotiable in my spirit. This must go on. Letting those little ones go unfed was a line I would not—and could not—cross, no matter what it cost me.  

To keep the children fed, I had a choice, self preservation, or the children’s tummies having food. I decided to sell everything I owned that had any value. Everything. I lived on loaves of bread from Walmart for weeks at a time. I held onto only the sentimental things—because no one would want them.  

All of the staff decided it was too rough of waters and chose the banks to weather out this unpredictable Covid storm. For me there was no choice because when God saved me in 1988 I told Him if He could change me I would give my life fully to Him.  

People looked at my situation and said, and then later send money to Costa Rica?” “Why would you give all this up, take care of yourself 

But I already knew the answer: If the children were taken care of, God would make a way. If the little ones ate, the ministry would live.  

Psalm 41:1–2 “Blessed is the one who considers the poor! In the day of trouble the Lord delivers him; the Lord protects him and keeps him alive… ” 

So I did whatever it took. No applause. No spotlight. No cheerleaders. Just did whatever it took in the Name of Jesus, and didn’t quit.  

In that same season, when I had sold everything and was doing whatever it took to keep those children fed in Costa Rica, I found myself stuck in the United States because of COVID. My heart was in Central America, but my body was grounded in Texas. And with so much pressure on me—so many questions about how I was going to get money down there to keep those little ones fed—I knew I had to keep my spirit from collapsing under the weight. So I did the only thing I knew to do: I got out into the streets as I did at the beginning of my salvation. I saw my home city filled with homeless men and women, forgotten, hurting, hungry. And I just started ministering six days a week. No plan. No program, no endorsements. Just simple resolved obedience—loving whoever was in front of me. I was selling everything to feed children, and also was walking the streets feeding hurting souls. That season grounded me. It kept my heart strong, my faith alive, and my mind steady at a time when everything in me was being stretched to the maximum breaking point.  

Then Came Resurrection Season 

Then, slowly—and then suddenly—resurrection came.  

Three complete years later, everything began to radically shift.  

Debt that reached $70–80k on my credit cards was paid.  

Every bill was paid. Every need met.  

And the ministry began multiplying at a pace only God could orchestrate.  

Costa Rica opened wider.  

The U.S. exploded with opportunity.  

Collin County became our hub of restoration for those hurting in the States.  

Where so many were caught in negativity because of the economy I was seeing opportunities everywhere.  

Other countries opened their doors, and the work expanded far beyond anything I could have imagined.  

What I endured and shouldered in the storm, God multiplied times ten in the harvest.  

That’s resurrection.  

Because the truth is this: nothing surrendered to God in seasons of famine is ever wasted.  When I look back now, I can see the invisible hand that was holding every sacrifice, every tear, every sleepless night, every loaf-of-bread meal, every step taken to feed those children and minister to the homeless. What looked like a loss was actually a preparation for the future harvest. What looked like empty hands were hands being prepared to carry increase.  

It’s exactly what Scripture promises: 

“And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.  ” (Romans 8:28) 

And even when I couldn’t see it—when nothing made sense, when survival felt like the only assignment—I was living inside another promise: 

“Eye has not seen, nor ear heard… the things which God has prepared for those who love Him.  ” (1 Corinthians 2:9) 

I didn’t see it then. I couldn’t hear it then. But God was preparing something.  

That’s why I can say with confidence now: The famine was not the end. It was the soil to sustain the harvest that was ahead.  

The breaking was not the burial. It was the place to hold the increase.  

And the harvest was not good luck. It was the resurrection power of Christ Jesus.  

My Message to Anyone Entering Ministry 

When people look at Breaking Free today and say, “I want what you have, ” I know what they mean—but I also know the road that built it. The favor in my life didn’t come from success; it came from brokenness and surrender. God didn’t give favor because I was gifted—He gave it because, by His grace, I kept getting back up and not letting quitting be an option.  

Every open door in my life was built on a cross I had to choose to carry.  

Every blessing came through a season of hidden dark times of the soul.  

Every bit of favor is stained with the fingerprints of resolved to carry on regardless.  

And that is the story behind everything He’s doing through Breaking Free today.  

“For I determined to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ and Him crucified.” — 1 Corinthians 2:2 

Amen, amen