From a spiritual perspective, my parents raised us according to the Christian norms that were prevalent in the late ’60s, but we never went to church, and I didn’t have an understanding of what it meant to have a relationship with Christ. I had a reasonably good moral compass, but it wasn’t grounded in the truth of Scripture. We sought to do good to others and do the right things, but we were more of what you’d call “happy pagans.”

“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” – Philippians 4:13 (NKJV)

My story began in Tampa, Fla., where my mother, Wanda, raised my older brother, Ray, and I by herself. Like most boys, Ray and I both loved sports, especially football, basketball and baseball. He was four years older than me, and, being typical brothers, we were always competing with each other. While he won most of our driveway basketball games, he was no match for me on the Super Nintendo.

The city of Los Angeles is where my faith story began years ago and where it continues to this day. As the youngest of three kids, I remember going to several different private elementary and middle schools, and in each I was exposed to different denominational beliefs that all helped develop my ideas of God and faith. Through my exposure to different belief systems at school, I was able to understand what truth was and who Jesus truly was in my life.

Growing up in Oklahoma City, or “the 405,” as I’ve always called it, I was in church 17 days a week, 100 hours a day. My mom was the choir director, my dad played the drums, and both taught Sunday school. That was my childhood.