Books

Come Up On Porch

This isn’t a theological book, nor is it a collection of polished answers neatly tied with certainty.
It is simply a man — a simple man — sorting through thoughts, trying to make sense of faith while
living in a world that rarely feels simple.

If you find yourself disagreeing with some of my conclusions, remember that is all they are —
conclusions, opinions formed along the road of lived experience. And if something here unsettles you
or even offends you, perhaps this book wasn’t written for you. But then again… maybe it was.
Sometimes the conversations we resist are the ones we need most.

I’ve wanted to write a book for a long time, though I never quite knew what it would be about or
whether anyone would ever read it. There was just this quiet itch in me — a sense that maybe the twists,
setbacks, victories, and detours of life weren’t random after all. Maybe they carried meaning.

I’m not writing because I’ve figured life out. I haven’t. I’ve wrecked things. Lost things. Started over
more times than I care to count. I’ve been the man who looked steady on the outside while quietly coming
undone on the inside. But I’ve also witnessed God show up in places I never expected, in moments I never
could have planned. And at its heart, that’s what this story is really about.

The Man on the Porch

I never grew up imagining I would one day write anything down. I was raised in northeastern North
Carolina, where the land lies flat and the sandy soil stretches toward a horizon wide enough to cradle both
dreams and doubts.

When I call myself a “Simple Man,” I don’t mean my life has been simple. Far from it. I mean, I’ve come
to understand that complicated answers rarely mend complicated hearts.

The porch has always been the place where that truth lives. It was where conversations unfolded and life
was sorted without spectacle. It was where neighbors leaned back in worn wooden chairs, where laughter
mixed with wisdom, where stories passed freely without microphones or platforms.

That’s what this book is meant to be. Not a sermon series. Not a political manifesto. Not a collection
of polished arguments designed to impress. This is a porch — a place to speak plainly about the defining
moments that shaped me, steadied me, saved me, and at times nearly broke me.

The Night That Changed Everything

The first stake in the ground didn’t happen inside a church, at least not at first. It began in a race shop,
in a world defined by grease under the fingernails, the sharp scent of fuel and rubber hanging in the air,
and tools scattered across worn workbenches.

Right in the middle of that ordinary, fast-paced world, a co-worker did something that seemed small at the
time — he invited me to church. There was no debate, no pressure, no sermon tucked into the invitation.
Just a simple, genuine offer.

That evening, the pastor spoke about Nicodemus — a man who, on the surface, had it all together.
He was religious, respected, knowledgeable, yet still drawn to Jesus under the cover of night, carrying
questions he couldn’t silence.

When the pastor read Jesus’ words, “You must be born again,” something in me shifted.

Continued in the book…