di The Way Ministries
Sarah Matlock spent years in active addiction — county jails, a son she gave up for adoption at 15, a second pregnancy she used through, and a first overdose that finally cracked the lie she told herself: that she was bulletproof. She opens this episode with something most people won't say out loud: you can love your children completely and still not stop using. Not because you don't care. Because addiction is not a choice. She describes waking up every morning in withdrawal during pregnancy, feeling it affect her baby, hating herself — and still being unable to stop. What changed wasn't a program or a single rock bottom moment. It was surrender. She let go of the resentments she'd built up — against DCS, against the system, against herself — and started trusting God without conditions. And slowly, everything came back. Custody of her kids. Her sense of purpose. A life past her wildest imagination. After jail, she built a cleaning business from nothing, went to work in homeless services, and spent ten months in a Knox County encampment — Narcan'ing 64 people and doing chest compressions for people she loved. She's coming up on ten years clean. She still shows up for the community that used to be hers. If you've done too much to believe you can come back — this episode is for you.
Deavon Davis grew up in North Charleston surrounded by violence, addiction, and loss. Both parents were addicts. He started smoking cocaine at 10 — before he ever smoked regular marijuana. By 13, he had crack cocaine distribution charges. He never made it to high school. He watched his uncle die at 12 — in his arms. His sons went into foster care. His oldest boy died at 13. He tried moving away. Florida. Atlanta, where he earned a college degree. Back to Charleston. Greenville. But the streets followed him everywhere, because the mindset came with him. It wasn't until Deavon found The Way Recovery in Crossville, Tennessee that something finally shifted. He got baptized. The anger he'd carried toward God for years broke open. He surrendered. Now Deavon is clean, working, and doing for other men in the program what nobody ever did for him: showing up as a genuine ear, a real shoulder. His word to anyone still in it: "Take me with you. You can't carry it by yourself."
She was trafficked at 16 and forced into heroin. By 18, she was praying for death on the streets of South Georgia. Then a woman in a Tennessee jail brought her a hot pink Bible — and everything changed. Felicia and Billy Webb share the story of how they found God, found each other in recovery, and built Mana House Ministries into a lifeline for rural America. One of the most powerful conversations yet.
Jessica Noldy thought she was running things. Her friends called her "Little Pablo." By the time she hit bottom, her kids had left, her husband was gone, and her mom had dropped her at a rescue mission with one instruction: don't call until you're ready for help. She wasn't ready. Not that day. But she was getting closer. In this episode, Jessica tells Matt about the night she sat on a stranger's porch, got sick from a mystery joint, and cried out to God in desperation. She wasn't a believer. She made a deal anyway. He answered immediately. She still went to prison. What followed was a year at Bledsoe County that she says she'd never trade — Bible studies on every table, Hillsong through the speakers, Beth Moore, Purpose Driven Life, and a theology course by mail. She came out clean, spent three weeks almost going back to the streets, and then a restaurant gave her a chance. She worked there six years. Got married in that building. And eventually found her way to the jail — not as a prisoner, but as the person who shows women there's a door out. "I'm just taking people to the page of Jesus," she says. "Wherever that is — our place, your place, Kentucky, Florida. Jesus is there."
Ben Stewart had what most people assume protects you from addiction — a good job, a solid marriage, a son he adored. He drank for 32 years and never lost any of it. And that almost made it harder to stop. In this episode, Ben sits down with Matt to tell the story most people in recovery don't get to tell: no DUI, no intervention, no hospital room — just a morning where he woke up and decided he was done. He was 48. His son was 14. Ben talks about keeping his sobriety a secret for nine months, losing his best friend to suicide and his brother in his first years clean, finding a faith that finally made sense, and what it looks like to advocate for recovery in government while doing the daily work of staying sober himself. Seven years in, he still does 2–3 meetings a week. "I don't think I've got another recovery in me." That kind of honesty is rare.
Dr. Steven Lloyd walked into detox with 24 people in his phone. He was the only one who went to treatment. Twenty-three went back to the street. He never got over it. Before he became Chief Medical Officer at Cedar Recovery, President of the Tennessee Medical Board, or Drug Czar for West Virginia — he was a practicing doctor who got addicted to the drugs he prescribed. He checked into detox anonymously. Nobody knew who he was. His story was so compelling that Beth Macy, author of the New York Times bestseller Dopesick, worked with him for years. When Hulu turned the book into a series, a character built from his real life ended up in the show. Now 22 years sober, Dr. Lloyd is in rooms with national leaders — including RFK Jr., who has been in recovery from heroin for more than four years and still attends seven AA meetings a week — working to build a national care system where recovery is accessible to everyone, regardless of circumstance. His one piece of advice for anyone still out there: as long as you're alive, it's not too late.
Steve Stone got clean in March 1985. He says from day one, he never once had a desire to go back. Not even in a dream. But getting sober was only the beginning. After 17 years of using, Steve came home from his second rehab and immediately traded one obsession for another: work. It took years to find balance. Then one morning at a local restaurant, he noticed a man at the next table shaking so badly he couldn't lift his coffee cup. Steve gave him his food. And in the middle of a quiet prayer asking God for a servant heart — he felt it happen. God rearranged his heart, right there. That moment launched 41 years of service in Cumberland County — sponsorship, ministry, community work, and now a seat on the Tennessee Opioid Abatement Council. In this conversation with Matt, Steve talks about what long-term recovery actually looks like, why discipline not practiced gets imposed on you, and the one word he gives anyone still fighting: surrender. Because you can't slap your own shadow — and you were never meant to fight this alone.
Peg's dad was an addict for most of her life. He was in and out of jail. The last time he went in, he never came back — his cellmate murdered him. He never made it to recovery. Peg carried that grief and that hatred for years. When she finally tried to reconnect with him, it was too late. Then she showed up to one worship night in Crossville, Tennessee. She didn't know anyone. She had crippling social anxiety. A stranger prayed over her — and something broke open that she still can't fully explain. Three weeks later, she started a Women's Bible Study at The Way that's growing every week. Matt and Peg talk about losing someone to addiction without them ever getting clean, what it looks like when God heals wounds he didn't cause, and the simple truth that's been changing the women in Peg's study: the God of the universe isn't just looking at you — he's seeing you.
Will Taylor got sober on Halloween 2013. His explanation: he was "too pretty to go back to prison." He walked into a courtroom, told a judge he was a drug addict, and asked for a shot at treatment instead of a cell. What happened next — the people who showed up, the 16 months he spent in transitional housing, the work that built slowly around him — is the reason Recovery's New High exists today. Alongside Will is Ben Stewart, a policy veteran who helps make sure recovery has representation where it matters most: in legislative chambers and government offices where decisions get made about funding, housing, and what "recovery" even means. Together they run 67 certified recovery housing partners across Tennessee, over 1,200 beds, and distributed more than $150,000 in housing vouchers last year alone. They've worked to shape legislation that protected small recovery housing operators from being regulated out of existence. And they're just getting started. This conversation covers the difference between treatment and recovery, why the disease of addiction is fundamentally a disease of isolation, what accountability really looks like as an act of love, and what community-centered recovery actually takes to build from scratch. The Way Podcast — stories of recovery, faith, and second chances.
Dr. Kristi Isaacson grew up in an addicted household in Crossville, Tennessee. She was selling drugs by her late teens. On New Year's Eve 1994, her sister talked her into going to a church service. She showed up loaded, planning to leave for the real party after. She ended up on her knees at the altar instead — and literally opened her purse, dumped out everything she had, and walked out the door. She hasn't used since. Thirty years later, Kristi holds a bachelor's in pastoral counseling, a master's in chaplaincy, and a doctorate whose dissertation was a blueprint for Crossville's recovery community. That blueprint became reality: a 24/7 call line, jail interviews, twice-weekly court advocacy, transport relationships spanning 8 states, semi-independent transitional housing, and now a women's residential facility — the Tisdale House — designed to make every woman feel like a princess while doing the hardest work of her life. In this conversation, she and Austin talk about never having seen love and creating a child just to feel it, what it actually takes to build recovery infrastructure in rural America, why long-term engagement is the only thing that works, and — for anyone who feels too far gone — why God wasn't surprised by any of it and why your story isn't wasted. The Way Podcast — stories of recovery, faith, and second chances.