Redemption Stories
Bobby, now works for Men of Valor but it wasn't always that way. Bobby gives us the details on how this transformation was possible! Get full access to The Redemption Project Newsroom at newsroom.theredemptionproject.news/subscribe
S1: E3 Bobby from Men of Valor
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Redemption Stories
If you’re wondering, why are these stories being re-uploaded this week . . . well, I was integrating my server from an old one to a new one when POOF, several redemption stories vanished. That said, these stories DESERVE to be told. So I am sharing them again! Most redemption stories begin with collapse. This one begins with calling. When I sat down with Matt Mihelic , there was no dramatic confession. No public fall from grace. No moment that required headlines. And yet—his story is a reminder of something we don’t talk about enough: Redemption isn’t only about being saved from destruction.Sometimes it’s about being redirected from comfort . Matt grew up in the church. Faith wasn’t foreign to him. He knew Scripture. He knew structure. He knew what a “successful” path looked like. Law school made sense . A JD made sense. Stability made sense. But over time, something else grew louder. A desire to preach.A burden for the local church.A restlessness that credentials couldn’t quiet. Instead of silencing that call, Matt listened. After law school, he did what almost no one expects—he became a missionary. Uganda. Church planting. Long stretches away from home. Physical illness. Recovery. Prayer. And then, unexpectedly, Knoxville re-entered the picture. The city he once assumed he’d leave behind became a burden he couldn’t shake. What followed wasn’t a grand launch—it was obedience. When Matt arrived at Island Home Baptist Church , it was hurting. No pastor for over two years. Key leaders lost during the search process. Attendance dwindled. Records incomplete. Hope thin. Fourteen people showed up that first Sunday. Not fourteen staff members. Fourteen people. Redemption doesn’t rush moments like that. It sits in them. Matt didn’t come in with a rebrand. He didn’t chase trends. He made a simple commitment: preach the Word, care for people, and trust God to do the work. And slowly—He did. Healing came before growth. Trust before momentum. Structure before scale. The church rebuilt membership intentionally. Leadership was clarified. Teaching deepened. Unity strengthened. Today, Island Home looks nothing like it did in those early days—but the credit doesn’t belong to strategy. It belongs to God. That same posture now defines Matt’s broader role in the city. As Chair of the Knox County Church Network , he works alongside pastors from different denominations—churches that don’t agree on everything, but agree on the Gospel. The network doesn’t exist to manufacture unity, Matt says—it exists to express the unity that already exists in Christ. Together, they pray.They share burdens.They respond to real needs—like addiction, recovery, and community care—through partnerships like the Renew Clinic. It’s not flashy work. It’s faithful work. And that’s what makes this a redemption story. Because redemption isn’t always dramatic.It isn’t always public.And it isn’t always fast. Sometimes it’s a man choosing obedience over prestige.A pastor choosing patience over numbers.A network choosing prayer over control. Sometimes redemption looks like this: Staying.Serving.Trusting that the Word will do the work. That kind of story won’t always trend. But it lasts. I am a retired detective and criminal justice / government educator based in Tennessee. I am a commentary write for Tennessee Lookout and a weekly columnist with Knox TN Today . My work examines public policy, public safety systems and civic responsibility. My reporting and commentary have also appeared in Governing , The Arizona Capitol Times , South Florida Sun Sentinel , Police1 , among other state and regional outlets. Get full access to The Redemption Project Newsroom at newsroom.theredemptionproject.news/subscribe
Redemption Stories
Dewey Burton’s past isn’t easy to talk about — and it shouldn’t be. Before coming to Men of Valor, Dewey had already been convicted of robbery. After serving his time and being out of prison for just over a year, he was charged with aggravated child neglect. When that case crossed my desk years ago, I knew from the way Dewey responded that it wasn’t going to sit right with me. Some cases don’t. This was one of them. That matters. Redemption does not erase accountability. While incarcerated, Dewey applied to multiple halfway houses. Every door closed — except one. Men of Valor was the only program willing to take him. Not because they minimized what he’d done, but because they believed that change still had to be possible if accountability meant anything at all. While still in jail, Dewey completed the Men of Valor F.O.C.U.S. class — a 12-week program centered on discipline, responsibility, and confronting the truth about oneself. He didn’t pretend he could fix his life on his own. In fact, he was clear about the opposite. “I know I can’t do this by myself,” Dewey said. Since entering the Men of Valor program, Dewey has been working and rebuilding structure in his life. One of the biggest lessons he’s had to learn is slowing down — not rushing decisions, not reacting emotionally, not defaulting to old patterns when pressure hits. What surprised him most wasn’t the rules or the workload. It was the love. Dewey admits that growing up, he wasn’t used to the kind of consistent, accountable care he’s experienced at Men of Valor. Love with boundaries was unfamiliar territory. It forced him to confront how much of his past behavior was shaped by what he never learned growing up — especially his relationship with his father. That realization hasn’t excused his choices. But it has made him take ownership of changing them. Today, Dewey says he is following Jesus — not as a slogan, but as a daily discipline. He knows trust is rebuilt slowly. He knows redemption isn’t owed. And he understands that some people will never be comfortable with his story. He’s learning to live with that too. Redemption isn’t pretending the past didn’t happen. It’s choosing to live differently anyway — every single day. Get full access to The Redemption Project Newsroom at newsroom.theredemptionproject.news/subscribe
Redemption Stories
Dustin Morgan’s story carries a weight that never fully goes away — and he doesn’t pretend that it should. Dustin was convicted of second-degree murder. He shot and killed a man. He pled guilty and received a 15-year sentence. There’s no minimizing that, and Dustin doesn’t try to. He owns it. Before prison, Dustin worked as a paramedic — a job built around saving lives. Losing that identity, and then facing the reality of taking a life, forced him into a level of humility he had never known before. Prison stripped everything familiar away. Titles, confidence, control — gone. What remained was the hard work of reckoning with his actions and deciding whether his life would end there or be rebuilt from the ground up. Through Men of Valor Knoxville, Dustin began that rebuilding process. The work wasn’t dramatic. It was humbling. He learned discipline, accountability, and how to show up consistently — even when the work felt small or unseen. Today, Dustin speaks openly about how humbling his current work has been compared to who he once was. Not with bitterness — but with gratitude. He understands now that growth often comes through being brought low. Dustin is nearing graduation from Men of Valor. He’s focused on the next chapter of his life — not pretending the past didn’t happen, but refusing to let it define the rest of his story. Redemption doesn’t erase consequences. But it does make transformation possible. Get full access to The Redemption Project Newsroom at newsroom.theredemptionproject.news/subscribe
