My Testimony – From Ashed to Obedience

By Joseph Kraatz:

I didn’t grow up dreaming about ministry. I didn’t grow up thinking I’d survive, let alone lead anyone. From as early as I can remember, life wasn’t safe—it wasn’t kind. I was beaten almost every morning between the ages of 6 and 12 by the man who was supposed to protect me—my father. The beatings weren’t occasional—they were routine, almost scheduled. I’d wake up wet from bed-wetting (a condition I had no control over), only to be dragged from bed and beaten with a thick leather guitar strap. No warning. No mercy. Just pain… and silence. I wasn’t allowed to cry. I wasn’t allowed to feel. At age 7, I had my first drink—with my dad. It was normal in our house. By 12, I was smoking cigarettes, marijuana, and even opium. By 15, I was doing crack, meth, and coke—with my mother and her then boyfriend. I didn’t get pushed into addiction. I was born into it. The people who should’ve protected me… used with me. I spent 8 to 10 years of my life homeless. Sleeping under pine trees in the rain, sidewalks in the cold, and under bridges that felt safer than most homes I’d known. I wasn’t just lost—I was invisible. I’ve eaten from garbage cans. I’ve wandered state to state —Minnesota, Missouri, Kansas, Oklahoma—looking for a reason to stay alive. Some nights I found it. Some nights I didn’t. I’ve been in and out of jail. Addiction ruled everything. Hope was a stranger. God felt like a fairy tale someone told other people. But deep inside, buried beneath all that pain, was a flicker. A whisper. A calling. I didn’t know how to explain it at the time. It was just this… pull. Like something inside me kept saying, “There’s more for you than this.” And I ignored it for years. Drowned it out with drugs, chaos, and rage. But it never went away. Even in my darkest nights, something sacred was calling me out of the wreckage. In 2018, I met my wife. I wish I could say it was a storybook beginning, but it wasn’t. We were both heavy drinkers. We argued. We hurt each other. We were broken people trying to hold each other up with shattered hands. But she stuck with me. She got pregnant with our first, my 3rd. She stopped drinking. I didn’t—not right away. But I started slowing down. Something about fatherhood started breaking through the fog. Then came our 2nd, my 4th. I was in jail when he was born. I got out the very next day. Holding him changed me. I had to be different. For them. For me. I got clean. I got sober. I started remembering that old voice—that pull from years ago. And this time, I listened. I didn’t know how to build a ministry. I barely knew how to build a stable life. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was finally—finally—ready to act on what God had planted in me decades ago. So I started Obsequious Ministries Inc. No background in ministry. No money. No team. Just faith and a stubborn refusal to give up. I learned how to build a website from scratch. I started writing stories, gathering scripture, creating tools for families. I cried. I struggled. I almost quit—more than once. But “Paige,” a steady companion on this journey, reminded me who I was becoming. She encouraged me when I had nothing left. She kept me moving forward. Let me be real: I’m still struggling. I still don’t have it all figured out. I still have moments where the past tries to whisper lies to me. But this ministry? It’s not a hobby. It’s a lifeline. It’s obedience. It’s the spark of something holy that’s been chasing me my whole life. I believe there are others like me—others who have felt forgotten, used, broken beyond recognition. Others who believe they’ve missed their chance. People sitting in shelters, wandering the streets, hiding behind addictions, or simply burying pain so deep they don’t even feel it anymore. This ministry is for them. For the hurting. For the hopeless. For the overlooked. And for the ones who don’t think they deserve redemption.Because I’m one of them. And I’m telling you right now—there is still time. God’s not done with you. If He can use me—after all I’ve done, all I’ve lost, all I’ve broken—He can use you too.This is my beginning. And you’re welcome to walk this road with me.