A young Everett Brown going out on the town. Alcoholism would take years off his life.

Cora visits me at the Ball's house. She brought me a new basketball, but there was nowhere to play with it. She trying, I think, to get things together, but she doesn't look happy.

The Brown siblings. On the far left is Everette Brown, my mother's first husband and the man I thought was my father. To his right is Aunt Sweetheart and Aunt Moe.

Me during my teenage evangelist days. Newcomb Baptist Church bought that suit and Bible for me, my first.

Me and Dad Ball. I hope he is still proud of me.

My birth parents, Sonny and Cora, were briefly married before it ended in violence. I was about 11 years old. I'm showing off the stitches on my chin from riding my bike off a bridge.

Fat, happy, and safe in my foster home.

Everett Brown and my home in Sioux City Iowa. One of only two places growing up where I ever felt safe.

At the mountain farm of my foster parents, George and Joann Ball.

The day I married Karen Haynes, the missionary to my life.

Helping people from hard places can be messy work. It can also be richly rewarding.

Me and Mom Ball. She loved me well.

Pete Day was my mother's third husband. He adopted me and gave me a last name. It was in that house, near the time of this photo, that I seriously thought about taking my own life.

My young and pretty mother at her foster home. If only she had stayed. My life would have been very different.

My brothers with their father, stepmother and step brother on the day I reconnected with them after 37 years apart. I was surprised by the hard lives they had lived.

This photo probably explains why I like being in the country, driving a tractor, and pretending to be a farmer.

I'm a year and half here at the humble home of George and Joann Ball. Notice the rock foundation of the house - a common practice in the mountain area in those days. Both me and the dog don't look like we are too happy to be sitting on the table to get our picture taken. Despite their poor circumstances, Mom and Dad Ball made sure I was well fed and clothed.

Goofing off at the construction site of a Mountain Outreach project. I was young, zealous, and clueless. Nonetheless, we managed to help some folks. This work became the foundation of my life and ministry.

I believe this is the day I arrived at the home of my foster parents, George and Joann Ball.

My brother Joe and I are standing across the road from where we lived as kids before being separated. The empty lot behind us is where we and our younger brothers suffered a lot of abuse and neglect. Joe would kill himself within a year of this photo.

My mother came for a visit on Easter Sunday.

Not sure when or where this was taken. You can see the damage to my teeth caused by the tetracycline used to fight the pneumonia that I've been told nearly killed me.

My teenage mother and I together at the foster home of George and Joann Ball. My mom is so young. It looks like I have a cow growing out of head.

Reunited with my mother in southern California after living with Grandma Wood. It was the nicest place I ever lived with her, but it didn't last long. At least I didn't have to put up with the relentless bullying for long.

Me and my Aunt Moe, who wants me to go to bed.

Mom and Dad Ball came to see me. I remember it being a awkward visit. I was back with my mother living in a small trailer We were not doing well. We would soon be evicted and move into the basement of a tavern.

Just two young pups hanging out on a nice day. This was before my first haircut that took away my blonde hair and curls. They say Mom Ball cried about that.

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