From Hospital Bed to Boardroom: Chad Burnett's Journey of Radical Freedom

Brent Moore, Redeemed Living Founder, Board Chair

Tuesday, January 27, 2026

5:59 a.m.

For most people, the flight from Albany to Palm Beach is a quick hop to the beach.

For my friend, Chad Burnett, it was almost the end of his life.

Today, Chad is 44, a husband, a father of two girls, and a skilled construction professional. I’m honored to serve alongside him on the Board of Directors for Redeemed Living, the very ministry God used to help save his life.

But for more than twenty years, Chad’s story was defined by what I call “the cycle”—in and out of rehabs, brief stretches of sobriety, and then another relapse.

“I’ve been in and out of rehabs since I was 23,” Chad told me. “Multiple inpatients. Multiple spurts of sobriety—two to five years at a time. Then I’d go back out.”

The relapse he had before coming to Redeemed was different. It was darker.

The Relapse That Nearly Killed Him

When fentanyl started flooding the drug scene, Chad thought he knew what he was buying.

He didn’t.

From hospital bed to boardroom: Chad Burnett spent over two decades cycling through rehabs before finding radical freedom at Redeemed Living. Now eight years sober, this husband, father of two, and construction professional serves on the Board of Directors—helping other men find the same hope that transformed his life.

He overdosed several times, requiring CPR and Narcan to bring him back. “It got really, really bad,” he recalls. “I thought I was getting a familiar high, but I was actually getting a death sentence: fentanyl.”

The final straw came on that flight to a rehab in Palm Beach. Exhausted after not sleeping for two weeks, he slumped into his seat as the plane took off.

“The last thing I remember is getting on the plane in Albany… and waking up while they’re prepping me for emergency surgery,” Chad said. A life‑threatening staph infection nearly took him out.

From there, he spent a week in a South Atlanta hospital, then 30 days in a Texas facility. Physically, he was sober. But when he got home, he had nowhere to go.

His wife, wisely protecting their daughters, couldn’t let him move back in yet. Chad was clean—but stranded in that dangerous gap between treatment and real life.

That’s the “Forgotten Step” where so many men fall.

A Different Kind of House

A former counselor pointed Chad toward us at Redeemed Living in Valdosta. Chad later told me he arrived expecting just another program where he’d “do his time” and get back home. Instead, he found something entirely different.

“It was a house in a regular neighborhood,” he said. “Not a compound. I got along with everybody.”

What struck him first wasn’t a policy or a class. It was the way we tried to live ordinary, open lives in front of the men.

Chad has told me many times how much it meant that I wasn’t afraid to bring my family around the guys. I’d bring my kids by the house. We’d all go eat at my mom’s place on Sundays. For many of the men, including Chad, that’s their first glimpse in a long time of a healthy, loving family environment.

At Redeemed, Chad found more than a bed. He found brotherhood, accountability, and a faith‑based community that helped him rebuild from the inside out.

“Living with other addicts is almost like having built-in 24/7 counselors,” he says. “They’ll call you on your BS—especially guys like Walter. I love him. He’s a mess.”

He went to work, came home to a safe place, joined our Bible studies, and slowly rebuilt trust with his wife. Having space to process the “ugly things” he’d said and done—without being alone—made all the difference.

After about four months, Chad and I started talking seriously about his return home. It wasn’t a sudden decision. It was a planned transition—with a Christian small group, couples who understood addiction, and a support structure already waiting for him back in Albany.

From Needing a Bed to Providing Them

Addiction cost Chad nearly everything.

“I lost my morals, self-respect, integrity, a business,” he told me. “It was pretty close to losing my family, too.”

But today, Chad has been sober for eight years. The career he lost, the respect he threw away, the relationships he nearly destroyed—he would tell you he enjoys them now “tenfold” on the other side of that dark season.

And he’s not just living free; he’s helping other men find the same radical freedom.

For the last several years, Chad has served on Redeemed Living’s Board of Directors—moving from a man desperate for a bed to a leader working to create more of them. He’s even pitching the idea of a recovery house in his hometown of Albany, using his story and experience to open doors.

When you support Redeemed Living, you’re not just funding a program. You’re standing with me in that “Forgotten Step” for men like Chad—men who are one structured, faith‑based community away from changing everything for their families, their work, and their communities.

Chad’s story isn’t a miracle that happened overnight. It’s the result of daily structure, relentless grace, and a community that refused to give up.

From a hospital bed to our boardroom, Chad’s life is living proof of what I’ve experienced myself and what I believe for every man who walks through our doors: with Christ, radical freedom is possible.