This Is For My Glory is a memoir that follows Stephen B. Glenn’s journey from a childhood marked by fatherlessness and emotional chaos to a later life unraveling under the weight of financial collapse, legal consequences, and deep spiritual searching. The book moves between scenes of his upbringing, his complicated relationships with the various father figures who entered and exited his life, and the months he spent in federal prison. It’s a Christian memoir about failure, love, trauma, and redemption. It reads like a blend of personal testimony and reflective narrative, a kind of spiritual autobiography wrapped in a story of loss and return.

The author’s writing is unpolished in a way that feels relatable. He doesn’t hide the messy parts: the shame of prison, the generational wounds passed down through his family, the way fatherlessness shaped every corner of his inner world. What struck me most was how he layered scenes from prison next to scenes from childhood. One moment he’s describing the cold shock of learning the man he loved wasn’t his father, and the next he’s sitting in a holding cell decades later wondering how he became the man who broke trust and ended up stripped of everything. That back-and-forth rhythm works. It shows how the threads of our early lives tug on us long after we think we’ve cut them.

His descriptions of his mother’s pain and volatility felt raw, almost like he was opening a wound that still hasn’t fully closed. And in other places, especially the spiritual reflections, the tone softens into something quieter and more hopeful. Whether or not you share his faith, those moments feel genuine. There’s a scene in the prison gym where he hears a worship song and breaks open, realizing that all the failures he thought defined him were only pieces of a longer story. That moment stays with you. I wish he had gone even deeper into certain relationships, especially the ones that shaped him as a young adult.

The book feels like listening to someone who has finally stopped running and is trying to make sense of what happened. If you appreciate stories of redemption that don’t pretend the journey is smooth, or if you’re drawn to narratives about overcoming generational pain and finding identity through faith, you’ll probably connect with this one. It’s for readers who value honesty, reflection, and the reminder that even the most broken chapters can lead somewhere worth going.

Pages: 237