We don't share our testimonies because of how great we are, but because of how great our God is. As I type these words my fourth child (earth side) sleeps- somewhat restlessly- beside me while my older 3 fall asleep in their room softly lit by string lights with their favorite audiobook. My loving and devoted husband sits at the computer working and learning. An evening wind rustles through the fallen leaves and the windchimes sing soft and clear. I have much to be grateful for, even more so when I remember what life was like B.C. (before Christ) I was 16. It was a weekday evening and the third night in a row that I drank hot liquor alone in my room. Jack and Coke. I felt hollow and tired and I cried. I cried until I couldn't cry anymore and my cheeks were tight and itchy from tears. I was sitting across from suicide, figuratively, her face sunken and mute. She gave me no response, no reason to live, no hope...nothing. She did not move or meet my gaze, hunched and emaciated, she was an echo; a screaming silence -she was me. The rage had burned a hole right through me and left a shell and "acceptance" seemed to hold some promise of relief. I'm 16 and I'm already too tired to live. For weeks I've fantasized about my own death. I was past the denial, bargaining and rage. If I have to live a whole life, I thought, just so I can survive long enough to die, what's the point? If I have to live to make money, to keep myself alive until I die, I don't want to.
I squeezed my eyes closed, and curled up on the floor as my cheek pressed into the carpet.
"God, if you see me, please help me. If you're not real, what's the point of all this?"
I won't play out all of the events of childhood, but I can give you the big points. My mother left my father shortly before I'd enter kindergarten. I was made to believe it was because she didn't love me or my baby brother- that she was somehow incapable of maternal love. My father was a single parent who worked himself to the bone. Hard jobs, blue collar jobs that demanded blood, sweat and tears in the rain or scorching sun. Even though it wasn't always easy, I knew my Daddy loved me to the ends of the earth and I could see that he always tried his best. He taught me grit and helped me be strong. Both of my parents had demons to face, but I didn't know that then. Children don't understand why things are the way they are, they just see what's going on and assume, somehow, they're to blame.
I experienced alcoholism, physical and emotional abuse, molestation, sexual exploitation and as a result: rage, depression, suicidal tendencies, deep self-loathing and an overwhelming feeling of hopelessness. Yet, I was the class clown, the smart-mouthed comedian and the "hard-knock" softy that always sought to make my friends laugh. I knew about "God" and had attended churches with friends and family members sporadically growing up, I prayed "the prayer" every single time the opportunity arose during youth groups and Sunday school classes; it never fixed anything. Now I was 16, drinking hot liquor and crying until I couldn't cry any more.
"God, if you see me, please help me. If you're not real, what's the point of all this?"
I opened my eyes and saw the gilded pages under my bed. It was the King James Version bible my precious Great Grandmother had given me sometime before her passing a few years before. So I opened it and read from the book of Matthew with those words in red, and the tears came again, but differently. Hope washed over me and a cautious smile pulled at my lips. Is this true? These beautiful words, this beautiful hope. God had let me know right there in His word that He did see me. He was listening and I belonged to Him. I cried in thankfulness, and assurance.
My problems didn't go away, but neither would my God.
Shortly after, I met my high school sweetheart (and now Husband). He was raised Christian and loved playing worship. He taught me the word 'Conviction' and tore down my walls with his smile and soft-but-strong heart. I moved out at 17, and moved in with his parents who lived about an hour away from him. They had a million small children (5) in a cabin in the woods and they took me in like family. His mom homeschooled me so I could catch up on credits and graduate, but more importantly she mentored me spiritually. She gave me a new bible and studies, and answered my unending questions. I would spend hours pouring over the bible and feeling like a starved person sitting down to a feast. Once, she gently pointed me to bed and reminded me the bible would be there in the morning. I still had a lot of hurt, but God was ever-present and He had surrounded me with these good people.
I married their son, Matthew, the sweetest name to my ears, and that special book of the bible filled with those words in red. I was blessed with a godly, loving husband. I gained a whole family too, another father with soft kind eyes and another mother who was strong and good. We built our marriage on our faith and I grew leaps and bounds by God's mercy and grace. I became less bitter, less angry, and sweetly vulnerable in love. We had some lows, but my God was always right there; His word to guide me and His Spirit to comfort and convict me. We had some highs and He was there too.
The birth of our first, a precious daughter. Then our strong son. Then a loss of a unique sort that cut deeply and threatened to turn me into that 16 year old, B.C., all over again. I had to handle hard emotions and practice forgiveness. God held me through each step. He reminded me I couldn't be plucked from His hand and helped me so that bitterness couldn't take hold in my heart. Then the loss of our baby, discovered at 16 weeks, that showed me how humans can hold devastating grief and joy in the same hand. Then the birth of our third, sure and empathetic, son. Shortly after, we moved to a different state where we didn't know a single person, and in that first Sunday at church my same God was right there. The one who knew me and who I had come to know- familiar and certain. When loneliness felt overwhelming, He sustained me. Then we welcomed our fourth son who was swift and peaceful. And so, four children who I now hold, train, teach and love at home each day.
It was all of this and so much more, but my God who saved me was beside me through it all. He remains faithful and steadfast. My hope, an anchor for my soul. I was 16 and broken.
My Savior met me there, held my tears, washed me clean and Jesus clothed me in His righteousness and I was sealed and signed with the promise of the Holy Spirit to comfort, convict and dwell with me until I am safely "home at last".
Here I sit, a baby stirring beside me and I look back and see His hand through it all.
Even the things the enemy meant for evil, He turned it for my good and for His glory. So today, tomorrow or whatever this life holds- I am held. Because He has saved me, adopted me, sealed me and continues to sanctify me; because I am forgiven and redeemed- I will praise His precious name and proclaim His goodness and glory. HE is the reason for this beautiful hope.
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