Because I gotta Have Faith- My Testimony

*** Warning:  this post may have triggers for some – please be kind to yourself.  I’ve tried to gloss over some of the most hurtful triggers (not for my embarrassment but your wellbeing). PLUS,  this post is less edited than others on purpose.  I didn’t want to lose any of the emotion behind it. ***

Grab yourself a warm cup of coffee and snuggle in.  This is just you and me chatting.

I was raised in a Christian home.  Isn’t that how all these vanilla testimonies begin? Does that mean I’m a cliche?  Well, so be it. I was raised in a Christian home by imperfect but loving parents.  They held tight reins on the world’s influence and did their utmost to keep my little eyes and ears wary.  And they succeeded, more than most parents I’ve met.

At eleven, after the evening Sunday service, I was moved beyond myself to blunder my way to the front pew and ask to be baptized. Which I was that night. And yes, everything changed!  Literally!!!  I was suddenly bolder and braver.  I shared my faith with my fellow students and even asked my teachers religious questions.

I was well-behaved from the outside and tenderhearted on the inside. Being a Christian was terrific!  And life continues to be amazing…  dandy…

Nothing bad ever touches me!!!  Yeah, right.

Even as a little kid, I had an issue with belonging. Instead of developing a thick skin, I let barbs and jests sink into my feelings. Every name people called me, every sin committed against me, and every mistake I made was replayed on a loop in my core.  From being rejected by my fifth-grade crush to being sexually abused by a friend of the family, I carted my luggage around with me, snuggling with it when life got too complicated.  You can imagine the disaster brewing just beneath my everyday mask. If you ever meet them, I’m sure my parents can give you insight into what I mean.

Carrying my pain became a hobby.  Wallowing became an obsession of sorts. No drugs.  No sex. Just straight-up depression and mania, with no apparent way out.  The things the world told me would make me happy; the church told me would send me to hell.  The things the church told me would make me part of God’s family ostracized me from other people my age.

Both paths left me hollow.

Instead of talking things out and seeking wisdom, my teenage self took my frustration out on herself. LITERALLY! At seventeen, my self-sabotaging ways hit a new peak, and I found myself admitted to a care facility for my own safety.

By the age of twenty, I was burned out. Church life crippled me.  I was never perfect enough for the more pious members nor interesting enough for the busybodies.  And yes, I carried both around with me, convincing myself that being depressed was the Godly thing to do- until God sent me a surprise.

I found out I was pregnant six weeks into my marriage.  So much for my plans to wait five years and then see.  However, I fell in love with the little bean growing within me the instant I knew he was there.  The pregnancy was rough, but the drama afterward was a nightmare.

I only discovered postpartum anxiety was a thing fifteen years after birthing my first child.  At the time, it was a hellish cycle.  I was head over toes for my boy and would gladly die for him.  However, I was keenly aware I didn’t deserve such mercy or blessing.  I knew the cosmic boot would drop, and God would allow something or someone to take my precious son from me.  So I did what any delusional postpartum mom would do- I stood guard.  To do so, I had to sacrifice two small things.  SLEEP and the sanity that came with it. I didn’t know it at the time.  My irrational paranoia fed my anxiety on a drip.  So constant was the nagging that I often went days without real rest.  And then my body rebelled.

I’d pass out or drift off and wake up to my boy screaming in real life while I rocked a pillow I dreamt was him.  I’d walk down the hall, and suddenly my legs would buckle as my mind fell asleep.  I was terrified and traumatized by my own weakness.  I prayed and begged and never relented my post over my son. 

Until one day, sitting alone in the garage, the pressure of my failures crushed down on me. I couldn’t breathe. The darkness was so heavy I could feel it.  I was drowning in my own mind and couldn’t get out.  It felt as though death itself was breathing down my neck. Words wouldn’t come.  Just one name.  Jesus.  After I said it aloud …  I broke into tears- resting my head on the top of my washing machine.  I asked God to help me.  I told Him everything I was afraid of and that I was even scared of HIm. 

It was as if a breeze swept through the small garage.  I felt as if angels held me and soothed me as I cried.  It was like Jesus Christ Himself was comforting me and assuring me that everything was going to work out for the best.

I believed Him wholeheartedly.

Since that time in the garage, I have suffered from depression… In fact, I Battle it Every Day. (here’s a very old post about it).  However, it has never again controlled me as it did during those early months with my son.  And I give God all the glory for that.  When things grow seemingly unbearable, He’s always one step ahead with encouragement either from His Word or from a Wise Counselor.

I feel as if my true conversion took place in that garage.  My life was His for the taking.  And oh boy, the places He’s taken it.  Tenderly, at first, the Lord nurtured my new budding faith with blessings, miracles, and milk from His scriptures.  Gently, He led me away from the things that held me back.  Movies, books, and even music I once loved and marinated in didn’t have the same appeal and fell away almost without thought.  My introverted ways started to morph as He led me to small groups of women who could comfort and encourage me along my journey as a wife and mother.  My relationship with my mother greatly improved, and I could value her as a sister in Christ-like I never could before

Things haven’t been peachy keen rainbows and star shine, hard times have come, and sometimes they’re slammed by even worse situations.  However, the Lord has never let go of me and has always called me back when I’ve stepped away from His side.  I am grateful every day for his patience with me.  Thirty years after my baptism, one would think I’d be a more mature and wizened believer.  However, much of that time was lost wandering in doubt and self-torment.  There are a lot of if onlys I battle within my heart.  But God lovingly silences them all and tells me I”m just where He planned me to be, and precisely the time He planned me to be here.  I’ve got a lot of growing up to do, and I’m thankful to my Sweet Father that I’m around to do it.  As Aslan would say, “Further up and Further in!”  Life is all about getting closer to our Creator, knowing Him better, and sharing Him with others.

Dear Friend, I encourage you.  Grab God’s hand and hold on tightly. 

The adventure is bumpy, but the reward is worth it!

If you have any questions about God the Father, Jesus Christ His Son, or the Holy Spirit or what it means to me to be a writer of faith- feel free to email me…  I’ll do my best to answer you or find someone who can answer better than I.

In the meantime, here are some great places to start:

• The Bible- (aka God’s Word  & His Love Letter to YOU- Yes YOU) I like the New American Standard Version or the New King James Version
• There’s also a free app called YouVersion. It has the Bible in many different translations.
• Gerald Culley Videos- Gerry answers hard questions about the faith from where the Bible came from to why we celebrate Easter.  They’re short, insightful, and more than worth your time. PLUS, THEY’RE FREE ON YOUTUBE!!! (this one is my favorite)
• This Short PDF

God Bless You, my friend, and thanks for reading.