My Testimony

I have been writting this up for a few days. I am not polished in writting, but this is what I came up with. There seems that I could write so much more, but where to put it, how to express it... For those who stumble across this entry, I pray that it is an example of what God can do. It is not really an expression of what I have done, rather it is a weak expression of what Christ has done in me. When I was very young I remember walking past this huge stone church in Philadelphia. It was covered in these dark grey stones, and for a kid, the place seemed like a man made mountain. When I finally walked inside it was very dark. My memory draws up images of, not doom and gloom, but not warm and welcoming either. A few years later, while I was living with my father in New York City, there was a Catholic church on the corner. This church was covered in white stone. I don’t remember ever looking up to see the roof, etc. though. But my father never took me to church, never encouraged anything even close to going. And to this day the only time I can remember him stepping into a church was to attend my wedding. Growing up I would be taken to church for one reason or another. To be honest I cannot remember the occasions. The first time going, that I remember something about the experience, other than being bored, was the summer I went to go live with some cousins. The year before my mother, brother, and I had to move from our apartment – they were being turned into condos and we could not afford it. We moved into a guy’s house who was taking a job in Saudi Arabia for three years. It was perfect, that is until his ex-wife decided she wanted to have it. Distraught my mother OD’ed on some sleeping pills and ended up in the hospital. We lost everything except what my brother and I had packed into our suitcases. We lived with my father for a time, but when he told my mother the only way he would keep us is if my mother forfeited her right to custody she had to take us back. Eight weeks later (which later caused all kinds of problems with my school records) we moved in with my Aunt and Uncle. At the end of that school year my Aunt and Uncle (who never had the experience of having kids around) told my mother we were no longer able to stay with them. With no place to go, my mother arranged for my brother and me to live with our cousins while she got settled. My ‘Uncle’ (really my cousin, but old enough to be my dad – thus the title) was the Baptist Pastor of a local church in a very, very small town in West Virginia. I remember the first Sunday we were there we had to sit in the front row, and I fell asleep! The rest of that summer was the best summer of my childhood. But I never really took the church seriously. I mean, my cousins had pornographic magazines (not my first exposure, but a defining one), and they all cussed and the boys did the chewing tobacco thing. I left to head back to live with my mother just in time to move from one city to another in order to get enrolled in a High School. The next experience I remember was being taken to another small church with the mother of the guy my mom was now living with. I can’t remember the denomination, but they had communion. I remember going forward (looking back I have no idea why I did this, probably so as to not be embarrassed by not going), and they used real wine. I didn’t like it, and on the way out the Pastor (dressed in black with the white collar) asked me what I thought of the service. I told him, “it was nice, but the wine tasted horrible”. The old lady was flabbergasted. She never invited to take me back. Fast forward about fourteen months. We are living in yet another new place (our 3rd since the summer with my cousins), it is Christmas time. One of my cousins had been murdered. My Christmas vacation that year was spent traveling back to that small town to attend my cousin’s funeral. I was pretty numb. I don’t really remember what I thought, but I do remember just trying to do anything I could to comfort my ‘Uncle’. The one memory that is still pretty vivid is me sitting at my ‘Uncle’s’ feet, talking to the friends I had made while I was visiting, while he just played with my hair. I went back home kind of numb. But I remember praying to God, asking Him to “forward a message” to my cousin. For the next few years I remember an occasional time when someone was trying to evangelize on a street corner, handing out tracks. I remember taking them, but not really reading them all that much. I kept a few, but for the most part I just went on with my life. The summer after my cousin was murdered we moved back in with a family that had helped us out a year earlier, but when my mother had gotten one of her sisters to pay for yet another apartment I had had enough. I made arrangements with the woman in who’s house we were currently living and I stayed. I dropped out of High School halfway through the twelfth grade. I was over a year behind in English (partly because of only living with my Father for eight weeks), and when all of the tools that I had been signed for at an auto-mechanic vo-tech school I was going to were stolen, it was more than I (or my mother) could afford. I just stopped showing up. For the next two years I moved from job to job. Mostly working for friends, but the one sure thing was the family that had taken me in. Even though I barely kept up with my rent, they allowed me to stay. Finally in 1986 potential employers were seeing the pattern of me leaving jobs (usually after only three months) it was getting tough to find work. That was when I joined the National Guard. It was a life changing event in my life. For the next three years I still moved from job to job, but I could always count on the Guard paycheck. And I was motivated. My nickname had become “high speed, low drag”. I made Sergeant (E5) in just under three years – but in order to do that I had had to go to night school and complete my High School diploma. With my sights on college I re-enlisted for six years so that I could keep getting the paychecks and also draw on some (very limited) college benefits. This was the summer of 1989, and God had been kicking up the ‘dust’ (so to speak) for some time. For about a year before this point I remember having a desire to go to church. Even though I cannot remember (now) being witnessed to, or evangelized, I do remember pulling out my old King James and trying to read it. But it did not make sense. I know many people draw comfort from the KJ, but it might as well have been Japanese. I could not make heads or tails of it. So, I thought, “I need to get me to church. They know what it says. They can help me understand it”. I remember literally walking/driving around looking for a church. “This one looks nice,” that sort of thing. But I never would go in to one. Not on my own. During this time I was also studying Tae Kwon Do. With working only part time I was going to the Dojo three or four times a week. The instructor worked with me one on one and I was getting ready to test for my green belt. While we sat there I over heard a couple talk to another young woman. They were telling her that they needed to reschedule the Bible study as they were going on vacation. “What?, Could I get in on this?” I was pretty excited, but still not really sure what I was doing. It was crazy, but this couple was very nice. It took over a month before I saw them again. Finally, in August of 1989, they invited me to go to church with them. Since I did not own a car yet they were kind enough to pick me up. Now, I am not really sure how to describe my first impression of this church. We pulled up to a High School (what, no ‘church’?) and walked in. The auditorium was packed. The next thing I noticed was that it was hot! This was a steamy August morning in the suburbs of Washington DC. We took our seats, well it was more like we found where we would sit and I was introduced to (what seemed like) half the congregation. Finally, promptly, at 10 o’clock the worship team began to play and call the congregation to worship (what!?!, no organ? Guitars? Drums?). I don’t remember singing all that much. I spent a lot of time looking around. There were people singing loud! People with their arms held above their heads, hands open, their eyes shut. At least once, someone from the crowd had a “word” – they shared a piece of scripture that had come to mind during the worship, and even though it seemed to break the flow of the singing, no one seemed to mind. This went on for about forty five minutes. Clapping, singing, and from what I could tell these people were emotionally involved in the singing to God. There were a few administrative things to share (such and such car had its lights on; please see such-and-such part of the bulletin, etc.). Then it was time for the Pastor to speak. A baldheaded man, in slacks and a short sleeve polo, stepped up to the podium. For over an hour CJ Mahaney spoke, and I didn’t seem to mind. After the service there was a visitors reception (held in what felt like a far too small classroom), where one of the Pastors came to introduce himself and walk among the visitors, answering questions, etc. I don’t remember if I ever spoke to him, but I know I filled out a ‘visitor’s information’ thingie. I found myself wanting to know more. I went home that day and I remember waiting around for the phone to ring. I really had no idea how long it would take for someone to call me, but that’s what I did. I waited, and waited. Finally, around 6 o’clock I decided to just head out with some friends, and of course that’s when the phone rang. It was the a man who was a part of the ‘visitation team’ (a group of people who volunteered to go to visitor’s homes to talk, but only if that is what they wanted). He explained that his car had broken down and that he and his partner would not be able to make it that day. Would I be around later in the week? We set up an appointment for later in the week. I think it was Thursday when we were to meet. Anyway, I receive a phone call (it was the same guy) explaining that his partner would not be able to make and if I wanted he could still come out (I later found out that he almost cancelled, but he felt prompted to carry through with the meeting). He arrived late (around 9 PM), and my house was in full effect. There was clutter everywhere, dinner plates still on the table, it was just not what you could consider a “Home and Gardens” setting if you know what I mean. I have no idea how long we talked, but I remember him walking me through a “Real Purpose of Life” tract. When it came time for him to ask me questions (i.e are you a good person, do I deserve to go to Heaven, that sort of thing) I distinctly remember two sets of answers coming to mind each time. I was amazed. It was like blinders, or some new part of my brain, had been opened. I prayed a ‘sinner’s’ prayer that very night. The next Sunday I sat with this man, along with several of his friends, at church and it felt like I belonged. Like I was home. I then missed the next two Sundays because I had to go away for my National Guard Annual Training. I remember the clouds, the mountains, the air... it all felt different. (Of course that could also be because I was in Honduras ;) ). I don’t know how to describe it. My ‘journey’ to God was over a very long period of time. In hindsight I see His hand moving, but there is so much more. I cannot explain the man I am today. No one else in my family believes in Christ. At least not in anyway more than He was a good man/teacher. My mother’s family, with the exception of my Uncle, all believes there are multiple paths to God. My Father is openly hostile to the church. My step mother is not much more encouraging than that. My sister is a die hard feminist and if I was to describe her theological position, it would probably most resemble New Age. My brother, the one in whom I shared practically every experience with growing up, is a practicing wiccan priest. In the final year of my mother’s life, I believe she began to see the truth. She really worked hard to clean up her life, she even went to church regularly. By this time I was pretty much estranged from her. For example, I yelled at her before I left for basic training, “If you kill yourself while I am away I will not come home for the funeral!” I am not proud of this. I only mention it because it gives an insight to my life. By God’s grace I was able to make it to her bedside for the last 24 hours of her coherent life. She was able to see her grandsons (my daughter was born eleven months after she passed away) one last time. I was able to talk with her (well, it was me talking as she had an oxygen mask on the whole time). When my brother’s second wife came she spoke of something-or-other to do with what she and my brother believed. When she left I asked my mother if she knew that there was a difference between what they were telling her, and what I was telling her. She nodded weakly. I asked her if she wanted me to read from the Bible, and again she nodded. I read from Romans. That was the last interaction I had with her. (This part took place in the year 2000.) This testimony sounds like I was seeking after God when I finally responded to His call. But in truth it was Him who placed this desire on my heart. At this time in my life I was still heavily involved with pornography. I sought out occultic things. I owned several tarot decks, which I used. I professed to follow a Norse diety. Although I did not drink, smoke, or do drugs, I cursed “like a sailor”. I had a violent temper, and if there was something I did not like I made sure everyone knew it – and if that meant I felt I was wronged I would just walk away from whatever it was. I did not allow anyone, or anything “own” me. Later on Fitz (the man who came to visit my house that day) told me that they had been praying for an example of God's grace. For God to 'arrest' someone so completely the only explination would be His grace. He told me that God used me to answer that prayer. I would like to say that all of my old sins just dropped away once I prayed for my Lord Jesus Christ to enter my heart, and my life. But the truth is, I still struggle with my desires. But God has been gracious. I have new strength to resist and succed, where as before I didn't even bother. But I do know I changed that day, and when I walked into that congregation that August Sunday morning I felt like I was home. Verse for today: Romans 5:1-11, ESV Therefore, since we have been justified by faith, we [1] have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ. Through him we have also obtained access by faith [2] into this grace in which we stand, and we [3] rejoice [4] in hope of the glory of God. More than that, we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us. For while we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly. For one will scarcely die for a righteous person—though perhaps for a good person one would dare even to die— but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. Since, therefore, we have now been justified by his blood, much more shall we be saved by him from the wrath of God. For if while we were enemies we were reconciled to God by the death of his Son, much more, now that we are reconciled, shall we be saved by his life. More than that, we also rejoice in God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have now received reconciliation.