I have a testimony! Take that! (PART I)

I have a testimony.

Ha! I always thought testimonies were for people who didn’t grow up in the church! Guess I was wrong! Take that, devil!

It’s long, it’s brazenly bold and bare-faced and open, but it’s all true. And it’s a story of God’s victory over my failure, God’s healing of my pain, and God’s glory for my shame. I wrote it in January of this year.

“Not unto us, O LORD, not unto us, But to Your name give glory, Because of Your mercy, Because of Your truth.” –Psalm 115:1

My parents led me in the sinner’s prayer as a very young child (approximately 4 years of age). They raised us with a love for God and a vision for the Gospel. My mom used to lead family devotions every day while we were very young, and later my dad took over. When I was 5 or 6 I learned Colossians 3, complete with hand signals, with my 4 siblings. I was home schooled, so the Bible was integrated into all my subjects. By 4^th grade I was in Bible Quizzing and memorized Philippians and Colossians in one year. My dad would read us missionary stories before bed, and invite Indian and Chinese and other international students into our home to share special holidays—and, of course, the Gospel. So we were raised with an interest in and understanding of other cultures—and showing love and hospitality to people from different backgrounds.

I really began to make my faith my own around age 15, when the youth pastor at the new church we had started to attend began to teach a radical discipleship. We went on an inner-city mission trip/kids camp in Charlotte, N.C. for a week. During that week, a lot of students “got it.” We started to pray together more and we started to see God act as we ministered to the kids and sought His face. During the trip I realized I had been doing a lot of “Christian things” through my own strength and not really through God’s strength. I broke down in the middle of the trip and had to stop taking care of my VBS small group. Someone else took over and I went to a room and just cried out to God and prayed. I read a Bible and ended up in the Psalms. I just kept reading, “The LORD is my strength.” That was the moment that I really “got it” and started to realize the same Jesus who paid for my sins is also the only One who empowers me to do anything of value. “Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in Me. I am the vine, you are the branches. He who abides in Me, and I in him, bears much fruit; for without Me you can do nothing” (John 15:4-5). The rest of the week, we saw God pour out His spirit even more, delivering the camp kids from a lot of pain and drawing them to Himself. A lot of kids accepted Christ that week. When we got back, I shared this testimony at my church, and got baptized with my younger brother David.

Unfortunately David’s baptism did not mark a true heart decision to follow God at that age. The next few years were really difficult for the whole family as he got involved in wrong relationships, drugs, fights, alcohol, and smoking. I was often upset with him and tried to keep bossing him around as I had during a lot of our preteen years. He was not taking it, and was angry at everyone in our home. Since I have 5 siblings, this made for a lot of strife. I knew I loved David, but I didn’t know how to show it. I was saddened that he was making so many wrong choices.

Around the same time, halfway through my senior year in highschool, my grandmother died. I had been very close to her my entire life, and though I knew she was in heaven dancing and singing with Jesus after a long battle with Lou Gehrig’s Disease, I felt I had lost a very close friend.

Over the next several months I was inappropriately touched various times. I couldn't understand that someone I had known and trusted since childhood would ever do something like that to me, so my mind just blocked out what was happening. When I finally faced the truth of what was going on, I didn’t want to even see the abuser. I was now a freshman at Cedarville, and I poured everything into getting good grades. A former Cedarville student shared her story in chapel about how she had been sexually abused growing up, but Jesus had freed her and given her a ministry to other women. 1 out of 3 women, even at my Christian college, had experienced something like that. We must come to Jesus for healing, she said. I reached out to God and told Him I needed healing. I wrote a lot in my journals in those days, but didn’t tell anyone what was going on.

But with some unexpected stress from my extra-curricular activities, everything started to cave in. I told my family what had happened. It was really hard to tell them and see their mixed reactions, but even harder to deal with the pain as I tried to wrench the thorn out of my own heart. I started crying a lot. I got sick with a urinary tract infection that didn’t show up on the tests until it turned into an extremely painful kidney infection. The pain was so bad it would bring me to tears. As if I didn’t have enough to cry about already! As I cried, though, healing came. Slowly, but surely, God began the process.

During my sophomore year, David threatened suicide with a gun to his head. When I heard the news, my heart sunk. I spent the next few days walking around my college campus in a haze, not ashamed to be crying in public. I knew I needed to mend my relationship with my brother. God told me to stop judging David all the time, and to wake up and love him, no matter what. I wrote him a letter apologizing for being his “Second Mommy,” as my family had nicknamed me. I hated what he did, but I loved HIM and I wanted him to know that. I didn’t tell him to his face, because he wouldn’t have listened to me. We didn’t have enough of a relationship to talk for more than 10 seconds. So I wrote it down and left it in his room, on one of the nights when he was out ‘til 3 or 4 in the morning.

He thanked me. He didn’t change right away, but my attitude towards him changed. I asked God to start loving him through me.

The months during David’s house arrest were pretty difficult. He was going through substance withdrawal and was stuck inside a house with people he resented, and who resented him. It was hard to love him, but we pleaded for grace. But he needed something more. So, my parents sent him to boarding school, in January 2009. He swore he would leave on his 18th birthday in October, whether or not he had earned his diploma. He broke the rules and hated his life there.

But we just waited. We prayed and wrote him letters. I cried over every letter I wrote. I felt the Holy Spirit urging me to pour out my heart into those letters. I didn’t know if it made a difference to David, but I loved him so much it hurt. It wasn’t coming from inside me. It was something God had done in me.

In May, I felt God told me to go to a different church. I prayed about it and talked to my parents about it, but it didn’t seem too exciting to me. I was afraid of rejection--afraid of not knowing what to look for. But I felt I couldn’t ignore God’s voice. So one Sunday I picked a church out of the phone book—one that started late, since I had slept in. Several warm smiles, hugs, a solid message, and a moving altar call later, I had made up my mind. That was easier than I thought, I told God. He knew what He was doing.

I learned so much with my church that summer. We studied the book Crazy Love together with all ages. The people there became my brothers, sisters, mothers, and fathers in the faith. I grew so much deeper in my faith.

Suddenly, in July, we got news from the boarding school. David had just got back from a spiritual retreat. When they passed the offering plate, he put a piece of paper inside. On it, he had written, “MY LIFE.”

On that day, everything changed. The passion in David was so evident. He decided to stay and finish high school. He started to actually listen to all his mentors at the boarding school. He wanted to be a missionary. He was in love with Jesus, and he couldn’t shut up about it. He started learning about reconciliation and love and authority.

I visited him at the school during fall break, with my sister Vicki. We rode horses. I told him about guys and he gave me some solid advice. It was surreal. We talked about Jesus and miracles.

A few days after the visit, I was feeling sick. I decided to drive home early to get some rest. As I turned on a curve on a country road, the setting sun shone directly into my eyes. With one hand on the wheel, I frantically searched for my sunglasses. The car swerved slightly to the right. I was going about 60 mph, and just a slight movement caused the car to scrape along the guard rail, sending it jerking wildly out of control. The next few seconds were a nightmare. I gripped the wheel and tried to straighten it, but it veered to the left towards the woods. I have never been more scared in my life. I closed my eyes and held my breath for the impact. BOOM! The airbags had gone off. I was conscious. I was in pain but nothing too severe.

Within a few hours, I was at home. The ER had not found any injuries, but my car was totaled. I was “fine,” but I had a newfound respect for the life God had spared. God told me to once and for all forgive and forget the abuse, and not waste the time I had left. A few days later, I sat in my sister’s car singing and writing and praying to God. I hadn’t even wanted to see the man who had molested me for several months. But I stayed up and wrote a tear-stained letter that I would read aloud to him, begging him to make this right while he still could—before God and before me. Thankfully, he did. I felt like a huge burden had come off of me. Two months later, he died.

David doubled up to graduate a semester early. I picked him up in December, in the old car my friend Amy had let me borrow after I wrecked my own. She was one of three people from church that offered to let me use their car in the weeks before I studied in Spain. I was floored by their Acts-church type generosity.

David and I talked the whole way home. He started coming to my church. We treasured those 6 weeks or so together at home, before I left to study in Spain. One night after church, with snow falling from the starry sky, we stayed in Amy’s old white car and sung “Oh, How He Loves Us” at the top of our lungs.

Since then, David has been to India twice and Peru once on mission trips. I have been to Spain, Panama, and Costa Rica on mission trips (all experiences God used to stretch and deepen my faith a lot!) Now David works in Indianapolis and I go to college in Cedarville, OH. But we are still close. Thank God for technology!

A few months ago, David told someone I am his best friend. I was pretty flattered. God sure knows how to turn rags into riches. “Not unto us, O LORD, not unto us, But to Your name give glory, Because of Your mercy, Because of Your truth” --Psalm 115:1  It's nice to have a "big-little" brother (tall, but younger) to talk to about anything and everything. He challenges me to follow God no matter what, and I try to do the same for him, "as iron sharpens iron" (Proverbs 27:17). 

Part II coming soon...