On Easter Sunday, I shared some suggestions on how to think through your testimony. I know it takes time to sit down and prepare it, but we’re instructed to be prepared. You never know when you’ll be asked about the hope that is in you.

A nonblogging friend took the time and wrote out her testimony, even sending it to me first to get feedback and suggestions for how to make it more clear. Then, last week, she shared it publicly at the Bible study she talks about. But, likely more important than that, she also shared it with some members of her family—like her husband—who had never heard it before.

God’s at work again. Sit for a few minutes and have a read about how what He did to draw her to Himself.

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Even at 10 years old, I remember feeling like I could never be good enough get into heaven. I would try to be good; but, in my heart, I knew I wasn’t good. In fact, I was so fearful of where I was heading that I was ready to become a nun, because I assumed that they would get right into heaven. In my brain, I needed to work to get there and do something somehow worthy of it. That was what I remember hearing growing up.

When I was about 10 or 11 years old, friends invited me to a neighborhood Bible study, and I went because I wanted them to like me. One lesson she taught was the story of Nicodemus from John 3. Nicodemeus (in my 10 year old head) should have not worried about getting into heaven because he was a Jewish leader; but, he did. That threw my getting into heaven by becoming a nun right out the window. More importantly, what Jesus said struck me: Jesus answered, “Truly, truly, I say to you, unless one is born of water and the Spirit, he cannot enter the kingdom of God.” I didn’t ask any questions about it; I just kept playing it over and over in my head, but I didn’t really understand it. A few months later, the leader said that she would repeat any story. So, I asked her if she would repeat the story of Nicodemus. The following week, she taught the story again and told me if I wanted to come over and see her privately the next day that she would talk about it with me. I asked my mom if I could meet with her the next day; but, unfortunately, it was at the same time that I was supposed to be at my denominational religious course. But, since my dad had just became a Christian a week or two before, he told my mother to let me see the Bible study leader and that it was more important. I remember talking to the leader and asking Jesus to come into my life right there at her kitchen table. She told me something I had never heard before–that God knew I couldn’t be good enough to get into heaven so He had a plan and that plan was Jesus. My 10-year-old brain knew all about gifts, so hearing that God had a free gift for me made sense. My mother now says that she remembers me telling her that night, “I am saved.”

But, over the next 15 years, I didn’t live like I was saved. After I was married, my parents and I had a strained relationship due to “religion.” It was so bad that we had to make a no-religion talk rule.

My mother started going to Bible study. One day, as I was waiting for her to come home from it, I really just had it in my heart—I don’t even know where the thought came from—but I wanted to go to Bible study. While I was at home thinking that, God was already going ahead of me working out His plan. That day at Bible study, a friend of my mothers asked my mother if she ever invited me. So, when my mother called me that day, she told me her friend wanted her to invite me (because my mother and I didn’t talk religion). I just started to cry because I was waiting for her to get home to ask her if she thought I would be allowed to go to the Bible study with her. Once I joined, my life changed completely because I was reading my Bible, and I loved to study it. I started to see a new and clearer picture of God.

Several years later, I started dealing with severe depression, bipolar personality disorder, and an eating disorder and needed to be hospitalized several times. It was bad. I was a total mental mess, most of the time my thinking was totally unclear and unsafe for myself. With my marriage strained and ending, my whole life was falling apart. I was dying inside. I believed that I was a total burden on my children and husband and that they all would be better off without me. I turn my back on God. I think I did this because I was ashamed and overwhelmed with guilt. In my mind, I was a failure as a wife and mother. But, I was also angry, feeling as though God hated me and that is why “He gave me” all of this mental illness. I decided that I would hate God and run from Him. Without a doubt, this time in my life was the blackest and closest to Hell that I have every been in. I was seperated from my family and God; it doesn’t get any worst that that.

The pivotal point of my relationship with the Lord was during a trip down to the shore with the kids. Samantha was sitting in the front seat. Michael was sitting in the backseat. We got started
later than we had planned. I remembered as we got in the car how my mom and dad used to pray before we would go on a long trip, and I remember thinking in my heart like a smart-alecky, bratty child, “I am not saying a prayer to you I am not praying to you.”

As we are driving down to the shore, I remember thinking something doesn’t look right until my
brain registered what—it was a truck crossing the medium. Another car flipped up in the air. I slammed on my break, knowing I was going to be part of this accident. But, my car stopped about 3 feet from the accident. I kept looking in the rearview mirror thinking we were going to get slammed into the accident. Thankfully, we didn’t. The rest of the way down the shore, all I kept thinking as I was crying and driving was “I didn’t pray; I didn’t pray; I didn’t pray; I was such a jerk to You, but you took care of me anyway. You saved our lives.” We didn’t even come out with a scratch. Later, watching the news, we learned that people died in that accident. God melted my stubborn heart with his love and mercy for me that day. Immediately after that, I returned to church and decided to get baptized; I wanted to give myself a memory and experience of dying to my old self. About 5 years later, I was able to return to Bible study which was such an answered prayer.

By the grace, love, and the patience of God—and despite the fact that I let go of him—He held on to me. I am His, and I am not letting go.