This Is My Story

In August, my pastor presented the opportunity to share my testimony and asked me to submit it in writing ahead of time.  This blog post is the testimony I shared with my church family. I had some trepidation, not because I am uncomfortable speaking in public but because of the vulnerability I felt in opening up. When the focus is on the Lord, though, sin and shortcomings seen through the the lens of HIS amazing grace can lead weary wanderers to His miraculous, healing love.  

I am prayerfully considering branching out to speak more boldly of Jesus' offer of salvation and forgiveness. Won't you pray with me for open doors, guidance and strength to reach others with my story and more importantly - the greatest story every told?  I have tried to be as transparent as possible on this site, so some of the friends who have followed this blog and also Gram's blog 97 Years of Blessings, have read a more in-depth testimony through my posts.

The bottom line is - Jesus can save and heal all wounds.  He has already proven His love and forgiveness by sacrificing Himself for all sin - past, present and future.  Once we thankfully accept His offer of free grace and welcome Him into our lives, He abides and guides us through this life and into the next.  The past can not hurt or define us anymore. The chains falling off remind me of Maria Von Trapp singing The Hills Are Alive on the crisp, clear mountaintop! Now if only I could sing like her!  Oh, but that forgiveness is so much more than a feeling.  It is real, true and permanent!  Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound!

This Is My Story

When advice is given for giving a testimony, it's pretty simple - what was your life before, and how did it change after you were saved?  I attempted to write my ten minute testimony over the span of about a week, but on paper, it seemed so full of shame and disobedience - and hardly something I wanted to share at all. First of all, the 'math' didn't quite work out for a ten minute limit and my personal testimony.  Second, there was a lot of weeding out that needed to happen - a testimony for my own glory might include my bravery in the portrayal of twists and turns that brought me to this moment in time, but a testimony brings glory to God when it is about HIS love and grace, not my self-reliance or determination in life. I started and stopped, discouraged at the ways I had abandoned Him in my life.  I took breaks, crying out to Him that I am so far from perfect - who would ever want to hear my testimony?!  Then I came across a video on Facebook of a woman who had once been labeled ‘The Ugliest Woman in the World’ due to a disease she had no control over. She wrapped up her own story by saying, "God put you here for a reason, and He wants you to share that reason, no matter what". Why should a Christian stand up and talk of so great a salvation? Because God did not give us our story so we could keep it to ourselves! Telling others about His love and power to forgive is a natural outpouring of a heart that has been touched by grace! And so I humbly begin, ever aware that my story is His, and His alone. 

It began in Boston ten days before Christmas, 1966 when I was born to an unmarried couple who would each eventually tell me I had been an accident.  My story is a hard one, divided up into those things which happened that were beyond my control and also other things that were a result of my rejection of the Lord.  I think we can all look back on our lives and say our personal story is a ‘hard’ one, whether we spent years in disappointment and rebellion or trusted the Lord at an early age and have followed Him ever since.  The most important lesson I have learned as a Christian is that there are blessings everywhere, even in the hard times.  The most pivotal points in my life came as a result of the words and actions of others who allowed the Lord to love me through them.  It is my hope that we may all realize the impact we can make in the lives of others when we reach out with God’s love.

When I was eight months old, my parents made the decision to split up and leave my two older sisters and me at The Boylston Home for Girls in Manchester.  I remember early discussions with kids in the neighborhood about why my parents didn't want me, feeling anxious and unlovable.  I could never answer that question, and as far as I was concerned, the mixed bag of girls I lived with and the directors, Rev. and Mrs. Beal, who I would later call Grampy and Gram, were my 'real' family.  I raised my hand at a Five Day Club held on the porch of the girls' home when I was four years old in response to an invitation to accept Jesus as my Savior.  I believed God existed from that day forward, crying out to Him in pain the day the Beals retired and moved away when I was seven, then silently screaming 'hate prayers' to Him at the age of nine when I found myself living in my father and step-mother's home, separated from my two sisters and prevented from having any contact with anyone from my former life at the Boylston Home.  Having been banished to living a solitary life in my room and only allowed to come out to fix my own meals or do chores, I spent week after week alone, listening to American Top 40 on the radio, and wondering if my sisters would ever hear a long distance dedication if I sent our story in to Casey Kasem.

Now decades away from that time in my life, I can see the blessings along the way, from a teacher who used to rub my arms to keep me warm during recess when I only had a knit poncho to wear one winter, to a hospitalization that led to a tender moment of reunification between the Beals and I, even though my father tried to stop them from visiting me.  The bright spots during that time were when my father would sporadically let me visit Grammy and Grampy.  I never knew when I would end up at their home, and also never knew when my dad would come back to get me. The times I spent with the Beals’ were like medicine to my injured heart.  I felt like a part of an actual family during those times, instead of the empty invisible girl at the park who observed kids and parents having picnics or playing on the playground in the summer time, only to trudge home at dusk and slink back to my bedroom unnoticed. During school breaks or on the weekends, I was told to leave at daybreak and not return until the streetlights came on in the evening. When I was hungry, I stole doughnuts from a Dunkin Donuts dumpster near my house. I became hopeless and angry as each gray day blended into the next. Dad got divorced and then remarried.  During the next few years when Dad’s depression and alcoholism were at their worst, he would often tell me I was going to live with the Beal family ‘for good’, but then he always found a reason to get angry with someone and take me back.  I began to distrust those words, knowing ‘for good’ didn’t mean forever and something bad was always lurking around the corner to steal my joy.

Eventually, I found myself living with my mother in a ghetto in Arlington, Virginia after an especially frightening encounter with my father when I was twelve.  In essence, my mother ‘kidnapped’ me with the help of the Beals after they hid me from my father for my own safety.  I began attending a thriving youth group at a local Baptist church with my sisters, who had also been reunited with each other and our mother. A youth leader who was in his second year at Washington Bible College took me under his wing when I was thirteen, but his intentions as a pedophile eight years my senior soon became evident as he isolated and abused me in every way.  My shame and guilt resulted in a hasty, illegal Las Vegas marriage at the age of fifteen, and the life I thought I now had control of began to unravel with me as a  military 'wife' on the West Coast. I was finally able to break free for good when I was seventeen, thanks to plane tickets provided to me by the Beal family to come back home to NH and start over.  The problem was that I was more like a wild animal than a 17 year old girl, living on raw emotions and giving in to every temptation that crossed my path.  I began to lie often to cover up the messes I created, sinking deeper and deeper into despair.  I was ultimately asked to leave my home after unsuccessful attempts by my foster family to draw me closer to God.

I spiraled out of control for the next few years, sometimes living in my car and moving nineteen times in two years - mostly crashing on the couches of coworkers and friends.  I became a slave to street drugs and alcohol, had a few bouts with anorexia and found myself hospitalized for major depression and attempted suicide.  Through all of this, I always believed in God, but did not follow Him because I was desperately angry with Him for not helping me in the ways I thought He should whenever I cried out to him in frustration.

By the time I was twenty, I was pregnant and found myself in a conversation with my oldest sister, Robyn, who had come to visit me in NH.  Amazed that God would give me a child after I was told it would be physically impossible, I immediately quit drinking and confided in Robyn that I wanted to believe (or not believe) in God for myself - not just because people I loved said He was real.  At about the same time, I sent a letter to Grammy and Grampy Beal, even though they lived only about a half hour away, confessing that I was pregnant and asking them to forgive me.  Gram called the day she read my letter and said, "We received your letter, we love you and we want to see you." It was by that simple declaration of love that I understood real grace for the first time in my life.

For the next decade, I devoured the Bible, went to church and prayed to a God I found to be very much alive and loving!  I gave birth to my daughter, Shelli, at the age of twenty-one, two months after I married her dad.  We went on to have two other children, and at first, we were faithful in our church and even had leadership roles. As time went on, the grace I found in the Lord was soon overshadowed by my need for perfection - in myself and also everyone around me.  Taking on more and more to prove to myself that I was acceptable, I left grace at the cross and wore myself out trying and failing to be 'good enough' each day.  At first, it was only baby steps away from God - that first drink, the first lie, the prescription medication I accepted when a ‘friend’ offered me a few pills for fun.  The first steps away from God that I thought I could control eventually swept me away into a storm I could not tread water in.  By the time I was 38 years old, I was newly divorced and once again bouncing around from home to home, only this time it was with my kids.

After aimlessly wandering for four more years, I was tired, and ready to stop running away from the Lord. The shame I had for being so fickle over and over again, and for the pain my kids experienced because of my instability weighed heavily on my heart.  By spring of 2009, I began to pray that God would show me a better way, and made a phone call to the director of a Christian camp in Maine to see whether they would let my 15 year old son, Michael, work for them during summer vacation.  Driving away from camp after dropping him off, I lifted my heart in a desperate prayer that life would be altogether different when I returned to pick him up.  Was it ever!

About this time, Grammy Beal, now widowed for many years, had heart surgery and I visited her in the hospital. Too groggy to even remember that she already had the operation, Gram suddenly looked into my eyes with great clarity and quoted II Chronicles 7:14. "If My people who are called by My name will humble themselves, and pray and seek My face, and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin and heal their land."  I left the hospital, thinking about the many times she and Grampy quoted scripture in everyday conversation.  I couldn't shake the realization that God was using Gram's words to draw me back to Himself.  

Within a week of dropping Michael off at camp, I lost my health, my job, my car and my home.  I borrowed a car and drove back to pick him up, packed up everyone and everything I owned and got a ride to Florida with a family member, where I intended to make a fresh start. Michael and I agreed together to attend church and spent time in the evenings going for walks and talking about life. Still, Gram's words remained in my heart as I thanked the Lord for bringing me back to Him, so I made a call back to NH to Gram's daughter-in-law, Meredith, and left a voicemail asking her to tell Gram that I turned back to the Lord once and for all because of the verse she quoted to me.  Within a day or two, Meredith called me back and asked if I would become Gram's live-in caregiver. I accepted the offer, scraped together some air fare and came home.

The next five months with Gram was a peaceful time of healing as, in a tender role-reversal, I was able to return the motherly love she had shown me so many years ago when I was a child. This time, it was I who bathed, dressed, cooked and cleaned for her, and it was an honor to comb her hair in the morning, read to her in the evenings and kiss the top of her head after I tucked her in bed each night.   I listened as she told me, "We must get the word out to others about God's love - that's why we're here!", and I created a blog for her, amazed that being a housebound 97 year old widow did not dampen Gram's passion for reaching out to others with Christ's love!  Even on those wearying ‘homesick for heaven’ days, Gram always called out, “I’m so glad we have each other!” as I exited her room after devotions and prayer.

The morning of January 8, 2010 found Gram dancing in heaven. The night before, we had our usual devotional time and Gram’s last words here on earth were uttered in a prayer to her Heavenly Father.  The final verse in our devotional that night was Zephaniah 3:17: The Lord thy God in the midst of thee is mighty; he will save, he will rejoice over thee with joy; he will rest in his love, he will joy over thee with singing. Gram no longer needed to be homesick for heaven.  Her final assignment of bringing a lost lamb back into the safety of the Shepherd’s fold was complete and she was home ‘for good’. 

By God's grace, I have been able to continue on with the pattern of quiet time and prayer that Gram and I used to share when we were together.  God has allowed me to remain living in my home and has provided every step of the way.  Truly, He has heard from heaven, forgiven my sin and healed my land! I understand now that the Christian walk has nothing to do with my frustrated attempts at being perfect, but about Christ's strength made perfect in my weakness!

As I look back on my life and the presence of God making all things work together for good, I hope you can see two themes throughout this story:

First, I was touched by the actions, words and verses spoken by others who put their own comfort on the line to speak truth into my life.  If you have an opportunity to lovingly point others to Christ, do it.  I struggle with my own hesitation when I sense God asking me to step up and speak up, as my own kids will attest, but I am getting more and more comfortable sharing verses and God's love with others as I go along. 

Second, we can't leave grace at the cross.  I was destined to fail by trusting God's grace to save me, but then telling Him, "I'll take it from here!"  As soon as we take that first step in our Christian walk in our own strength we will find ourselves miles away from Him, lost on a path we don't recognize.  My self-destruction didn't happen overnight - it was so gradual that by the time I realized the devastation around me, I didn't even recognize myself!  

If I had to choose a life verse, it would be John 15:5...Jesus states, “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."  I tried to live my Christian walk without staying connected to the Lord, and failed.  I was like an apple tree branch broken on the ground, using all my strength to produce an apple!  Even though my 'leaves' stayed green for a short time, my Christian life gradually became brittle and dead as long as I remained separated from the Life Giver.  The best part of my story is that Jesus forgave me, welcomed me home, and daily promises that I will bear much fruit as long as I abide in Him - in His strength, not my own!

Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine!

O what a foretaste of glory divine,

Heir of salvation, purchase of God

Born of His spirit, washed in His blood!

This is my story, this is my song,

Praising my Savior, all the day long,

This is my story, this is my song,

Praising my Savior all the day long!

This is my story...what's yours?