Testimony

 

 

I am going to give you my testimony, or at least part of it. My testimony is a series of refreshings, recommittings, refocusings.

I was raised Christian, but also raised in a classic household. I was trained to speak clearly, play the piano, have fun when the work was done and believe that I would achieve greatness.

Events in my life stand out – most of them because of some negative emotion like shame, fear, terror, anger, betrayal, pain, failure.

I don’t need to share these unless it is directly related to my testimony. This is a skeleton of a memoir.

At seven years old I was embarrassed by an adult. No physical harm came to me, but the event stands out as a curse in my mind. I was a thing to be loved through no fault of my own and a husband was already chosen for me (I thought in my seven-year-old brain). I spent most of the rest of my life working, immaturely, against that curse to the hurt of everyone around me.

But Jesus was with me. I prayed to Him all the time. He protected me.

When I was 12, I promised to follow Jesus for the rest of my life, even if I must give up my life for Him. I spoke it out in public as loud as I could muster. I was stunned when my confirmation mates were not as assured as I was – the beginning of faith-pride.

I was good at school. I did sports. I took advanced classes. I pleased everyone. I took failure very hard. I met people who had a closer relationship to Jesus than I did, and it scared me. I tried to take up the challenge to be as good, if not better, than they, but I didn’t know how. I didn’t understand then that faith-pride is not faith and there can be no competition in following Jesus.

I lived a double life. I tested life and all the things there were to do while holding on to Jesus and saying all the right things.

But Jesus protected me.

I graduated from the right college, worked as a teacher just as I was expected to, had a horrible year (my year in hell) where I got hit with severe anxiety, got severely disciplined on behaviors that were not as they should be given my position and finally gave up. I quit almost all the expectations but one which I clung to.

I got married and found great freedom. My husband was very forgiving and didn’t judge me for being horrible at housekeeping (cooking, paying bills, cleaning, etc.) This was a blessed environment where I could explore things I hadn’t had time for and spread my crazy creations all over the house.

We moved residences with the birth of each child for various reasons and through this chaotic craziness I learned to depend on Jesus for my every day. He blessed me with calm.

But the competitive Christian part of me, that expectation to be perfect, that faith-pride continued to follow me and, I’m sorry to say, I passed it on to my children.

But Jesus protected us.

Over the years I gave up the expectations of my youth. God showed me how I raised my children was different from the world around me because my children were unique. God showed me there were other ways to learn about Him, ways I could explore on my own without the permission of someone in charge.

Through a long series of unfortunate events I left the church we were attending and found a new, non-denominational, Spirit-led church. I was not allowed to serve there. This was humiliating. I was angry. I poured myself into the job I had outside the home. Then I poured myself into two jobs. My marriage and my family and life were completely out of whack.

But Jesus protected us.

I was sick, but functional. I quit my full-time job. Then I quit my part time job. I started healing.

Then my life exploded. But God blessed me with a counselor, a lady who trained me in prayer war.

At that time most of my children were out of the house. One of our daughters suggested a new church and we attended the Saturday night services. We did double for a while, attending my daughter’s church on Saturdays and going to the church where I could not serve on Sundays.

Soon I desperately needed the Saturday services to survive the Sunday services. Something wasn’t right. The explosion was over, and things were back to normal, or so I thought.

The explosion had subsided in our lives, but not in the lives of those who caused the explosion. Confusion, hurt, and lies swirled around me.

Then we got kicked out of our Sunday church.

But Jesus protected us.

And there was peace.

At our new church I was given permission to heal. There were no guilt trips to give or to serve or to act the right way. In fact, all around me were believers who had gone through similar circumstances. I had found the hospital I needed.

Thank you, Jesus, I was home.

I attended church sometimes twice each week. I joined classes. I tried activities. And over and over again I was humbled, gently, lovingly, just like God deals with us. This was a unique church, Spirit-filled, accepting, respecting me for where I had come, honoring my desire to let God tell me my next steps, my next calling, my next job.

Then I got baptized (Matthew 3:13-4:1). I was the oldest one that day and no one cared. No one judged. Just respect, honor, and love … and understanding about the road ahead. Jesus had told me I would be led into the wilderness, and I was. A series of events and disappointments followed. I tracked the days in my baptism journal. I knew it was a special training. God showed me the sins of my past and how He had healed each one. He showed me sins I had committed years ago that needed repentance, and I did. It was 40 days of Holy Spirit School.

 

Jesus gave me peace.

I continue to try things and fail. I also try things and succeed. I got sick again and am healing.

I’m on the journey of being healed of my faith-pride. It’s like I’m a new believer learning to walk.

This time I know I’m weak and it’s okay. I’m walking in the power of Jesus.

 

Testimony – 10-21-22 – 31 Days of Writing About Writing