Sarah and I went to high school together, and she's someone who has made a lasting impact on my life. We went to a conservative, private Christian school. We had to take a lot of religion classes and went to chapel, but among all of that, there was just something about Sarah that was different than those things. Something more real, raw, and attainable. Sarah's life isn't easy, and she's never tried to hide that. But she never stops going. She keeps fighting and holding onto Jesus for dear life. And she praises Him through it all. When I became more fed up with religion and starting seeking a relationship with Jesus, Sarah shone even brighter in my eyes. In Sarah's story, she says "At least I hope I shone. I thought I shone." Sarah - you shone. You shone brighter than anyone. And you continue to shine your light brighter and brighter.
Testimony
is a funny thing. Where does the story really start and where does it really
end? Only God truly knows and sees the unseen, the things happening backstage
during the production of our lives. So as far as I know my story starts when I
was born. Mainly with who my parents are. (Don’t worry, I’ll try not to give
you my whole life story.)
My mom was only a Christian for about five
years before I was born. But after talking with her, you’d think she’s been
doing this all her life. One of the strongest Christians I know, she raised me
on Bible reading and prayers, on writing out appropriate Bible verses 5 to 20
times instead of time-outs for punishment, on talking about God openly and all
the time. It is because of my mom (and probably God helping her a lot) that I
can say I was raised in a Christian home.
Then there’s my dad. I don’t
really know how to explain him. He is mentally and emotionally unstable, crazy
and kinda creepy. Growing up, I never felt quite comfortable around him, and I
had good reason. I don’t want to go into specific detail, or even have enough
room to, so just trust me on this one. Even now I’m still discovering
unresolved trauma on my heart due to his actions. He finally left us in fourth
grade after faking his own suicide (yes, I told you he was crazy). And this is
where my story begins.
In fifth grade, my father filed
for divorce (which relieved me) and my best friend allowed another girl to shut
me out of our friendship (which devastated me). I lost what little of a father I
had, and I lost my best friend ever. I lost my self-confidence, my hope, my
joy, my muchness, if you will for all you Alice in Wonderland fans. I lost
myself. And no I’m not exaggerating. I can’t even begin to count how many times
I came home and cried after school from fifth grade to eighth grade. My one
best friend, while we still hung out together, was completely caught up in this
new friend. Our friendship was never the same after that year. Because of the
divorce, this was a time when I needed my best friend the most, and this was
the beginning of the time I had her the least. I had never felt so alone in my
life.
The divorce took from fifth
grade until eighth grade because Jeff (my father) was fighting for visitation
rights with me and my brother. At the time, I was terrified of him and his
emotional abuse that he had done to both of us. But the multiple counselors and
lawyers we were forced to see told us that we were being “mean” and “didn’t we
see how much pain our father was in” and “he’s our father, we have to see him.”
Even my brother’s and my lawyer told us things like this. Jeff, skilled in the
art of making himself the victim, had left me and my brother with no allies,
except my mother and her lawyer. In eighth grade, we were forced to see Jeff in
a safe house every few weeks for a couple of hours. On those mornings I was so
upset I couldn’t eat, and often, I would have a stomachache the rest of the
day. Finally these stopped when the police officer and lead counselor there
told the judge to stop the visits because they had never seen a parent work so
hard to get a rouse out of his kids.
These four years were the worst
of my life. The only person I could completely lean on and talk to about any of
it was my mother. And she always turned me back to God. She taught me about Him
and His promises, and I learned to lean on Him through those times. But while I
sort of had my own relationship with Him, I believe much of it was through my
mother and through my head. But knowing God is a heart issue. And I think I was
protecting my broken heart too much at that time to truly begin to know God.
And because of my father, I probably wasn’t even sure I wanted to know God. So
I knew all the answers, and I rehearsed all the lines (test for true Tenth
Avenue North fans here) but it wasn’t quite in my heart. And I still believed
no one cared or even saw me. I thought if I died, no one in school would
notice.
This was where I was coming into
high school. I believed I was unwelcome, unwanted, unloved, unbeautiful,
un-everything good in the world. I had seen high school as a chance to start
over and make new friends, but all my old wounds were still open and throbbing,
so while I had some friends, I never felt super close to any of them the first
two years of high school. I believe
pretty much all of that was my fault because I was too hurt to let anyone close
because I didn’t want anyone to stab me in the back again, because honestly,
that’s what it had felt like in fifth grade (sorry for the super run on
sentence). There were multiple times the first two years of high school where I
honestly hated my life and cried myself to sleep. But one of my spiritual gifts
is faith, and so there was some part of me that believed something, sometime,
would change. And it did.
The summer before junior year we
changed churches and I started attending the youth group Wednesday nights.
There was a guy there that I thought was super cute, and so I mainly went to
see him (oh how young and foolish I was). But maybe God knew that was the only
way to get me there. The teens there worshiped in ways I had never, ever seen
before. They held their hands up to God and knelt down on the ground and cried
and jumped and ran with joy during worship. And my spirit wanted that. This was
how I was made to worship. At first I was too afraid and self-conscious. I
never wanted to worship that way to look good, but at the beginning all I could
think of was how I looked. So I stood in the back. But the more I went, thanks
to that guy, the more I began to feel God’s presence. And the youth pastor’s
sermons were amazing! They were full of hope and grace and joy. So many sermons
today are about how we should be acting, but why would we ever want to follow
God’s commands until we understand His love for us, and His many rewards for
us. This was what I was hearing. I wanted that relationship with Him, not just
the religion. And so I began to fall in love with Jesus and fall in love with
worshiping Him. Before this summer, I could only ever read the Gospels and some
stories in the Old Testament without getting bored, but that summer I wanted to
read it all. I wanted to soak up every word He has ever said. I started
enjoying praying and listening for and learning His voice.
Then I began to notice the
changes in me. During worship I would be so at peace, which was something I was
not used to because I considered myself a worrier. So I began to test myself.
During worship I would actually try to worry. And I couldn’t. It was literally
impossible for me to worry when I was worshipping in the presence of God. I
began to have more hope, hope of a life I wanted, and joy, joy to wake up in
the morning and live.
School began and I still didn’t
feel like I had a lot of friends. But that began to change. I had a new boldness
in me, a new confidence. Now, I wasn’t completely healed. Even at graduation, I
still felt like so many of my peers were “better” than me. But it was a step,
and it’s been a process. I opened myself up to new opportunities and found my
place on the stage. Before, I had thought nobody ever saw me, but now I was
having lead roles in plays and dancing parts in musicals, and I shone. (At
least I hope I shone. I thought I shone.) And this new boldness wasn’t just for
myself. It was for God. I became bold for Him. Not as much as I wish I had
been. And honestly, looking back I don’t even remember many times that I was
bold for Him, except when I worshiped freely among many stone-faced peers in
chapel. But my inner self had changed and begun the healing process, and that
was what mattered.
That summer, I began to know the
heart of God. My heart was molded to His heart. A relationship with God isn’t
something we can ever fully comprehend. Like I said, knowing God is a heart
issue. That doesn’t mean He doesn’t want us to use our brains and reason and
logicify (yes I made that word up, and I happen to love it) but I believe that
first coming to know God is in your heart. And when your heart has been
traumatized, it puts up walls that often shut out God. But He pushed through to
mine and has been healing it ever since that summer.
Looking back I can see how God
has taken care of me. During my junior high years, while my mom was starting
her house cleaning business, she often didn’t know how she was going to buy groceries.
But every time that happened, people would anonymously give us gift cards for
grocery stores. And then when my mom had enough money again, they would stop
coming. And she never told anyone when she was worried about money. I also
found out that people were paying for my private school. If whoever it was
hadn’t been, I would have never been able to go to school at Trinity and
Concordia. I am so grateful for those people who allowed God to work through
them. And even now He continues to provide for me, in a way my father should
have but never did.
So like I said, testimony is a
funny thing. No one’s testimony ever really ends. Mine certainly hasn’t. There
have been new heartbreaks and sins and wounds I’ve had to deal with since that
summer. Many more stories I could share. I’ve even been discovering wounds from
my father and former best friend that still haven’t healed. I still cry for
them. But it is the cry of a daughter nestled safely in her Father’s (and Best
Friend’s) arms. Now I don’t just know God, I know God. And I am completely and irrevocably in love with Him. He
is a God who always sees you and always, always loves you.
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