My Testimony

His face was red.  I looked upon from the pew beside my grandmother as his face became more and more red.  It was so red that it almost had an orange tint to it.  His hairy arms stretched toward the ceiling as his worn bible flapped back and forth above his head.  His voice raised and lowered in a crescendo of emotion as he urged the fellow sinners in the small country church to turn their life over before they met Satan in a fiery end to this life here on Earth.  I closed my little eyes and his words swirled around in my head.  I imagined a mean red man with a tail and horns.  He was belting out an evil laugh as he jeered toward me with his pitchfork.  I looked about and saw “hell” complete with bubbling pools of lava.  The large volcanoes were humming in the background and black smoke was billowing out… My eyes shot opened and I looked over to my grandma just as she shouted, “Amen!”  I was terrified and I knew that I didn’t want to end up at the other end of Satan’s pitchfork as he hurled me into the lava that would burn, but somehow never actually burn me up all the way so the pain would end.  I could barely comprehend all of this in my little mind, but I did enough to know that is not what I wanted.

I don’t recall actually saying the prayer of salvation.   I can vaguely recall my baptism.  The small country church we attended didn’t have a baptistery, so we visited another small church on Claude Rd.  I can recall the cool water and how odd it felt to be standing in it fully clothed.  My grandma was crying and she kept raising her hands above her head in a thankful pose to God as she prayed under her breath.  I was so glad to be “sealing the deal” and even happier my grandmother was so happy with my actions.  I looked out over the small crowd and spotted my mom and dad looking slightly uncomfortable.  This was another odd feeling as church was not a setting I was used to being in with them.  My grandmother was the one who picked us up on Saturday nights.  We ate dinner with her, showered at her house, said the Lord’s prayer, and went to sleep in her wonderful pleasantly squeaky bed.  I can still hear her box fan and feel the light breeze of night air being pulled through the window beside her bed.  The. Best. Sleep. I. Have. Ever. Experienced.  The next morning I would wake up to peace and calmness.  No one would be in grandma’s house that I didn’t know.  It would smell like coffee and cathead biscuits baking in the toaster oven on her table.  Then, it was off to worship the Lord.  My grandmother was extremely spiritual.  She spoke in tongues and testified at every church service with the congregation shouting amens at her story’s life struggles yet joy and offerings of praise despite it all.  Being with my grandmother was my peace in the storm of life.  Church was a place I loved, but I must admit didn’t fully understand.

We pulled away from my baptism and I was so relieved.  I wasn’t doomed to hell.  My family kept telling me how proud they were and we were all going to eat lunch at my parent’s house.  I made my plate and sat at the coffee table in the living room to eat.  I began to think to myself how great this day was and how much I loved my family.  Then my little heart sank.  I was pretty sure, from what I experienced, that my parents were not saved.  I then started to visualize this rapture Bro. Casey would always preach of.  I imagined being ripped away from my Mom and Dad, and them left to fight the tribulations.  I tried to calm myself and remind myself that grandma would be with me so I wouldn’t be alone…but what about Mom and Dad?  I knew I had to get them saved and baptized too.  So my subtle mission started.  I would make a way to talk about church, the few things I actually understood.  I would always tell my mom that “she missed a blessing today” when I walked in from church on Sunday.  This is what my grandma always told people who were absent the service prior.  One day my mom and I drove to Wal-Mart, and I told her I really wanted her to come to church with me.  I just knew I was frightened for her and I needed her to come to church and be safe.  She got really angry with me and screamed, “Enough! Jodie I will come to church when I am good and damn ready.  Do. Not. Say. It Again! Understood?”  I held back tears and swallowed down the nervous bile in my throat.  The only thing that scared me worse than a fiery hell, at this point in my life, was the wrath of my mom.  No more invitations were extended.  But I continued on my journey.  My grandmother had definitely planted a seed.  It was the nurturing that was needed now.

I think Hannah gets her “deep thinking” from me.  I found a little new testament Bible in a box a few years ago.  It was one that was given to me at school.  I opened it up and on the back inside cover I found this question, “God why do people do drugs and drink?”  I instantly recalled writing this and I just knew God would write the answer under it while I was asleep.  I had not one doubt I would wake up to an answer that would make my tumultuous life make sense suddenly.  I also remember the disbelief when I woke up and there was in fact no answer inscribed by God himself.  Life went on and I attended many church services where I listened to pastors preach content I didn’t understand.  I would try to pick up my bible and read it at home only to get confused and angry with myself.  I wanted to understand it all better, but it just wasn’t happening. 

I never had the urge to live a “sinful” life.  My parents were always heavily involved with drugs and alcohol and I never had a desire to live the life they lived.  As I grew and matured physically the sexual abuse I endured became more evident and unbearable until it finally ended.  The aftermath of that led me to a dark place of sin called hatred. So although I’ve never taken illegal drugs and I’ve only ever had sex with my husband my soul was saturated with sin that would probably make the occasional drug user seem like a saint.  If I could have murdered the abusers of my sister and myself, and not get caught, I would have. Period.  I was so unforgiving in my heart there was no doubt in my mind God did not live there.  This is the scary part of Christianity to me.  Often times we convince ourselves if we are “good people” we are saved.  NOT SO.  During the time between my grandmother’s death when I was in Jr. High and meeting James at 17 church going was spotty, prayer was on an “as needed” basis, and bible study was nonexistent.  So I just marinated in my anger and resentment. 

James was a breath of fresh air and a new perspective.  He went to church regularly and I, of course, wanted to see him so I went as well.  He sang in a quartet and I loved listening to him sing.  Over time the bible pieces started to individually make sense to me, and as I matured I was more able to understand the adult bible studies and sermons I sat through.  Let me take this time and say that this is the reason a youth program is a must for me as a mother.  I want the seed planted in Hannah’s heart to grow.  I want her to be able to understand the bible as it is taught to her on her level.  It does matter.  James and I married and we both promised God to honor him through our marriage and the family we would start.  Hannah came along and post partum depression raged.  I pulled away from God.  There have been many times in my life I have had perfect physical attendance at church, but could not have been more absent.  Completely checked out.  This was my situation at this point in my life. 

James and I came to the point where we realized we weren’t living our life as we wanted to, and we were definitely not honoring God by not being at church and growing in his word.  We also knew that Hannah deserved a relationship with him and the only way to do that was to get her in church.  So we visited Canaan Baptist church.  There we met a very enthusiastic young pastor who just made the Bible make sense.  I prayed to God to understand his word in a way I never had before. I wanted to be able to pass down the faith my grandmother had given me.  I still held on to my anger silently, but I put on a huge smile and started volunteering at our new church.  Surely if I worked hard for God, and just be a great “Christian” I would experience this happiness this pastor and the others in my Wednesday night group felt.  But let me be honest… I thought they were all full of crap.  They were smiling just like me, but on the inside I still had all these feelings of hate and resentment toward my abusers and my family.  I just knew they were hiding awful stuff in their heart too.  Just keep smiling Jodie… You are saved.  It happened when you were a kid remember? 

Then it happened.  During prayer I just knew suddenly, without a doubt, that despite the fact I had been a “great person” my whole life, that despite the fact that I was at church every time the door opened, that despite the fact I volunteered and cooked for potluck…that I was NOT saved.  I knew that God could not live in a heart this full of hate.  I trembled with emotion and tears.  I finally in that moment gave God all that hate and negativity for the first time in my life.  I had tried to in the past, but for some reason this was my time to really change on the inside.  I have to admit it was amazing.  I rededicated my life to God and went before our church to be baptized.  Although I called it rededicating because no adult wants to admit to a congregation that they were never saved…I know now that this was definitely the first time I accepted God in my heart.  Although I still had, and still have, days of self pity and will never understand some of the awful things that happened to me…I know without a doubt that I have forgiven my abusers and I pray in earnest that these men have accepted God in their hearts and are headed to heaven too.  I don’t choose to be a part of their lives here on Earth and I think God is ok with that.  But I honestly want salvation for them, and that is how I know that I was saved.  Since that point reading my bible comes easier.  The puzzle pieces continue to fall into place.  The Holy Spirit convicts me on a personal level daily.  My walk matures.  Oh I fall! Please hear me fellow Christians who may struggle with their lack of perfection… I FALL (what feels like daily), but God is inside of me, so I will not fail.  I get back up and I ask for forgiveness…and I use this messy crazy imperfect life as a big ole testimony.  And that my friends is what God had intended for me all along. 

I would also like to add that my Mom was saved before she passed.  Her darkness was lifted and she began to grow in God’s word.  She was a completely different person after she accepted God in her life.  Just like me she had her own unique struggles, but none of them were too big for God.  No one’s darkness is.  That is what is so great about my God and the sacrifice he made sending Jesus to die for our sins.  There is nothing more scary and daunting than stepping into God’s light.  You should know that.  I wanted to hold on to my anger and resentment.  It was the only way I could “right” all that happened to me.  But once I let it go and I accepted that God will reconcile all of that for me a weight was lifted that is just unexplainable.  My prayer is that you know someone out there understands the fear of letting go of whatever you are holding on to…but I promise you that God can and will replace what you are holding on to with more than you could ever imagine!