I think it is time that I put down in words my testimony. It is a long journey. I can also declare it a fool’s journey to grace.
I guess it would be best to start in a small sunday school room. The walls were plain red brick and along each wall set a shelf about waist high. If my memory serves me correctly, the carpet was a dark aqua blue. It is amazing that I can describe the room at all considering I was only 8-years-old. I sat alone with my sunday school teacher and we prayed. I asked Jesus to come into my heart and save me from my sin. From that point, it was my understanding that was it. No matter what I did from that point, I was saved. My teachers never spoke to me about baptism or any other biblical issue. From that point all I pretty much did was memorize verses and sing.
I do remember asking questions in sunday school to which the usual reply was “it is God’s will.” The last question I remember asking had to do with my attire. My family was struggling financially and could not afford nice clothing. My sunday school teacher taught us one sunday that when we enter God’s house girls must wear dresses and boys wear nice slacks and dress shirts. I asked that if God was okay with girls that did not own a dress entering His house because they could not afford dresses. The teacher told me not to ask questions. I never went back to sunday school there. In the meantime, while all this was going on, my mother was supplying me with ample books on witchcraft. Thus began the downward spiral out of Christianity.
Now things are going to get juicy. I did it all; sexual immorality, blasphemy, witchcraft, theft, and many other things. I can remember holding a class on witchcraft. There were about 15 teenagers in the room and I was instructing them how to follow wicca. I remember one teenage boy in particular. His parents were devout Christians, a denomination I won’t mention, and this young man was scared to death that his parents may find his stash of witchcraft books. I instructed him on how to keep them from his parents.
A friend of mine, a Christian, asked me if there was a way she could get more money. I instructed her and then terrible things happened, she got money but not in a manner she liked. Not only was she a victim of crime, but she was also a victim of Satan’s influence through me.
I’ve shouted down Christians handing out tracts. I’ve participated in sexually depraved activities. I stole on several occasions. I even attempted to convince people that Jesus Christ was a witch!
Oddly enough, the entire time I had a lovely memory of a small church in Whitestown, IN. It was always there in the back of my mind. I attended the church for a few weeks because I had become a friend of the minister’s son. I like to refer to New Hope Christian Church as a beacon beckoning me back to Christ. Sadly for me, I ignored that nagging feeling in the back of my head.
So, I continued on the fool’s journey. I married, had children and continued living a pagan lifestyle. I went to campouts with other pagans, even considered joining a coven. I attended a wiccan handfasting of two women, which is the religious equivalent of marriage in wicca. I thought I had it all figured out.
As a parent and a pagan, one of the most important issues I had with my children was to provide them with no religious education until they were able to understand. I figured I would start introducing them to my faith when my mother first introduced me, around the age of 11. I found it odd that my eldest child started asking about God when he was 5! It bewildered me because I sheltered my sons from all sorts of religious influence. How can a child ask about something to which he had never been exposed? I began to wonder if it is human nature to seek God. Once again, though, I thought I knew better and continued on a fools’ errant.
I guess at some point, God decided to intervene. For a time, I thought I was going crazy. Even now, things seem so incredulous that I still wonder if I am reading too much into it all. On September 2, 2007 I learned I was pregnant with my third child, a son.
On September 7, a nurse from my cardiologist called. She offered her apologies for not getting back with me sooner as my test results from three weeks ago got misplaced. She proceeded to tell me I needed an appointment to discuss possibly putting in a pacemaker and to start on heart medication immediately. First of all, I was only 28. Secondly, I was pregnant. You can only assume how one in that position would react to news like this. Somehow, between my sobs, I managed to squeak out two words, “I’m pregnant.” There was brief pause coming from the other side of the line. Her response; “Well, I’m not going to tell you to terminate, but you need to strongly consider it.” Like the walls of Jericho, my world came tumbling down.
For a brief moment, I considered it. I thought about what it would be like, to have life yanked from my womb. I wondered how I would feel walking out of a doctor’s office, completely alone, after having a procedure like that. I decided that there was no possible way I could have lived with myself if I were going to do that. I can still remember my cardiologist saying, “You could die.” I knew the consequences and was ready to face them if necessary.
When facing mortality, you consider a lot of things. You want to make right some of the wrongs you’ve committed. You want to make sure that those you love know it. Most of all, you evaluate you faith. I had 7 months to consider all of this. Considering my condition, it wasn’t the pregnancy that would cause problems – it was the delivery. During the pregnancy, I sought out support. I found that the majority of those that were willing to support my decision were Christian. My pagan friends called me selfish for having decided to possibly leave my husband and children behind when I didn’t have to take the risk.
The entire pregnancy I thought of New Hope Christian Church, which was an hour drive away. I looked for similar churches in my area but none were particularly welcoming. Most of the support I received came from people on the internet. I had small number of friends in the area that supported my newly discovered pro-life stance. However, I wasn’t really close to any of them. So, I felt rather alone, physically. I decided that I would walk this path with God and I made peace with Him.
On April 14th, 2008 my son was born. I named him Tobin, which is Hebrew for God is good. Obviously, I survived. Then, our family found ourselves in strange circumstances. We needed to move and found a home three houses down from my closest friend. I made friends in this new neighborhood rather quickly. One of them is Maria. She is a wonderful lady that attends a church down the street from my neighborhood. She invited me to join her on sunday, which I took her up on her invitation. In the sanctuary, I found myself unable to look at the cross without feeling a immense feeling of guilt, shame, and sadness. I felt completely unworthy or His grace. I felt filthy. I deserve eternal punishment. With all going on around me and the flamboyant behavior of the church members, I seriously was overwhelmed.
The next weekend I had planned to attend Grace Point but wasn’t quite ready for the extravagance that I experienced the first time. I sat early sunday morning looking for an area church to attend. Then I looked up service times at New Hope. I had 45 minutes to make it to 2nd service. I got my kids dressed, put them in the van and took off. I would have made it in time had I relied on my own memory rather than mapquest. Still, I arrive 15 minutes late.
I didn’t recognize the church at first. They had a new foyer, a new sanctuary, and the general layout was rather different. Had Mrs. Bourne, my friend’s mother and minister’s wife, not been in the foyer; I probably would have turned around and walked out. I thank God she was there. Of anybody to be in that spot on that day, it was the only person in the entire church with whom I had a previous relationship. She was a teacher at my elementary school.
To finish the story, it took me about a year and a half to be baptized and complete the transformation. I finally discarded the notion that all roads lead to God. I no longer believe that Satan isn’t real. Above all, I know that I am forgiven. Though I deserve the fires of hell, it is by His grace that I will be with Him in heaven.
