My Testimony - Part 1

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I’ve been wanting to post this for a long time, but something always stopped me.  Then yesterday I was reading through my favorite blogs, and Jennifer at Where The Heart Is mentioned that she’d love to hear the testimony of other bloggers.  So the time seems right.  Just for Jennifer, here is my testimony.

I grew up in a Christian family.  Sort of.  The church we went to when I was young was rather legalistic.  I remember sitting in church every Sunday, and the pastor would recite the ten commandments in the King James version.  It was scary to me.  I felt like God was out to get me.  Still, I remember asking Jesus to come into my heart as a young child of 5 or so.

Though my parents were believers, sometimes it seemed as if our family’s Sunday behavior was one thing, and our weekday behavior was another.  Also, my dad was an alcoholic, and that made for some rather difficult times, too.  I don’t blame my family for all the struggles I had with my faith in earlier years.  I now know that parenting is difficult, and nobody gets it 100% right.  But I did question the discrepancy between the Bible’s version of Christianity, our church’s version, and my parent’s version.  None of them seemed to match up.

In high school we switched churches.  I really fit in at this new church, and I had a great relationship with my church friends, my youth pastor, and the senior pastor and his family (his daughter was a good friend of mine).  I began to see how Christianity looked when it was lived out on a daily basis and not in a legalistic way.  I knew that I wanted what my pastors had, but I was also too busy with my high school social life to give it much more than a passing thought.

When I left for college I had no idea how much my life would change.  I was pretty arrogant.  I was always the good Christian girl who never did anything wrong.  I certainly never thought that I could fall so far in my walk.  But I did.

It started when I made my first college friends.  They were non-practicing Catholics, who thought the Bible was terribly outdated.  Now, I’m not putting all Catholics in this box.  I know plenty of Catholics who are undoubtedly Christian and who have a great relationship with Jesus.  That was not the case with my new friends though.  Still, I just knew I was strong enough to withstand the temptations I’d be sure to face by hanging around with non-Christian friends.

Then I made my next mistake.  I started dating a non-Christian guy.  I figured I was OK as long as I didn’t marry him.  And really, he didn’t pressure me to do anything I didn’t want to do.  But he loved a good debate.  And I love a good debate.  So we’d talk for hours on the phone debating faith.  Little did I know that he was slowly chipping away at all I believed.

Since I didn’t have a car, I didn’t go to church on Sundays.  Sure, I could have hooked up with one of the Christian groups on campus, but I was happy with my friends, and I didn’t see the need.  After all, I figured faith was a private thing.  Every once in a while I’d go to one of the InterVarsity meetings, but I was never really consistent.

I’ll spare you all the boring details, but my life spiraled downward pretty quickly.  By the time I was a senior in college, I was dating a different non-Christian boyfriend.  And this guy was abusive, both emotionally and physically.  I was partying and getting drunk every weekend, and I often went to work hungover.  I had “friends” all around me, yet I never felt so alone.  It’s amazing I kept my grades up.

I remember vividly at one party taking a shot of heaven only knows what, and right before I took the shot, I could almost hear the gentle voice of the Lord saying, “Lynnae, what are you doing?  You don’t belong here.”  Yet I felt trapped.  Helpless.  I had fallen from my “Good Christian Girl” self.  I didn’t deserve God’s grace.

I knew I needed to make some changes.  I knew if I stayed in San Diego, I’d never get away from my boyfriend.  And I knew I had to.  I agreed to move back in with my parents, who had moved from my hometown of Modesto to Southern Oregon.  My parents came down to pick up most of my stuff, and I prepared to leave San Diego.

My 22nd birthday was a few nights before I was supposed to leave.  It was two o’clock in the morning.  I was laying on a borrowed futon in my empty bedroom.  My roommate was spending the night with my now ex-boyfriend.  And I was alone.

I remember praying, begging God to rescue me.  And I wish I could say I vowed to dedicate my life to Him.  But I didn’t.  Instead I promised to go back to church, if only he’d get me out of the awful life I’d created.  Looking back, the promise to go back to church wasn’t much, but God can use even the smallest step we take for big things.

When I got to Oregon, I was intent on keeping my promise.  I looked in the newspaper and found a church with a college/career group.  I figured Christians made much better friends than the friends I had in college, so I might as well find a church with people my age.

The very first time I visited that church, I felt welcome.  During the time when everyone stands up and greets someone else, the woman in front of me turned around and asked me about my life.  I related to her that I had just moved.  She told me that there was a college age Bible study happening on Sunday nights.  She took my address and told me her daughter would pick me up.

I got involved in that Bible study, and I kept going, even though I didn’t feel like I fit in.  I felt that I was too dirty for church.  That God couldn’t possibly forgive me for the bad things I’d done.  Yet I went.

Meanwhile I got a job working with disabled adults.  One of my co-workers was a Christian gal my age.  We lived near each other, and she told me if I ever needed a ride to work, I should feel free to give her a call.

Now, I don’t know if God is in the business of causing car problems, but I believe the car problems I experienced shortly after starting my new job were directly from Him.  My car broke down, and I had to call Julie for a ride to work.  She gladly picked me up, and all the way to work, she drilled me about my faith.  And for some reason, even though it’s not typical for me, I opened up to this relative stranger.

I told her about where I had been in high school and how far I’d fallen.  I shared that I didn’t feel I belonged in church.  I braced myself for the judgment.  It never came.

Instead, Julie shared her story.  It was so very similar to mine.  After she shared, she turned to me and said, “Lynnae, God wants you in church.  He knows your story, and he loves you anyway.  You belong there as much as anyone.”

I spent a few days mulling over what she said.  Then I went to the college age Bible study, now on Thursday nights.  I remember the pastor talking that night.  He talked about the fence.  On one side of the fence is a life of living for Christ.  On the other side of the fence is a life of living for worldly pleasures.  Too often we try to stand on the fence and have it both ways, but sooner or later we fall on one side or the other.  Nobody can straddle the fence forever.  Wouldn’t it be better to choose which side we’re on?

I felt like I was the only person in the room that night.  I went home.  I cried.  I prayed.  And I decided which side of the fence I wanted to be on.  I wanted to follow Christ.

Three people.  A series of events that only God could put together.  And my life was his.  I still look back in amazement at how God put that woman in front of me at church and immediately got me into Bible Study.  And then Julie.  What a blessing she was.  I wouldn’t have had that talk with her if my car hadn’t broken down.  And that talk prepared me to receive the teaching from my pastor.  It was all orchestrated by God at just the right time.

This is getting long, so I’ll continue my story on Thursday.  But let me leave you with this.  You never know how a conversation you have with someone will impact them.  I’m quite certain that the woman at church doesn’t have any idea what role she played in my walk with Christ.  I never talked to her again, and she no longer goes to my church.

And my pastor had no idea what effect his words had on me until we were sharing our testimonies in Sunday School a couple of months ago.  That college talk happened 13 years ago.  My pastor didn’t even remember it.

My point is, be mindful of your witness.  You never know when the things you say or do will lead someone toward, or away from, Jesus.

Stay tuned for Part 2 on Thursday.

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