Growing up, my mother was an alcoholic. She began drinking her family troubles and tiny town boredom away at 14, developed into a functioning alcoholic during her 20s, and descended into a full fledged chronic alcoholic during her 30s. Somewhere around her late 30s, her alcoholic binges became longer and longer; she was coming home plastered almost every night. She had found a new bar 5 minutes down the road, and new, shadier “friends” who introduced her to crack cocaine. She quickly descended even lower than she thought she ever could. Eventually, she lost her job, but kept it a secret from us by pretending to go to work everyday, when really she was going to the drug den 15 minutes away. She spent all of her money, my dad’s money, and ran up multiple credit cards to fund her addictions. My parents were divorced when I was young, and both remarried eventually. If you are wondering where my father was during the chaos, he was usually on deployment with the military. Also, just so you know, he was the best dad in the world, we just kept the reality of our lives a secret from him. My step father was also an alcoholic, and happened to be back off the wagon and deployed on an off while my mom was spiraling downwards.
She would be gone for days at a time sometimes, only coming home long enough to restock the fridge with hot pockets, bacon, and snickers ice cream bars. In the midst of her downward spiral, there were still random days or short bursts of time where she would be home and completely attentive to us. I think it was because she missed us. Through all my mother’s issues and faults, I was confident at a young age that if my siblings and I had not been born, my mother would not have had the will to continue living or even to keep trying to break free from her addictions. After all, when she was pregnant with us, it was apparently the only time she didn’t pick up the bottle. I grew up knowing that even though my mom was damaged and unstable, she was loving us the best way she was able to. The best way she could while being tied up and broken. I tell people all the time, that despite everything, there was never a day in my childhood where I questioned whether or not I was loved. I always knew I was; I just also got a crash course that parents are not perfect at a very young age.
I have many childhood memories of helping my father drag my mother out of bars, and when I was older and my parents were divorced I remember having her stumble in the house and drunkenly cry on my shoulder until she agreed to let me put her to sleep. Or, on rare occasions, I remember her coming home in a rage, ready to single one of us out to berate. In these moments, I learned to be the first one in her path and make a snide comment so I could spare my brother or sister from being yelled at. My mother was like two people: the loving, supportive mom who encouraged our interests, constantly gushed about her three amazing kids, and who told us she loved us morning, afternoon, and evening. The one who was goofy with us, and was trying to get better for us. Then I remember the mom who was absent, impatient, angry, and unstable. Though my siblings and I are all very close in age, I found myself taking on a maternal role towards my siblings during the periods when my mom was using. I watched my mother struggle with the chains of addiction, and lose over and over again. Each time, she would do well for a little while and then inevitably the chains of her addiction would tighten and drag her back down to the depths of her hated darkness. When I was 15 my mother disappeared, leaving my siblings and I alone at home. Sometime between a week or two later she called us from 4 states away and said she had checked herself into a rehabilitation center at the Salvation Army, and she would be away for 9 more months getting clean.
My mother had been through multiple rehab programs before, but when she came home this time, she was a new woman. She had encountered God and accepted Jesus as her Lord and Savior. She was completely, passionately, in love with her miracle worker Jesus, and it was weird to me. I thought she was either delusional or brainwashed. I had never met anyone that loved and spoke about God the way she did. For an addict, every day is a battle (whether clean for 1 day or 1000 days), but from day 1 of her being home, she lived as though she had never touched drugs or alcohol in her life. It would have been unbelievable if I had not witnessed it myself. The best way to describe it would be to picture my mother in a war, a bloody, gruesome war that she had been losing for decades. And suddenly, the war had not only been won, but the wounds that had inflicted her were suddenly not there anymore. Not even a case of PTSD from the trauma of war. Instead it was joy, and peace, and growing passion for God. In light of this unbelievable transformation, I decided to tolerate her delusion of God as long as it kept her clean.
To my surprise, my mother’s faith and love for God only grew. She prayed for us (my siblings and I) everyday, talked incessantly about Jesus, took me to church, and was always reading her Bible. Her demeanor and personality seemed to change as well. She was by no means perfect, but she seemed to be happier, more at peace, less prone to anger, and in general she just seemed to be less like the shell of a person she was while she was an addict. I loved the positive transformation that took place in my mother, but I hated the answer that she gave as to the how: Jesus. Her out loud love for God drove me crazy because I could not see what she saw or feel what she felt. I didn’t believe in God. He had never shown Himself to me, and He refused to answer when I demanded answers from Him. I explored different religions, searching for the thing that would give the passion in my heart purpose. I tried to be a perfect Christian and follow all the rules, but I ended up learning only how to be self righteous and not feeling any closer to God. I practiced witchcraft, in pursuit of power over my own life. I pursued buddhism in pursuit of peace and self growth. I tried and researched numerous other belief systems, religions, and schools of thought in an attempt to find answers, and fill the space in my soul that ached for something more. Finally, when my search did not provide what my heart was aching for, nor meet my preconceived criteria of what the answers should be, I decided to push the idea of a creator out of my life and focus on myself.
At 26, I started to become curious about God again. I couldn’t continue to ignore my questions about life, but I still didn’t want anything to do with the “Christian God’. Shortly after, my mother was diagnosed with Lung cancer. I quit my job, and temporarily left my fiancé to travel home and take care of her for the last few months she had. On the way there, I promised myself that I would not become a cliché by praying to God for help.
I quickly noticed however, that she stopped talking about Jesus, listening to her worship music, going to church, and reading her Bible. She wasn’t full of the strength, peace, and life I had seen in her the last 10 years. My worry grew as these things began to fade from her life; This was not like her, and it meant to me that she was giving up. I remembered how her faith in this Jesus had taken her addiction away, as if she had never touched alcohol or drugs. So I decided if she was going to fight, she needed more ‘faith’ (no matter how ridiculous I thought it was). I began to play worship music around the clock, rent Christian movies, and even began to read some Bible verses as “research” into my plan. The whole time I thought I was helping to strengthen my mother, I didn’t realize God was actually breaking down the walls in my heart and giving me faith.
One afternoon, about one month after diagnosis, I was making lunch and didn’t realize my mother had fallen on her face and could not get up. I found her and in a panic bent her backwards to pick her up. Then, practically suffocated her trying to get her back onto the bed. I was so shaken from the ordeal, and it was the first time I realized both the seriousness of our situation, and how little control I had over it. I broke down in the bathroom that night, and I confessed to myself that I had no idea what I was doing, and I could not do it alone any longer. I still refused to turn to Jesus, however. I figured I would just do more research, I had no choice but to do better.
The next day my mother had a panic attack in the car outside the hospital before her chemo. I became overly aware in the moment that she was too frail and this panic attack was going to kill her. She was going to have heart failure and I could do nothing about it. I didn’t have a number to call, or enough time to run into the hospital to get anyone to help. I didn’t want her to die alone, so I stayed, and was terrified as I knew I was going to watch her die. With no options, and seemingly no hope, I no longer cared about my refusal to agree with the answers God wanted to give to life’s difficult questions, I just needed him to be real. If there was the slightest chance that my mom was right, and Jesus was real, then I needed Him, WE needed Him. At that moment, I remembered all the times my mother had forced me to pray in her groups, and despite how ridiculous and fake I always thought praying out loud was, I said “Mom, I feel like we need to pray.”
I took her hands and didn’t know what to say.. I just cried out to God in my heart, and then out loud, to be there. “WE NEED YOU GOD. BE HERE. PLEASE BE WITH US.” Then, I felt His presence! At once I knew it was God. No one had to tell me; Every fiber in my being knew I was meeting my creator. I could not believe how much I loved Him in those few seconds, and I wanted more of Him. So I became passionate about pursuing a relationship with Jesus.
My mother’s panic attack subsided that day, and we had a few weeks where she seemed to gain more strength and peace. I remember listening to a song called The Glorious Unfolding by Steven Curtis Chapman with her in the car one afternoon shortly after her panic attack. She cranked the volume up and declared the lyrics with so much fervor. In the middle of the song, she shouted over the music and said, “THIS SONG IS FOR ME, and at that moment I knew her faith had never left, and that she truly was not angry about her situation. It rocked me to think about what that meant: A glorious unfolding.
A few weeks later, my mother’s time on Earth came to an end, and she went away to be with our Heavenly Father, her creator, her deliverer, her love, for eternity. In the experience of her sickness and death God revealed 3 things to me. The first, is how faithful He is: Answering my mother’s prayer of 10 years for my salvation. The second is how perfect His plan is: He knew after witnessing His miracle for my mother, I would turn to Him despite my pride when I needed another one. Finally, the third thing he taught me is how good He truly is: I am not tormented by images of how sick my mother was, but instead I am reminded of my encounter with Him. Where He was in it, and how He met both my mother and myself where we were at. He transformed our hearts, each uniquely, and seemingly impossibly, but He did it! He is the heavenly father who never gives up. He is mighty to save, and his heart is longing for all of us to know Him!
When I returned to my life in New York, I realized I did not know one person who loved Jesus. I also realized that this decision to follow Christ would change my entire life, but I needed to tell people of this change. This made me nervous, because I had been very vocal about what I thought of Christianity for a very long time, and I knew this meant I would have to admit to everyone I was wrong. Though I had encountered the Lord, I still hated churches, and dreaded the label Christian. I had experienced too many hateful, judgmental, hypocritical, fake Christians. I wanted to stay in my bubble with Jesus, but I knew I had to tell my non-believing fiancé and friends that my life had been forever changed. I also had to figure out what I was going to do with my life now that I knew I would not be returning to my previous job.
I was grieving my mother, unemployed, deeply depressed, and confused about my future. Though I had people in my life that loved me, I still felt alone. I didn’t want to find a church, but I wanted to know the Lord more, and his answer was to find a church. I ignored that answer for months and prayed for another way to know him better. Finally I caved, and began looking for a church community. It took months of searching.
My search method was not working. I was not sure what to look for, and I was a Christian who hated Christians, looking for a church. I only knew that I wanted more of what I felt when I was in the presence of the Lord, and I could not seem to find that. I wanted to give up, but then I overheard some people talking about a church that they attended, and the name Hillsong sounded familiar. I remembered that some of the music my mother listened to was by them, and I decided that I had to visit, for her.
I walked into the church foyer, waiting to walk up 6 flights of stairs to get to the main hall. I expected to hear conversations filled with gossip or trivial things, but instead I heard people encouraging each other. They seemed genuinely excited to be at church, and every single one of the volunteers that greeted me seemed sincerely happy that I was there. I felt immediately welcomed. It was weird, but I felt excitement stirring in my own heart. As we walked up the 6 flights of stairs, I bonded with the strangers around me over the hilarity of this workout. When I finally got to the seating area, I was surprised to find out that the only seats left were another floor up in the balcony. I heard the music blaring first, and then I walked in and looked around. What I saw struck my heart immediately. I saw what had to be 1000 people with their hands lifted in praise to Jesus. People were actually earnestly, excitedly, singing to God and didn’t care who was listening. I began to bawl like a baby! I hadn’t had the words before, but seeing it, I understood that these people were REJOICING in the Lord! Just what my heart had been desiring to do. I wasn’t alone, and immediately I knew I had a family here. I signed up to be baptized, joined a connect group, and began volunteering immediately. I have thanked God frequently that he continued to strongly encourage me to find community until I listened.
The Lord has continued to reveal himself and work in me these last 3.5 years, and the more I get to know Jesus the more voracious I become for more of Him, because there will always be more of Him to know, and more for him to do in and through me. I am filled with wonder and excitement at the knowledge that I will get all of eternity to receive and know the depth of the love my heavenly Father has for me. I am so honored that I get to know Him, love Him, and be a part of His plan.
I still don’t really know the specifics of where my future will lead here on earth. I am turning 30 next month and have only vague ideas of what my “career” will be. I am daily humbled by my imperfect ability to love my husband or be an invested friend. The struggle between timidity and courage to be the unique creation God has made me to be wage back and forth in my heart more often than I would like to admit. The constant temptation to idolize perfection, comfort, money, a position, a person, anything other than God is real. But I have felt eternity in my heart, I have witnessed God’s glory and I will never be the same again. My prayer is that I will never be satisfied with only what I have of Jesus now. He is the God who created heaven and earth, and He wants to be with US.
Lord, you are more wonderful than I can bear at this moment, and yet I know you are SO much more wonderful. Thank you thank you thank you that you have given me the choice to follow you, as you unravel your beauty in this brokenness. Thank you for each moment you have given me with you. You are changing this world one heart at a time, and in Jesus name I pray your will in every single one! Hallelujah! Amen! Jesus!
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This post is a little different than others. Thank you for taking the time to read my testimony. I would normally have questions for further consideration or discussion, but today, I would just like to remind you that whether your story is action packed or very simple, each salvation story is a special gift. It is a memory that we have with the Lord. Each testimony is unique, and each one has the power to encourage not only ourselves, but others! I would love to hear about your salvation story and testimony, please share below or message me privately if you feel led.
Rejoicing always for my salvation and yours,
Amber