What follows is a transparent faith story. This story is real. I know that because it was personally shared with me by the one who lived it. I’ve been blessed to play a role in her faith and ministry. But until she laid her story out, I had no idea about the twists and turns in her faith journey had taken.
I was given permission to share her journey. But since my sharing is very public, I assured her that my sharing would leave her anonymous. So, here we go. And I’ll have some things to share at the end!
Her Faith Story
I’ve always heard that God wants us to use our testimony to bring others to Christ. I say that, teach that and I encourage others to do it.
But if I’m honest, I’ve mostly shared the highlight reel — the polished version. I’ve shared the I gave my life to Christ moments. My shared story was the victories; the redemptive parts. But I’ve often left out the messy pieces… the parts that feel raw and exposing.
For years I thought not looking back meant I was healed. In reality, running had just become my coping mechanism. But over the past year, God has been convicting me and gently breaking down the walls around the parts of my story I’ve been ashamed of. And recently, the Church youth group I’m privileged to lead has given me the courage to be obedient and finally share the whole faith story.
My Beginning
Long before I understood what trauma was, it was shaping me. I don’t remember much of my childhood. Most of it comes back in fragments. But the memories I do have are the painful ones.
At a very young age, I was exposed to addiction, domestic violence, and chaos. My parents divorced before I started first grade. I remember the abuse my mom endured — and even getting hit once when I got in the way. One moment stands out as vivid and memorable. My brother, a third grader, told my mom he would never treat his future wife the way our dad treated her. Something shifted in her that day, and not long after, we left.
We moved into a tiny one-bedroom trailer. My twin sister and I shared the top bunk, our brother slept on the bottom bunk. And my mom slept on the couch. It was cramped, but it was peaceful. Looking back now, I see the courage it took for her to leave.
Trauma and Searching
Later my mom remarried. At first things seemed better, but abuse eventually entered our home again. The details aren’t necessary, so I’ll just say the boundaries that should have protected me weren’t there. Trust was broken, and my innocence was all but lost far too early.
During summers, my mom signed us up for every VBS she could find. Not because she was chasing Jesus, but because it was free childcare. But God used it anyway. And Gospel seeds were planted.
Later, a church van started picking up kids in our trailer park. I tried to laugh that place off as The Trailer Hood. BUT, more Gospel seeds were planted. God was pursuing me long before I ever pursued Him.
By middle school I finally realized what had happened to me was wrong. But by then, my shame, fear, and confusion had already taken root in my identity. I began searching for comfort anywhere I could find it — friends, sports, boys, anything to fill the emptiness.
When I finally told my mom what had been happening at home with my stepdad, I thought she would protect me. I thought she would act, stand up for me, and make sure it stopped. Instead, my pain was dismissed. There were words I really needed to hear. Things like:
- What you experienced was wrong.
- I believe you.
- You will be safe now.
Those are not the words I heard. In that moment, I felt alone. The one person I thought would protect me didn’t. I felt anger and betrayal. And I began to build walls between us, holding resentment that would carry through much of my teenage years.
Faith Story – Carrying The Hurt
That dismissal didn’t just hurt me in the moment, it shaped how I sought safety, love, and validation for years to come. I acted out, I sought comfort in people and things, and I carried shame I didn’t know how to release it all move on to better things.
Protection
Around my eighth grade year, my mom divorced my stepdad. I don’t know if it was guilt or her own trauma, but the damage had already been done. The marriage ended. But the wounds didn’t.
Looking back now, I don’t think she truly understood everything that had happened. I don’t believe she dismissed my pain because she didn’t care. I think she was carrying wounds of her own. You see, my mom had grown up in a cycle of trauma she never chose.
Today, I choose forgiveness not just because Christ forgave me, but because now I can see that my mom was surviving the only way she knew how. That doesn’t erase the hurt, but it does redeem it.
There were very few boundaries in my home. Boyfriends were allowed to stay the night. Rules were relaxed in ways they shouldn’t have been for a young girl. What I now understand as protection and guidance simply wasn’t there.
All of this blurred my understanding of what was normal. Even at church, the one place that should have felt like a sanctuary, I still carried that brokenness.
Hurt Bears Fruit
The most toxic relationship of my life began not long before my Freshman year of high school. This relationship would last nearly ten years. It was with the youth pastor’s son. And somehow, I convinced myself that because of that, God must be in it. If he came from a Christian home, if his dad preached on Sundays, then this relationship had to be blessed… right?
But I had confused proximity to God with the presence of God. I mistook a title for transformation. I mistook church language for Christlikeness. And I clung to the relationship because it felt familiar, intense, unstable, and just enough spirituality to quiet my doubts.
It was also around this same time that I thought I had given my life to Christ. It was at an event called The Judgement House. And I later walked the aisle at a revival service to celebrate that moment. But no one at my small country church discipled me. And If I’m honest, at the time, I was seeking relief — not surrender.
In the midst of trying to feel wanted and secure, I kept returning to the same on-again-off-again relationship — the one that felt familiar, even when it wasn’t healthy. Then at nineteen, in the middle of that chaos, I became pregnant with my son, Charles.
His father chose to walk away, and suddenly I was a single mom. I was in college full time, working and trying to raise a newborn on my own. It was overwhelming and terrifying to say the least.
Eventually I swallowed my pride, and asked my mom for help, and surprisingly, she showed up. That season began healing something in our relationship that had been broken for years. Even then, I can see that God was quietly carrying me through those days long before I fully acknowledged Him.
Loss and Broken Cycles
But I still hadn’t learned to surrender my life to God.
One summer in the 2,000’s – as a college graduate – I finally got the strength and courage to leave Charles’ biological dad for good. And I told myself this would be a new chance to start fresh for me and my son. However this would be short lived…
If I’m honest, I didn’t know how to be alone. And without Jesus at the center of my life, I kept making choices that brought more pain than peace.
I had spent so many years tying my worth to whether someone chose me, that being alone felt unbearable. So instead of healing, I jumped from one relationship to another. All were short-lived, emotionally driven and marked by my desperate search for security.
I kept looking for security in relationships instead of in Him. That eventually led me into a marriage that I believed would fix the pain I was carrying. Instead, my life continued to unravel even further.
The relationship was with a previous boyfriend from high school. At this point, he was in the Air Force. I told myself that because he was kind, supportive and steady that was all that mattered. I thought love and good intentions would be enough.
Lean Not On Your Own Understanding
But not long after I started this new relationship, I became pregnant. And at 18 weeks, without any explanation, I miscarried. We both grieved very differently and it wasn’t a subject we often discussed. A few months later, he deployed.
During that season, I felt an overwhelming need to fill the emptiness. While he was deployed an opportunity came along to foster two little girls (sisters), I said, Yes, immediately! Loving them felt healing and redemptive. It felt like purpose in the middle of loss. And I poured my whole self into them.
But while on his second deployment, our marriage continued unraveling. Communication broke down. The emotional distance grew wider. He had decided somewhere along the way he was done and had already entered into another relationship and chose not to return home. This reality was what I would discover later. And it was another devastating blow.
And as I was trying to process the shock of my husband walking away, another reality crashed in at the same time. This was just two weeks before we were scheduled to sign adoption paperwork for the girls. So I was left with the task of informing the agency that my marriage had ended. And as a single parent with limited income, I no longer qualified to adopt.
And just like that, two weeks later, without warning, the agency showed up and took the girls. I had no time to prepare, no chance to say: Goodbye. And the loss hit me like a tidal wave. In a short span of time, I had lost a baby, a marriage, and two little girls I loved as my own.
And the hardest truth I had to face: I wasn’t just a victim of circumstances. I had been repeating a cycle — trying to build security through relationships instead of surrendering my life to God.
When God Met Me
I spiraled quietly, seeking security in other guys. I drank socially. But I kept it hidden. I showed up to work and always had a smile. But on the inside, I was drowning. Have decided it was time for a fresh start, I applied for jobs in surrounding counties. Eventually this would lead me to XYZ Elementary.
But even as I was building a new life professionally, my personal life was still following old patterns.
Earlier that spring, one of the men I had dated casually during that chaotic season, someone I had gone back to more than once, had reappeared in my life and happened to live nearby. It was mothing serious or stable. It was just a distraction.
But about six months after stepping into that relationship more seriously, he was deployed with the military. And what I thought would feel isolating in a new place became space; space I hadn’t had in years.
Fast forward…a few months later. A coworker invited me to church. That’s how I walked into My Church in My City. I didn’t know it then, but my faith story was being woven by unseen hands. God really can work all things together (even the mistakes!) for our good – Romans 8:28.
My first Sunday I almost didn’t come back. I felt small and invisible. Looking back now, I don’t think that was because the church wasn’t welcoming, I think I felt invisible because of the shame and insecurity I was carrying. When you’ve spent years believing you are unworthy, it’s easy to assume you don’t belong anywhere.
Step By Step
But the second Sunday someone noticed me. His name was Pastor Bill. In the most grandfatherly, persistent way, he greeted me. He then walked me to a class and made sure I didn’t sit alone.
I didn’t realize it then, but that small moment would change my life. Bill and his wife Cindy began investing in me. They taught me, prayed for me, and lovingly pointed out the sin I was living in. And of course, I resisted at first. But I eventually surrendered. I moved out of the relationship I had been clinging to and began truly pursuing God.
Then one Fall morning in 2014, while reading about the Proverbs 31 woman, I broke. I wanted to be that woman. I remembered feeling too damaged. But right there in my bedroom, Jesus met me. There was no altar and no crowd. There was only surrender.
That was the first time I truly understood I had been emotionally attached to church, but not spiritually surrendered to Christ.
Conclusion
Surrendering to Jesus was immediate. But healing hasn’t been instant. I still struggle with trust. Anxiety rooted in trauma still tries to steal my peace. I’ve had good seasons and hard seasons.
Some of my battles haven’t just been emotional; they’ve been spiritual. And Paul is honest about the internal fight we all face. A verse I cling to is Romans 7:15 –
For I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do.
That verse makes me feel seen. Healing isn’t a straight line. Old patterns resurface. Fear still sneaks in. But I have to choose differently, and do it every day. I’m also reminded of Philippians 1:6 –
He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.
Struggle doesn’t mean I’m failing. It means I’m fighting.
For years I knew how to do church. But knowing about God and surrendering to Him are not the same thing. Church attendance is not surrender and emotional moments are not salvation. But this is also true:
Broken beginnings do not disqualify you from a redeemed future.
I can share my faith story today not because I got it right…but because I finally let Him into every part of my life. And the same God who carried me then is the One carrying me now. From here on, it just gets better because He is not finished with me.
A Faith Story Shared
[Keith: Below are her final remarks to her own church congregation as she personally shared this faith story. It is slightly edited for anonymity.]
And that brings me here today. You see when I made that decision in 2014. I felt too much shame to walk the aisle in a big church I had just started attending. And I didn’t understand the importance of a public declaration of my faith. But a few years later, I did.
And when I had decided to share my faith and my journey, the person who was so monumental in helping me be where I am today wasn’t able to be part of it. During Covid the country was shut down. We were on the hunt for a new pastor and youth pastor. It was at the time that Pastor Bill learned he had very limited time left with us.
When he passed, that loss made time stand still. And until recently, I won’t lie, writing this all down and sharing it slipped out of a priority position. But God has used the very ones He called me to minister to as the ones who have pushed me, and encouraged me, to finish writing out my testimony.
So I began thinking. I feel the most peace and least anxious when I’m in that country with an EquipUs MIssion team. So, I called Keith and told him my story. I also told him I would like him to be the one to facilitate my very public declaration of faith in Jesus. Why? Keith introduced me to this place and has also played such a big part in helping me grow in my faith.
So, today I’m sharing with you – my family of faith – the video we made on our last mission. You’ll be seeing, and participating in, my baptism!
Soli Deo Gloria!
VERY IMPORTANT P.S. – That’s her story. And trust me when I say, I had no idea about her journey to faith. It has been my blessing to share life and mission with my sister in Christ. And we most often meet people where they are and we might never know much of their past.
ONE thing this story brings to mind is how helpful our faith stories to others – if we share them. There’s a lot of pretending when we are at church. We don’t mean to. But that’s what happens when we only show or share the successes of faith while covering up the challenges, temptations and failures. What a difference it would make in our churches if we were all as transpartent as my friend.
To that end… What is your story? Have you taken the time to write it down as my friend did? Will you share it? Maybe this platform is too public for you right now. But share you story with those close to you – be transparent. And if you want to follow this example, I would count it a privilege to share your faith story publically. It can be told as this one has been. As the old T.V. line used to say: The names and places have been changed to… You know how it goes. I’d love to hear from you and you never know who your faith story will bless!
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