Today's sermon was about challenging us to share our "Jesus Story "with someone, to reach out and find the common ground we share and build on that. Reaching someone else with what you have been through is one way to connect. I know that Pastor probably had in mind doing this
in person but I was impressed upon to start here. Here it goes.....
" I was born in a small town..." Nah, just teasing you! I won't go back that far! I will tell you though, that I was raised as a Baptist with parents who didn't take us to church much. I don't remember praying much as a kid except when we were at my Grandparent's house. These two loving saints went to church each week, gave both time and money, loved God with all their heart, and prayed before every meal. I'm telling you this not to put down my parents, but just to tell you that my story begins with knowing
about Jesus, but not really
knowing Jesus.
I went to church on an off with my friends, with my grandparents, and when I started dating, I went to whatever church (if any) my boyfriend went to. I dated one guy for a couple of years when I was in high school who went to a Baptist church where I absolutely fell in love with the people there. They became my extended family. He was great too, but what I remember most about that time was a genuine acceptance and love from that small congregation. I also remember thinking that if I could learn all the words to "Amazing Grace" then I would have it made. All the old churches sang that song and I wanted to know it by heart and not have to use the hymnal. That's what would make me spiritual!
Well the boyfriend came and went, but I did meet my first husband there. Yes, I said first. We got married by the pastor of that little country church surrounded by our family and friends. We kept going to that church as a couple. But the truth was, while I had been "saved" as a young teen, I had no idea that I was supposed to keep growing in the Lord. I tried to copy the behavior that I'd seen in the older women...I wanted to be a good wife and mother. But how to do that in a Godly way, well I had no idea. We'd wanted a baby, but I couldn't get pregnant. We'd wanted a bigger house, but we couldn't afford it. We wanted it all, but we just didn't want to wait and work for it. I was far too young to have gotten married ( I know that now) and it was evident that this marriage was not what it was supposed to be. I didn't know how to fix it or who to really turn to. When I did try to talk to some of my church family, I don't think they really knew what to do either. Looking back, I don't blame them at all. They just weren't equipped. But at the time, I was so hurt. It was then that I just turned in the opposite way.
When I say opposite way, I mean COMPLETELY opposite. There isn't enough time in the world to tell you all the things I've done. Drinking, smoking, staying out all night, partying.....been there, done that. One night I met a guy who I would spend the next six years of my life with. I loved him with my whole heart. His lifestyle was one of parties and fun and it became my life too. I can't blame him for it either; I jumped in with both feet and was on the ride of the lifetime. I wanted to do whatever it took to make him happy, but it turns out that making him happy took me down a dark road. He always wanted to try new things, push the envelope, go just a bit farther than the last time. At first that was fun, it was a thrill. I got to be naughty and I loved it. It was so exciting...and to see him enamored with me because I was willing, it was such a high.
But you can only go so far before that voice who has been whispering in your ear all this time begins yelling. That voice in your ear has been trying to keep you out of harm's way. That voice was warning you that things were going too far, too fast. It ended up with me nursing a broken heart. He had cheated on me and my world was rocked. My friends were his friends. I was left not knowing what to do in the regular world. Who do you party with when the party is over?
So I tried to reenact the party scene with others. I tried fitting in my old lifestyle into a new situation. Not so great... I felt out of place all the time. That voice that had been whispering in my ear, urging me to head back to church, was getting louder. I gave in and visited a Methodist church near my home. The folks there were kind. I didn't attend long, but long enough to get my feet planted back on a firmer foundation. I had a foothold and was starting to pull my way upward.
Around this same time, I was introduced to a man that would become my second husband. We were introduced at a time where I was lonely. I missed the company of a having a man in my life. I missed the excitement of dating someone new. I missed being romanced. He came into my life and stepped right in to the void I was feeling. He held my hand, he brought me flowers, he did the "manly" jobs that needed doing in a single-woman's house. He stole my heart.
The funny thing about our relationship is that it was rocky from the beginning. We would go out to a club on Friday night and drink ourselves silly, then be in church on Sunday morning. We were on this tightrope...balancing but never completely settled in one world or another. We visited many churches, trying to find the one that spoke to both of us. We found the one. A large church in his home town, a town in which I also worked and had friends. This church was incredible. I saw things I'd never seen before. This was a Church of God. I'd never witnessed people speaking in tongues or being so caught up in the Spirit that they were layed out at the altar. It was amazing to watch, but I was skeptical of it. But gradually as I got to know the people there, I realized that this was for real. These people
believed in Jesus. They knew He could heal. They knew He could comfort. They knew He could change lives. They knew it because it happened to them. And it happened to me. I found exactly what I'd been searching for all this time. I found the real thing.
The hard part for me was life at home. For me, it had been like flipping a switch. There was no more drinking, no more desire to party, no more of that other life. I wanted to go to Bible study, I wanted to serve others, I wanted to be in that church and around those people and I wanted MORE of Jesus. My husband struggled with it. He went with me but his heart wasn't there yet. So on top of a very stormy marriage, things just got worse. He drank, he got mean, he scared me. Things were bad. Things got so bad that it came to the point where he promised to go to AA meetings in order to get me to stay. I stayed, but I felt like I was holding my breath the whole time, just waiting for the bad things to catch up with us. Little did I know that it wasn't really the drinking at the heart of the problem.
We had a lot of bad, A LOT of bad, but we also had some good. I had faced a form of cancer in my early 20's and had been told I might not be able to carry a baby. But I turned to those prayer warriors in my sweet church. These women could pray in (or out) just about anything. It was like they had God on speed dial! I was ecstatic when I found out I was pregnant! I know God makes the final decision, but I still believe that it was those women praying on my behalf that gave me my beautiful son.
I had a hard pregnancy. I was at the doctor just about every week with spotting or cramping of some sort. My legs swelled up so badly that my ankles were the size of my thighs by the end of the day, and that was just in my second trimester. At 27 weeks, my water broke. I was terrified that I was losing my baby. This precious gift was slipping away from me and there was nothing I could do but pray. I was admitted into the hospital and was given a myriad of medications to stop contractions and to help my baby's lungs mature quickly. When you are supposed to carry a baby to term at 40 weeks, 27 weeks is a long way away. I was put on bed rest and told to wait. I couldn't go home because I was continually leaking amniotic fluid. I was monitored for any sign of fever, for fear that infection would set in. There was nothing to do but lay there and wait....and pray some more.
At 29 weeks, my contractions began again and couldn't be stopped. I delivered a very tiny bundle of joy weighing only 2 1/2 pounds. He immediately went to the NICU where he spent the next 3 weeks of his life. He had to learn to breathe on his own, how to regulate his own body temperature, how to just survive. I didn't even get to hold him until he was a week old. But he began making progress. He got stronger, grew a little and even smiled at us. Then one day we were at the hospital when all hell broke loose. One minute we were changing his diaper and the next he was fighting for his life.
Turns out, that diaper was full of blood. The nurses and doctors immediately began running tests on him. In the matter of a few hours, he began going downhill. He went from breathing on his own to being on full life support. The NICU there was not equipped to deal with his infection so the decision was made to move him to Tennessee by helicopter. To remind you a bit of where I had come from, it was not common for folks to pray out loud. My small town Baptist roots had made me shy when it came to that. I was just learning to put my hands on someone as I prayed for them. But let me tell you, something got a hold on me that day. I became a different woman as I looked at my son. I remember calling our family and telling them that the doctors had told us to say goodbye to him because he might not make the trip to the new hospital. Our family was allowed in to surround his incubator...something that was against the NICU rules. I remember praying for him and putting my hands through the holes in the incubator as I did so. I laid a hand on that sweet boy's leg and starting to pray....I honestly don't remember much of the details after that. I know that I got louder and more bold in my prayers. I know that I rebuked the devil and claimed that baby for Jesus Christ. I know I prayed the blood of Jesus over him. And I know that the room started to clear out. I know that when I finally looked up, I had no more tears to cry. Almost everyone was gone and the nurses were red-eyed themselves. They had backed away from me and that incubator and were just watching. I remember that it was time for him to be loaded onto the stretcher for the flight to Tennessee, one that I couldn't join. I know that the nurses cried for him and hugged me tight. But I know I had profound peace.
Our baby made it through the night and the ones following. The next 5 weeks were spent in the Ronald McDonald house across the street from TC Thompson Children's Hospital. My sweet boy began making progress almost immediately. He was off the ventilator in a matter of days. Though he had some hard times there, it was nothing compared to the night he was transported. God Almighty had saved his life.
Coming home was surreal. We had a preemie who required a heart/breathing monitor at all times. He had crazy amounts of medicine that had to be given to him at exact times. He was considered medically fragile and the fear of germs settled over our house. We came home to an incredibly blessed, yet stressful life. I am the first to admit that we were low on sleep and patience, but things in our marital relationship went from bad to worse. I'd long ago realized that my husband was not only and alcoholic but had other issues. I personally believe that he had some sort of chemical imbalance but he wouldn't seek help. He wouldn't go to counseling or treatment. I couldn't judge his moods. What made him happy one day made him angry the next. I began to fear for my life....and even worse, the life of my baby I had fought so hard for.
I made the painful decision to separate from my husband when my son was only four months old. If life in the same house had been bad, living apart and not having any way to judge his moods was even worse. I lived in a constant state of fear. I would juggle my days between work, home and my parent's house. They provided a much sought after haven of rest for me and my tiny bundle. We eventually moved in full time with them.
As grateful as I am for their love and protection, the fact was that my parents were getting older. The stress of this situation was evident on their faces. The couldn't handle this in the way they might have been able to in year's past. I felt I was putting everyone under so much pressure. My parents reminded me that they were behind me and that we were sticking together, no matter what. I can't even being to express the gratitude I feel for sacrificing their own plans to make life bearable for me. On top of it all, my mother took care of my son while I went back to work. They have a special place in Heaven for all they have scarified here on earth for us.
In the past five years, there has been many times of fear and heartache. My ex husband is a very unstable man and has inflicted much pain, physical and mental, upon my family. My son has endured visits with him in which he has experienced things that no child should ever have to. (I'll tell you that part some other time...after all, it is more his story than mine. )The last five years have been the hardest years of my entire life but I can honestly say that God has been with me through it all. I've doubted Him, I've been angry with Him, I've even told Him that I hate Him. But He has been there with me. He has walked with me...sometimes leading me, sometimes following, sometimes pushing me while I was kicking and screaming.....but He has been there for me every step of the way.
When you talk to me on a day to day basis, you probably don't know any of this about me. I'm known to laugh too loud, talk too much and be sarcastic lots of the time. I'm probably making bad jokes, sassing someone in fun or trying my best to find my way around technology. But my Jesus story is there with me all the time. Bubbling just underneath the surface is what I'm longing to tell you. My God has moved mountains and created miracles. I've watched Him breathe life back into a dying baby. I've seen Him take a life that was headed to the pit of hell and bring it back to serve as a testimony for His love. I've lived the resurrection only Jesus can bring...physically and spiritually. If He can do it for me, He can do it for you. He can do it for anyone. Just ask me and I'll tell you all about this Jesus that I have come to love so dearly.
