The Testimony

The Testimony

In the beginning they called me Little Janie. I have four brothers and three sisters. I am named after my mother and grandmother. I have few memories of my father though I am certain he was around in the earliest of years. The authority within my childhood home was held only by that which sustained us, the welfare system.

I have come away from my experience as a child with the notion that my mother loved my father as much as she hated him. The relationship they had with one another can only be defined as violent and fleeting.

I view my mother as a victim, victimized by my father. but also a victim of the society in which she was raised. I remember her as devoted, selfless and enduring. I also at times perceived her as weak, vulnerable and afraid. She did everything she was taught, putting her children above all of her own needs, continuing to be faithful to her commitment of marriage, even unto death. She held to her strong Catholic beliefs; never once do I recall her blaming God for her circumstances; in this she represented a pillar of strength.

My mother was a woman with many regrets and few answers. I am convinced that she died with out ever fully understanding what she could have done differently. My mother died of neglect with six of her own grown children residing in the same county. I believe that she died of a broken heart. I believe that this death occurred long before that lonely, hopeless day in a stinky, rat infested hole that the state of New York refers to as a half way house.
I am reminded of a quote by Norman Cousins; “Death itself is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss in life is what dies within us as we live”.

I recall vividly a childhood defined by poverty. We never had enough of anything. I have referred to the place in which I spent my earliest years “the slums of New York ”. Perhaps if I really lived in a slum neighborhood, instead of the only slum house on an, other wise upper middle class street, my perception of my predicament would not have been so turned inward, so isolated to my own immediate family.

I was a quite child; keeping to myself. I was sensitive and extremely shy. I remember picking wild flowers and talking to God; back then whispering to God was a lot like most of us would talk to a dear friend. I remember mostly talking to God about my mother’s sadness. I wanted so much to take away my mother’s sorrow. I remember longing to hear the wonderful sounds of her laughter, to bring her happiness, to see her smile.

At the age of eleven I went to live with my sister and her husband and their two toddler children. My mother and two brothers were to shortly follow. We all shared this one bedroom apartment in the Bronx . Before long these conditions became intolerable, late one night my mother put all they owned into garbage bags and walked out the door with my two brothers. I tried to prevent my mother from leaving by refusing to go with her. So at the door to this tiny insignificant place my mother turns to me and says “are you coming?” With every hope I believe she will not leave without me so I replied; “no.” I did not even have a moment to blink when my mother slammed the door in my face.

A part of me died that night, and it was not long before another cold slap of reality ripped through my soul. I was robbed of my innocents; my sister’s husband rapes me....

My oldest sister and her husband and three children lived in California . It was shortly after my rude introduction to reality that I moved from New York City to California .

Not yet twelve and seeking a safe place to stay. I thought to myself that even though my sister's husband drinks a lot, and on occasion becomes violent, things would be OK if I could just stay out of his way. I moved with my sister and her family to Florida shortly after moving in with them.

It was Christmas Eve night when I awoke to find a man’s hands on my breasts. I remember seeing only shadows. The moment I opened my eyes the shadow dropped to the floor and did not move. It was dark, but I could feel that he was there. Inside I was crying “why is this happening to me again? What is wrong with me?” As I spoke out into the darkness my voice carried a different message, ringing with a strength I did not feel, I exclaimed; “I do not care who you are just leave this room and leave me alone”. The shadow scrapped across the floor as it crawled toward the door. The door squeaked open; the faint light cast its glow upon the figure of a naked man as my sister’s husband crawled from the room. I was shaking and crying softly, feeling alone and confused. I whispered to God, or perhaps only to myself; “Is their no safe place?”

The innocent girl I had been, the one that enjoyed picking wild flowers and whispering to God was left in tatters. My insides, my heart, my beliefs, my trust, twisted and yanked and literally changed into something less, something empty. I know longer needed to remember my mother to reflect on the sadness I wanted so desperately as a child to remove from her life. I had some how purchased a bit of my own sadness, a bit of my own sorrow....

I was all of twelve years old when I met Chucke. He was two weeks out of the federal penitentiary and twenty years my senior. He offered me a ride, my name would become Baby Jane for the next five or so years.

Chucke gave me a first hand tour of hell on earth. He took me to Hollywood California and our life together revolved around sex, drugs and money. I have a memory of one of his associates beating a girl with a cat of nine tales until the thin leather strips broke free of the handle. I can still hear the sound of the whip as it made contact with her flesh. I can still hear her cries, pleading not for mercy or for her life, but for the love she some how thought in her twisted mind, she could receive from this animal they called Jimmy mac.

Time seemed like it had run together. I was not able to distinguish one day from the next.
We found our way back to Florida . I had my fourteenth birthday in a bar, and every birthday until I turned twenty- two would be in a bar.

There is something very difficult about knowing the whole world can openly see you for what you are. It was hard to accept that what I was; was unacceptable. Memories of dark smoked filled places plagued my soul, a sea of countless, nameless faces. Faces that the darkness some how only seemed to intensify. Leering, laughing, lusting, mocking, distorted mounds of flesh, that in the light of day some how become normal everyday husbands, lawyers, doctors and deacons.

I can tell you I was almost six months pregnant and never noticed. I can still see the doctor’s face and here his condemnation as he said, there was little they could do until the miscarriage actually took place. I did not fully understand the impact this loss would have on my life, but I do remember it as one of my most ugly moments, I remember turning my face from the reality I loathed and continuing to live as if nothing ever happened.

There was a period of my life in the haze of all this madness that I willfully participated in things that previously were forced upon me. I believe that deep down I was on a quest to destroy myself. I remember being angry at God. I felt robbed, cheated, and violated. I am not sure if these feelings all came at once or if it was with each new endeavor to drown, to run, too hide. I look back now and see that I had become all that I detested; all that I abhorred. I was as much a slave to my own depravity as those lusting, leering men on that night so long ago. I know now that their quest was no different then that of my own. The only difference was what we chose to uselessly throw into that ever aching black hole with in our souls, all in attempts to fill a never ending emptiness with in the depths of our being.

Chucke was actually asked to leave the state of Florida . It was termed a state line parole.
He took his mother’s car and all the money she had saved and we headed for Texas . Chucke began having what is called alcoholic fits; he would go into a seizure several different times a day. The first such seizure attacked as we were walking from one place to another along a busy road in Houston Texas . I remember standing there as a sixteen year old, looking down at this man as he began foaming at the mouth, and turning blue. I felt so helpless. I will never forget the doctor in the emergency room that day. She told me that Chucke would never get better until he hit bottom. I was horrified, I thought if we had not seen bottom it was a place I could not fathom and I said as much. The doctor then said the reason he never hit bottom was because I was always underneath him.

A few months later I found the courage, strength, gumption, common sense, what ever you want to call it and I separated my self from Chucke. He took a bus to Mississippi . He met and married an eighteen year old , had a baby and then drowned in the Mississippi river all with in the same year.

I on the other hand was seventeen feeling like I had survived some horrible tragedy. It was not until years later that I would think to take an inventory to be sure I had all the parts left to function normally.

I was nineteen when my family contacted me in Dallas Texas to inform me of my mother’s death. It was upon the reflection of my mother’s life that I suddenly developed a thirst for knowledge; thus beginning my quest for the truth.
Through a series of events that undeniable trace the hand of God; I found my self reading the bible. My first scripture was in Corinthians; “One may plant and one may water, but only God can make it grow” (loosely translated). I remember thinking that my experience with humanity thus far had been, to say the least, a disappointment. I was relieved that what I just read implied that all of this was in God’s hands.

In the beginning, reading God’s word was a lot like standing on the outside of a beautiful house peeking through a window, watching; fascinated by the lives within. I longed to be in that beautiful house, to come home to such a place, to belong.

The realities of my past, the very memories that plagued my soul, prevented me from ever coming to the place where I could even entertain the possibilities of such a notion.

My thirst for God and my quest for the truth brought me to the Holy Land . I was twenty two years old as I stood on the Mount of Olives ; recalling a time that I stood on Hollywood and Vine. On this day God’s word for me began its transformation from that beautiful house I longed to be inside of, to a loving, merciful God that was heart broken over my absence.

I was baptized in the Jordon River on the way to Galilee . My baptism for me was the first step toward God. It was in my heart of hearts that I saw myself standing at the river’s edge, as the waters of my life raged by. I looked across this chasm that seemingly was beyond human possibilities to cross and with the eyes of my heart saw the Lord inviting me, “drawing me near” whispering my name, urging me to trust.
I am reminded of the following scriptures:
John 6: 44
“No one can come to me unless the father who sent me draws him”.
John 10:27-28
“My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me; and I give unto them eternal life; and they shall never perish, neither shall any man pluck them out of my hand”.

It was a few months after taking that first step toward the Lord; when I discovered the bridge that God had provided for me to get from where I was to an intimate meaningful relationship with Himself.
It was the cross.
“For God was pleased to have all his fullness dwell in him, and through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether things on earth or things in heaven, by making peace through his blood, shed on the cross. Once you were enemies in your minds because of your evil behavior. But now he has reconciled you by Christ’s physical body through death to present you holy in his sight, without blemish and free from accusation—if you continue in your faith, established and firm, not moved from the hope held out in the gospel. Colossians 1: 19-23
“You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly”. “God demonstrated his love for us in this; while we were still sinners, Christ died for us”. Romans 5:6; 8

I was invited to a small country church service. I felt uncomfortable. Inside the feelings of being different from every one else were raging strong. They all looked like such good people they could never understand how God could ever love someone like me. I had seen and touched and breathed such evil, how could a just and merciful God forgive me?
My thoughts rapidly did battle with the gospel being preached I was so convinced I would be rejected I could not publicly go forward.
A man was invited to the pulpit, he shared his testimony. He was a missionary from Africa . He had a story not unlike that of my own. Where he had come from was not near as interesting to me as all that God was doing in his life. I started thinking if God would transform his life then maybe there was hope for me.
Alone, that night in my car, I gave up my broken and crushed spirit, my torn and scarred heart to Jesus. He took all the pieces that were left of me and began the process of making me whole and complete in him.
“If you confess with your mouth, “Jesus is Lord”, and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For it is with your heart that you believe and are justified, and it is with your mouth that you confess and are saved. As the scripture says, “Anyone who trusts in him will never be put to shame”. Romans 10: 9-11
“Therefore if any one is in Christ, he is a new creation; old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new”. 2Corinthians 5; 17
The night I gave my life to Jesus was more then twenty years ago and a lot has happened.
In my first marriage I suffered through infidelity and infertility it was over before it began but it took four years to end.
“The Lord is close to the broken hearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit” Psalm 34:18;
A failed marriage, betrayal, my inability to conceive, truth in my innermost being, even the process of unraveling the mendacity's of my own mind could not keep me from God’s unfailing love.
“No in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord” Romans 8:37

I was blessed to be in a wonderful church and the Lord surrounded me with beautiful Christian people that became the model of a healthy family.
I must mention one dear friend in particular; our relationship to one another is best reflected in the following; taken from a book of poetry she mailed to me soon after my divorce. “She listened with her whole heart, as I had known she would, and then she said softly, when you cry I taste the salt”. This relationship introduced to me the notion of true intimacy. God used this relationship in my life to help me believe in myself, she walked with me to the darkest places inside my soul and afterwards as I looked at her I could only see the love of Jesus reflected back at me. It was this notion of true intimacy that brought me to my husband, Stephen. He has a powerful testimony of his own and of course the story of all God has done in our lives. We were married in June of 98.
I will share briefly from our vows; “From deep within I heard a whisper of certainty, a melody without words. You are the one; it sings to my soul. Your smile alone reaches me in places I’ve never known. My hope is in God, that his love will carry us through. It is my prayer that our love will not only endure, but grow with the many tests of time. My desire will be for you Stephen, my husband, and no higher calling could I find”.
Shortly after our marriage I became a minister’s wife.
“And we know that all things work together for the good of them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose”. Romans 8:28;

In all honesty life continued to hit hard and fast, most of the time from left field some where. We were married only four months when in one night I would learn I had conceived, and I was losing the life that struggled to live with in me. I am sure I do not have to attempt to portray an adequate picture of the torment this moment in my life brought forth. I had been in pain most of the day; cramping, spotting, completely unaware that I was about to face the most challenging physical and spiritual event of my life.

I struggled for years, mostly with guilt, since the miscarriage all those years ago. That event had come and went and for many years it was tucked neatly away. Its pain and regret wrapped securely as one might cover a gift with decorative paper. I stumbled across it going through the many experiences of my life. It was with great fear and trepidation that I allowed myself to think upon that night. The pain my body felt would only be equal to the pain my spirit would feel these many years later. In the seventeen years that would follow that night of unending horror I would never again conceive. Through out these seventeen years I would struggle with feelings of guilt and un-forgiveness and believe the lie, that I was not worthy to carry a life.

Upon learning that only a few months into our marriage I had conceived and was losing the life that struggled to live within me, my spirit was crushed.
Stephen was at my side the whole time, he prayed with me, he cried with me; but it was when he washed my hair that something inside of me broke. God was, loving me through my husband in a way I had never experienced, taking another horrific moment in my life and holding me close.

I am sharing all of this so no one gets the preconceived notion that some how life was easier or perfect; that a life in Christ some how keeps tragedy at a comfortable distance.
“The thief cometh not, but for to steal, and to kill, and to destroy: I am come that they might have life and that they might have it more abundantly” John10:10
“Praise be; to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God. For just as the sufferings of Christ flow over into our lives, so also through Christ our comfort overflows”. 2 Corinthians 1: 3-5

I have shared my heart with all of you today because I want each of you to know how precious God’s thoughts are toward you. I want you to see that God is still a God of miracles, a God of mercy.
“For God did not send his son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him. Who ever believes, in him is not condemned, but whoever does not believe stands condemned already”. John 3: 17-18

My story is not uncommon; we live in a fallen, depraved world. All of us fall short of the glory of God and his righteousness.
John 4: 4-42 is the story about the woman at the well. It speaks of the many Samaritan’s believing in Jesus because of the woman who testified “come and meet the man who told me all I ever did; could this be the Messiah”? But it also says that many more believed because of; His own word. They said; “For we have heard Him ourselves and know that indeed he is the Christ, the savior of the world” I tell you my story for the same reason the woman at the well told hers; so that you might believe, so that you might see and hear for yourselves.......