My Testimony (Part 1)

I’ve been contemplating this post for quite some time.  I’m not sure why I hesitate to “post” every time I start writing it.  Perhaps it’s my fear of being judged by others who will know my imperfections.  It’s never easy sharing one’s “dirty laundry” with the world…unless, of course, you are on F@cebook...Ha!  Even then, it’s not something I choose to do.  So, put up with with me while I muster up the courage to write this post.

 

Anyone out there have a testimony?  I do, and it goes beyond my infertility woes although that later became a HUGE part of it.  I’m walking, talking proof that God can take a big ol’ mess and turn it into a testimony.  I aspire to be proof that in the heartache you feel whatever your circumstances may be that you can encourage someone else and use that heartache for the greater good.  I don’t know why He loved me enough to save me time and time again from tragedy?  I don’t know why He finally answered my prayers to have children.  I can’t wrap my head around the love He has for me when I deserve none of His time and attention.  After all, that is what He was getting from me: none of my time or attention.  I’ve only shared this story twice before.  Can you tell I’m babbling?

 

The first time I gave my testimony was to the youth at our church several years ago—who I desperately wanted to speak to.  I wanted God to use me and my life to prevent those kids from repeating some of the mistakes that I did.  I can recall standing at the podium and my voice was shaking (as it often does when I am nervous).  Thankfully, I had typed out my testimony so I was able to just stand up and read it to the youth who were staring at me.  I’m not sure they “got” what I was trying to say to them; maybe they did, maybe that didn’t.  Kyle was sitting in the audience and I was mostly nervous of what he would think of me.  These specific parts of my past life which I was disclosing (to what felt like the world) even he hadn’t heard me speak of.

 

The second time I gave my testimony it was over email.  I went out on a limb and sent it to a young girl who was traveling down the same road as I had once walked.  A hard, curvy, breaking road—and I wanted to save her from making the same potential mistakes I had made, to spare her any heartache she would later cast on her family or self.  I’m not sure it was very effective either.  And I have no idea, even now, if posting it here on the web will truly matter. 

 

 So here goes…

 

My life was virtually perfect…until I went to high school.  At that time I felt as though I had been swallowed up.  I was invisible.  Like many other kids my age, I felt inadequate.  I was extremely skinny and often teased for my “lack” of development elsewhere.  I can recall people calling me names like “Skinny Minnie” and “Stringbean.”  Those seem harmless, right?  Those were the names which began my bouts with depression and low self esteem. 

 

The first boy who noticed me turned my life completely upside down.  My parents didn’t support my relationship which only made me more rebellious.  (Is anyone else out there who think they knew more than their parents at 16?!?)  He often told me how much he loved me which made me feel special.  But he also told me how much my parents must NOT love me because they wouldn’t allow us to be together…eventually, I believed him.  My parents couldn’t possibly love me…

 

More to come.