I cannot really say that my relationship with Jesus happened in just one day. For me it was a lifelong story. However, in order to save time and space I will be brief and try not to use so much detail. I have memories of God trying to reach me all throughout my childhood. The household I was raised in was very dysfunctional. My father was an alcoholic and very abusive. My mother worked a lot of extra jobs and overtime to try and keep up with the bills and keep up with my father’s very expensive addiction. In 1990, my parents got horrible word that my Aunt had been murdered by her husband, who then proceeded to kill himself. This event would impact us the rest of our lives especially when my dad made abusive threats at us or my mother in later years, we would take him very seriously. By the time I was 13 years old I became obsessed with death and suicide, and no more than a year later I entered high school was very emotionally unstable. I was already believing so many lies about who I was. I began to listen to music that talked about horrific, inhumane things. I thought that every problem was my fault and I was good for nothing. I thought that everything bad that ever happened to me had happened because I deserved it. One time, it went further than thoughts. I remember that I was staring at myself in the mirror with resentment. Tears were streaming down the sides of my face. The thing that came to my mind in the next instant was something that I did not see on TV. It was not something that friends introduced me to. It was an idea that manifested in my mind from what seemed to be out of nowhere. I found myself rummaging around in the mirror cabinet, and found one of my father’s disposable razors. As I held it to my wrist, my hands, arms and my whole body responded by trembling. I did not want to live anymore because I just couldn’t find purpose for it. Even if I could find purpose to live at the time, I didn’t think I deserved to. That day I started a bad habit that I wouldn’t be free from for years. This new addiction of mine was a twisted bondage in so many ways: physically, mentally, and emotionally.
Later that year, one of my friends from school invited me to an Evangelistic service at their church. I was excited at the thought of getting out of my house, so I went. I felt something that night that I had never felt before, like a divine presence of love. I said the sinner’s prayer (asking Jesus to forgive my sins) and went up for the altar call that night. I wish I could say that everything changed right there, but it didn’t. I continued on this journey between my new life with Christ but holding on to the horrible addictions that kept me going before that night. In fact, things began to get worse. Shortly thereafter I was introduced to smoking cigarettes and marijuana. I even tried drinking, and I was willing to give myself to just about anything that would offer any kind of temporary satisfaction, even if it meant ruining my life.
After three years of ups and downs on this emotional roller coaster, my parents decided that it would be a good time to move us to another state. It was a devastating time for me, as when we moved, I lost all of my friends. I lost any identity that I thought that I had. It was a huge culture shock for me, and my new school was monstrously big in comparison to the one that I was used to! Home life grew worse and worse, and I began to lock myself in my bedroom for hours, hating everything. My addiction to cutting and self injury only got stronger. I began to challenge myself to cut deeper and deeper. I started surfing the internet in risky things which also led to several other binding addictions. My parents’ marital problems finally hit the fan, and it came to the point where my mother had to pay my father to leave. The last thing I remember my father telling me, my brother and sister before he left was, "You three kids ruined my life!" Around that time, I was heading to a community college where I managed to live a completely double life. I was in leadership with the “Christian clubs” and at the same time I would be contemplating suicide in my dorm room.
After only one year of college, I lost it. I landed myself into one of six mental institutions that I would spend most of my time in in the following years. They couldn’t figure out what my problem was. I was diagnosed with Bipolar disorder, Borderline Personality disorder, Anorexia Nervosa, Bulimia, Major Depression, Psychotic symptoms, and so many other things that I cannot even remember them all. They had me on anti psychotic medications, mood stabilizers, antidepressant medications, and more.
On a bus ride home from a counseling program I was involved in I remember just a flood of emotion and thoughts running through my mind. I felt like there was no purpose for my life and that I was going nowhere in the long run. I always felt like I was going to die before the age of 20 and regardless of whether I did or didn't it wouldn't matter. I reached into my purse and grabbed a bottle of newly refilled prescription pills, emptied it into my hand, and popped them into my mouth. As I did so I whispered one last prayer, "God, if there is a purpose for my life, let me know now." Soon after I blacked out.
I woke up on my mothers couch in her living room the next morning. She was telling me how I had been knocked out all night and that the bus was going to be there any minute to take me back to my counseling program. I sat up, puzzled at what was going on. Why was I still there? I got my stuff ready to go and boarded the bus as it arrived. On the ride, my friends asked me, "What happened to you yesterday? You passed out and almost fell head first out of your seat into the aisle but we came, got you and brought you into your house." "Don't tell anyone, but I took a bottle of pills yesterday because I didn't want to live anymore" I said.
They told someone.
Before I knew it, I was called into the nurses office of our counseling program and was interrogated as to if I took a bottle of pills and why. Soon after the ambulance arrived to take me to yet another emergency room en route to my next institution stay. They drew my blood in the emergency room and after a while and some evaluations they came back with my blood work and said, "You're lying! You did not take a bottle of pills!" I said, "I'm not lying. I did take a bottle of pills. My friends can tell you how I passed out and could not function." I went into my bag and got the empty bottle to show them. They said, "We got the results back from your blood work and there is not even the normal dose for what you are prescribed of that medication in your bloodstream." They took it as a ploy for attention and they admitted me to the hospital based on the fact that I said I did it. I took it as a sign from God. I wasn't sure what my purpose might be at that point, but was this a sign? This was the most supernatural experience I had ever had.
As I continued going in and out of mental institutions, still there were ongoing problems in my family life. Though my abusive father was gone, my mother was very scared because he had threatened to kill all of us. She was having trouble providing for my brother and sister, and at the ages of 16 and 13 they were often left home alone without much food to eat. They were also very emotionally unstable (and rightfully so). They resulted in fist fighting over what channel they wanted to watch, and one would pull a knife on the other, causing 911 to be called. It was a rough, hurtful atmosphere to dwell in. The following unfortunate events (which I will not discuss here) resulted in years of family bitterness and resentment. When I finally left my mother’s house, I went into “survival” mode. In the process of going in and out of mental institutions, partial hospitalization programs, taking medications and dealing with family turmoil, I found myself in a homeless shelter at the age of 19. Eventually my case worker found a program of communal living for mental health patients that would accept me and allow me to rebuild what was left of my life. For a while I had been attending a local church while attempting to hold on to what was left of whatever “salvation” that I had. The churches never seemed to know how to help me or offer me any alternatives.
I tried to remain faithful to church through it all, and one normal day at church a Missionary from South America came to visit. This wasn’t just any “Missionary” from South America. This man had strange connections to my family which could only make everything even more awkwardly interesting. All I could think was that he was bad news. The irony was that he thought the same about me because I was the “crazy girl” that everybody talked about and felt bad for.
As the weeks went by, we got acquainted and before long I found myself sharing about my past. Things like how I ended up in a group home, on medications, and in and out of mental institutions over the past two years. “You know, you really don’t belong in that group home for mental health patients” he said to me one day as we sat in a restaurant in Pennsylvania.
“I don’t belong here?”I had never thought of that before! “No, I have to belong here- I am messed up!” I thought. I was told I would never live like a normal person again, and that I would need medications for the rest of my life and that therapy was necessary.
“Jesus can heal you!” He continued. I broke down crying, “I don’t know who I am off these medications.”
He said “I don’t know either, but I’m willing to take a chance. I will pray with you, and help you the best that I can.” I had heard his testimony and knew that Jesus had healed him from many horrible things and addictions, as well as saved him out of satan worship. I decided to give it a try. At that moment, we prayed. I don’t remember exactly what the prayer was, but I do know that I received healing right there. I came off my medications that night and started to work through my emotions and healing in a Biblical way! I decided not to trust things like medications or addictions anymore, but instead to trust Jesus.
When the group home found out that I came off my medications, they told me that I had to leave because I wasn’t complying with the rules. I had nowhere to go, and so the missionary who I prayed with asked his mother if I could stay on a different floor in their house. There were many floors and he lived in the attic. They did happen to have some spare room on the bottom floor where they set up a small cot for me. I moved in not long after that. I continued working through my healing and letting Jesus rebuild my life. I learned where those suicidal and murderous thoughts that I had been tormented with came from. They came from an enemy who is out to steal, kill and destroy. I also learned that that enemy was already defeated and how to stand in that victory through Jesus, by testimony and scripture. Soon, I fell in love with the Missionary (whose name was Rob), and 6 months later we were married!
Half a year after we got married, we felt God calling us to go and reach our hurting generation and others as well with the hope that He put in our hearts. Ever since then we have been living by faith and bringing the Gospel of Jesus and our testimonies to the four corners of the earth! Jesus changed my life. I live my life now to tell others that there is hope for them too.
“To open their eyes, and to turn them from darkness to light, and from the power of Satan unto God, that they may receive forgiveness of sins, and inheritance among them which are sanctified by faith that is in me.” Acts 26:18
We now base our ministry "Kingdom Dwellers International" in Fairbanks, Alaska USA and work extensively with the Native Alaskan and Inuit peoples. We have one son named Titus Obadiah and another son on the way named Asher Uruiah! We look forward to connecting with believers around the world for a revolution of His glory - please like us on Facebook at Facebook.com/KingdomDwellers and visit us online at www.KingdomDwellers.com.
If you would like to have us in your region please contact us via FB or email Info@KingdomDwellers.com
One day I hope to release a book of my entire detailed testimony and see others set free just like I was!
I pray that you have been blessed from reading my story, and hope that you can share it with someone who may identify.
- Millie
No comments:
Post a Comment