M
"For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms." - Ephesians 6:12
I guess you could say it started just a little over a decade ago; just about the time I was trying to get serious about SOMETHING, anything other than boys or clothes or gossip.
I was on the verge of my 16th birthday when a friend from my church set down the bottle of perfume she was over-using and turned from the mirror in her bedroom to look at me, perched uncomfortably on the edge of her bed.
She said, "Cristen, have you been saved?"
I clearly remember stopping a sneeze in its tracks (her perfume was overwhelming) before sorting out a response.
In my mind, I already WAS saved; I believed in God, and I believed in Jesus, and I'd attended Sunday School and occasional church services and I was careful to never miss Youth Group.
I hadn't been baptized, no, but was that REALLY important, I mean, if I already believed in the important things? Granted, I don't think that even my close family knew precisely where I stood as far as my faith went, but even so, that didn't matter, right? God knew my heart.
So I replied (with watery eyes- that perfume was AWFUL), "I'm ok."
My friend pursed her lips (much in the same way I'd seen my mother or grandmother do when they were dissatisfied but didn't want to argue about something) and gave a slight nod.
We departed her house and headed off to Wednesday night Youth Group.
Over the next month, my friend took to calling me or coming over to my house every day to talk to me about baptism, why it was important to confess my faith in front of people, and the condition my soul was in.
I honestly thought she'd lost her marbles.
I was also deeply offended by her words. I absolutely did not need to be 'preached' at.
And she did it CONSTANTLY. At my 16th birthday party; at the swimming pool; at church; when school started, she left Bible verses jotted down on scraps of paper inside my locker.
Despite my being nearly a foot taller than she was, she made me feel so SMALL.
Eventually I cracked under the pressure. One day in October, before she could give me another sermon on the matter, I said, "I want to be baptized."
We were walking down the main street in town, but she started dancing around me and jumping and singing. She was like a Jack Russel terrier, and I couldn't convince her to calm down.
I certainly didn't feel excited; I felt nauseous.
My friend made all the arrangements for me; speaking to our preacher and our youth minister, telling friends who would want to be there for the event, that sort of thing.
The following Sunday morning, I was dunked in chilly water in front of a handful of people; my only stipulation had been that I would not be baptized in front of the entire congregation during the service where people who didn't even know my name would see.
Was I ashamed, or just painfully shy? I'm still not sure.
Several things happened after the baptism, in what now seems like quick succession, but was really actually over the course of a couple years:
1. I felt exactly the way I'd felt before being baptized, except for the immense relief I felt that my friend would no longer be badgering me about my soul.
2. I got in an extremely ugly fight with that girl, and began avoiding her and skipping church so I wouldn't see her.
3. I stopped putting any effort whatsoever into my school work and therefore began to fail just about every class.
4. I met a guy three years older than me who had just joined the Army, and we began dating, mostly long-distance.
5. I dropped out of school in the middle of my junior year (when I was 17) and somehow convinced my mother to sign a piece of paper giving me permission to get married to the soldier, and I moved across the country to be with him.
6. He got sent over seas as soon as we were married, and I was left basically alone.
7. I gave in to nearly every single temptation that crossed my path- if it was something bad, I took part in it.
8. Thanks to my partying and promiscuity and utter lack of consideration for my own safety, I was raped twice, both times by "men" who had claimed to care about me like a little sister.
9. I hated myself and God.
10. My husband at the time called me one day and told me he wanted me to go home to live with my mother until he came back; I went.
11. Shortly after my 18th birthday, my husband at the time called me-from HIS mother's home, not 8 hours away from where I was- and said not only had he been back in the States for 3 weeks, but also that he and his mother would be arriving in my town the next day to deliver divorce papers to me.
12. I was divorced by Christmas; we'd been married barely 10 months.
By spring time, I thought I was doing better. I felt like I had made some sort of peace with God over all that I'd done, and all that had happened to me. I felt like much of the depression that had been dragging me down for over a year had lifted.
One morning, I was at a local craft show, and happened to bump into a guy I'd once gone to a movie with. I was flattered and surprised that he even remembered me, let alone that he was kind to me.
We began dating, and he learned about my fairly recent past, and he loved me anyway.
We were married about a year later.
To summarize our first 5 years together, I was horrible to him. Lazy, lying, cheating, and mean. Not always- just you know, most of the time. He tried so hard to help me, but I never let him, and pretty soon I started running away from him; I'd pack my things and disappear on him while he was at work. Within a week, I was always back, and only God knows WHY my husband LET me come back.
Five years of that game. Five years of me purposely, systematically destroying my marriage and my husband.
I had my "reasons" (excuses)- he was never home, he was mean to me, he threw a phone at me, he did this or said that or he was never satisfied with anything I did...
I can't even begin to describe how horribly, utterly ashamed of myself I am now, thinking back over it all. The things I said and did to my husband, to the only man in the world who'd ever treated me with love and respect, to my partner in life who tried to show me tenderness and only received hatred from me!
The last time I "took a break" on him was nearly 2 years ago. I was away for almost two months. I went home to my mother, I spent most of my days with my big sister and babysitting her 2-year old daughter. I cooked and cleaned at my sister's house, whereas at home with my husband, those were the very things I hated doing for him the most. I went to church with my sister, whereas at home with my husband, I found every possible excuse not to go to church.
I felt stable, for a little while. I avoided men like the plague, whereas during previous "breaks" I'd taken from my marriage, I'd chased after them.
After a month or so, I realized I was living my sister's life, and not my own. I began to feel extreme anger- whether over my own mistakes, or because I'd never felt so 'normal' within my marriage, or because I felt that God was messing with me...I don't know.
I prayed a lot. Angry prayers.
I drove a lot. Aggressively, stupidly, dangerously.
I broke a lot of things.
At some point, my sister returned a book to me that she had borrowed during my first marriage- Dr. Laura's "10 Stupid Things Couples Do To Mess Up Their Relationships". I'd gotten it as a gift from my mother's friend before I ran off and married the soldier. I hadn't seen it in over 6 years.
I took it to my room at my mom's house and curled up on my bed to read it. I was excited, for some reason- I gleefully settled in to pick out each and every single 'stupid thing' that my husband had ever done to me. In fact, I had a yellow high-lighter so that I could not only pick out the things my husband had done, but be able to remember them and find them easily should I ever want to throw it in his face.
Imagine my surprise when, not even a full chapter into the book, I discovered that the words were describing ME.
I was the stupid one messing up my relationship!
The problems we had been having for 5 years were almost entirely MY fault!
I finished the entire book within 24 hours, and when I was finished, the tears came.
Not just a few, not just for a little while, but buckets and buckets for hours and hours.
I didn't feel angry anymore; I felt ashamed, embarrassed, guilty, small, and disgusting.
I prayed, not a prim and proper prayer, not out of anger at the Lord, but to be SAVED.
And I knew in that moment that I had not been saved before, I had not invited Christ into my heart, and I had not been obedient or even a decent human being.
I had finally hit rock-bottom, with the realization that I NEEDED to be SAVED, because I was a disaster on my own.
As I prayed, and as I cried, and as I begged God to forgive me, several things came into crystal-clear focus for me:
1. God had been trying very hard for a very long time to get me to open my heart to Him.
2. I'd been caught in the midst of a battle for my very soul from the moment I first seriously considered my faith.
3. God had opened my eyes as I read that book, silly as it may seem; He used a self-help book written by a Jewish woman to get through to me.
4. I had to go HOME, I had to be with my husband.
When I finally managed to calm down, hours later, I called my husband. I had no idea what sort of attitude he would have towards me, and I was scared silly of what he would say when I told him I wanted to come home. And yet at the same time, I felt an overwhelming peace- I knew that no matter what happened from there, I was God's child, and He would take care of me.
My husband answered his phone with "What?"
That didn't sound good, but I didn't give up. I told him about what I'd just been through, what I now understood, and that I wanted to come back.
He said, "I'll have to think about it."
It hurt badly, it was hard to not beg, but I left him alone for a few days.
And when he sent me an e-mail a few days later that said "Come home"...
Of course there were more tears. I'm a woman, I've got tears in abundance.
Our marriage, from the time I set foot back in my husband's home, has been blessed beyond anything I could have hoped for. We finally got our financial troubles sorted out (which is nothing short of a miracle in itself), we took an opportunity to move closer to family, we were given a wonderful, healthy, HAPPY baby boy- something I'd wanted for so long and feared I was incapable of having.
I know this is a long story, and if you're still with me, here's the very best part:
I am saved. My true baptism had precious little to do with water, unless you count the thousands of tears I shed. It didn't take place in a church, but that doesn't lessen the value of my salvation.
God's love sent me to my knees in a tiny, darkened, chilly basement bedroom, and that same love lifted me up and restored my marriage, my life, my heart, and most importantly, my faith.
I guess you could say it started just a little over a decade ago; just about the time I was trying to get serious about SOMETHING, anything other than boys or clothes or gossip.
I was on the verge of my 16th birthday when a friend from my church set down the bottle of perfume she was over-using and turned from the mirror in her bedroom to look at me, perched uncomfortably on the edge of her bed.
She said, "Cristen, have you been saved?"
I clearly remember stopping a sneeze in its tracks (her perfume was overwhelming) before sorting out a response.
In my mind, I already WAS saved; I believed in God, and I believed in Jesus, and I'd attended Sunday School and occasional church services and I was careful to never miss Youth Group.
I hadn't been baptized, no, but was that REALLY important, I mean, if I already believed in the important things? Granted, I don't think that even my close family knew precisely where I stood as far as my faith went, but even so, that didn't matter, right? God knew my heart.
So I replied (with watery eyes- that perfume was AWFUL), "I'm ok."
My friend pursed her lips (much in the same way I'd seen my mother or grandmother do when they were dissatisfied but didn't want to argue about something) and gave a slight nod.
We departed her house and headed off to Wednesday night Youth Group.
Over the next month, my friend took to calling me or coming over to my house every day to talk to me about baptism, why it was important to confess my faith in front of people, and the condition my soul was in.
I honestly thought she'd lost her marbles.
I was also deeply offended by her words. I absolutely did not need to be 'preached' at.
And she did it CONSTANTLY. At my 16th birthday party; at the swimming pool; at church; when school started, she left Bible verses jotted down on scraps of paper inside my locker.
Despite my being nearly a foot taller than she was, she made me feel so SMALL.
Eventually I cracked under the pressure. One day in October, before she could give me another sermon on the matter, I said, "I want to be baptized."
We were walking down the main street in town, but she started dancing around me and jumping and singing. She was like a Jack Russel terrier, and I couldn't convince her to calm down.
I certainly didn't feel excited; I felt nauseous.
My friend made all the arrangements for me; speaking to our preacher and our youth minister, telling friends who would want to be there for the event, that sort of thing.
The following Sunday morning, I was dunked in chilly water in front of a handful of people; my only stipulation had been that I would not be baptized in front of the entire congregation during the service where people who didn't even know my name would see.
Was I ashamed, or just painfully shy? I'm still not sure.
Several things happened after the baptism, in what now seems like quick succession, but was really actually over the course of a couple years:
1. I felt exactly the way I'd felt before being baptized, except for the immense relief I felt that my friend would no longer be badgering me about my soul.
2. I got in an extremely ugly fight with that girl, and began avoiding her and skipping church so I wouldn't see her.
3. I stopped putting any effort whatsoever into my school work and therefore began to fail just about every class.
4. I met a guy three years older than me who had just joined the Army, and we began dating, mostly long-distance.
5. I dropped out of school in the middle of my junior year (when I was 17) and somehow convinced my mother to sign a piece of paper giving me permission to get married to the soldier, and I moved across the country to be with him.
6. He got sent over seas as soon as we were married, and I was left basically alone.
7. I gave in to nearly every single temptation that crossed my path- if it was something bad, I took part in it.
8. Thanks to my partying and promiscuity and utter lack of consideration for my own safety, I was raped twice, both times by "men" who had claimed to care about me like a little sister.
9. I hated myself and God.
10. My husband at the time called me one day and told me he wanted me to go home to live with my mother until he came back; I went.
11. Shortly after my 18th birthday, my husband at the time called me-from HIS mother's home, not 8 hours away from where I was- and said not only had he been back in the States for 3 weeks, but also that he and his mother would be arriving in my town the next day to deliver divorce papers to me.
12. I was divorced by Christmas; we'd been married barely 10 months.
By spring time, I thought I was doing better. I felt like I had made some sort of peace with God over all that I'd done, and all that had happened to me. I felt like much of the depression that had been dragging me down for over a year had lifted.
One morning, I was at a local craft show, and happened to bump into a guy I'd once gone to a movie with. I was flattered and surprised that he even remembered me, let alone that he was kind to me.
We began dating, and he learned about my fairly recent past, and he loved me anyway.
We were married about a year later.
To summarize our first 5 years together, I was horrible to him. Lazy, lying, cheating, and mean. Not always- just you know, most of the time. He tried so hard to help me, but I never let him, and pretty soon I started running away from him; I'd pack my things and disappear on him while he was at work. Within a week, I was always back, and only God knows WHY my husband LET me come back.
Five years of that game. Five years of me purposely, systematically destroying my marriage and my husband.
I had my "reasons" (excuses)- he was never home, he was mean to me, he threw a phone at me, he did this or said that or he was never satisfied with anything I did...
I can't even begin to describe how horribly, utterly ashamed of myself I am now, thinking back over it all. The things I said and did to my husband, to the only man in the world who'd ever treated me with love and respect, to my partner in life who tried to show me tenderness and only received hatred from me!
The last time I "took a break" on him was nearly 2 years ago. I was away for almost two months. I went home to my mother, I spent most of my days with my big sister and babysitting her 2-year old daughter. I cooked and cleaned at my sister's house, whereas at home with my husband, those were the very things I hated doing for him the most. I went to church with my sister, whereas at home with my husband, I found every possible excuse not to go to church.
I felt stable, for a little while. I avoided men like the plague, whereas during previous "breaks" I'd taken from my marriage, I'd chased after them.
After a month or so, I realized I was living my sister's life, and not my own. I began to feel extreme anger- whether over my own mistakes, or because I'd never felt so 'normal' within my marriage, or because I felt that God was messing with me...I don't know.
I prayed a lot. Angry prayers.
I drove a lot. Aggressively, stupidly, dangerously.
I broke a lot of things.
At some point, my sister returned a book to me that she had borrowed during my first marriage- Dr. Laura's "10 Stupid Things Couples Do To Mess Up Their Relationships". I'd gotten it as a gift from my mother's friend before I ran off and married the soldier. I hadn't seen it in over 6 years.
I took it to my room at my mom's house and curled up on my bed to read it. I was excited, for some reason- I gleefully settled in to pick out each and every single 'stupid thing' that my husband had ever done to me. In fact, I had a yellow high-lighter so that I could not only pick out the things my husband had done, but be able to remember them and find them easily should I ever want to throw it in his face.
Imagine my surprise when, not even a full chapter into the book, I discovered that the words were describing ME.
I was the stupid one messing up my relationship!
The problems we had been having for 5 years were almost entirely MY fault!
I finished the entire book within 24 hours, and when I was finished, the tears came.
Not just a few, not just for a little while, but buckets and buckets for hours and hours.
I didn't feel angry anymore; I felt ashamed, embarrassed, guilty, small, and disgusting.
I prayed, not a prim and proper prayer, not out of anger at the Lord, but to be SAVED.
And I knew in that moment that I had not been saved before, I had not invited Christ into my heart, and I had not been obedient or even a decent human being.
I had finally hit rock-bottom, with the realization that I NEEDED to be SAVED, because I was a disaster on my own.
As I prayed, and as I cried, and as I begged God to forgive me, several things came into crystal-clear focus for me:
1. God had been trying very hard for a very long time to get me to open my heart to Him.
2. I'd been caught in the midst of a battle for my very soul from the moment I first seriously considered my faith.
3. God had opened my eyes as I read that book, silly as it may seem; He used a self-help book written by a Jewish woman to get through to me.
4. I had to go HOME, I had to be with my husband.
When I finally managed to calm down, hours later, I called my husband. I had no idea what sort of attitude he would have towards me, and I was scared silly of what he would say when I told him I wanted to come home. And yet at the same time, I felt an overwhelming peace- I knew that no matter what happened from there, I was God's child, and He would take care of me.
My husband answered his phone with "What?"
That didn't sound good, but I didn't give up. I told him about what I'd just been through, what I now understood, and that I wanted to come back.
He said, "I'll have to think about it."
It hurt badly, it was hard to not beg, but I left him alone for a few days.
And when he sent me an e-mail a few days later that said "Come home"...
Of course there were more tears. I'm a woman, I've got tears in abundance.
Our marriage, from the time I set foot back in my husband's home, has been blessed beyond anything I could have hoped for. We finally got our financial troubles sorted out (which is nothing short of a miracle in itself), we took an opportunity to move closer to family, we were given a wonderful, healthy, HAPPY baby boy- something I'd wanted for so long and feared I was incapable of having.
I know this is a long story, and if you're still with me, here's the very best part:
I am saved. My true baptism had precious little to do with water, unless you count the thousands of tears I shed. It didn't take place in a church, but that doesn't lessen the value of my salvation.
God's love sent me to my knees in a tiny, darkened, chilly basement bedroom, and that same love lifted me up and restored my marriage, my life, my heart, and most importantly, my faith.
