Sitting here today, as I prepare this first blog post, I laugh at myself. Never in a million years did I think that I’d ever walk into a church voluntarily. Or pray on a daily basis. Or call myself “a child of God,” “a believer,” or (most horrifying of all), “a Christian.” But that’s the thing about God— He has a way, of getting his way, when the timing is right. So, how did this unexpected, unasked-for, but most-merciful transformation take place?

             A little background, first. I grew up in Grapevine, Arkansas, smack-dab in the buckle of “the Bible Belt.” There’s a church on every corner. But my résumé will never read— “grew up in a good Christian home.” Instead, my credentials are— “grew up in a broken home.” I was an angry little girl struggling to make sense of the basic unfairness of the world.

             Age three, parents divorced. Age three, moved to the woods to live in a shack built by a new step-dad. Age three to thirteen, endured years of emotional abuse and acquired major “daddy issues.” Age thirteen, moved to town and got a second step-dad— same explosive bipolar disorder, different abuser. Age fourteen, moved out of my mother’s house for good and moved in with my alcoholic-but-not-angry father. Age sixteen, June, attempted suicide. Age sixteen, August, moved into the state-run Math & Science School and lived there until high school graduation.

             Divorce, abuse, depression, drugs, and alcohol were familiar friends by the time I made it to college. At twenty, I was still an angry little girl struggling to make sense of the basic unfairness of the world. I was never an atheist. I could never quite make myself believe that this world was an accident, because even through all the pain, I saw glimpses of the incredible beauty of it. But I was incredibly angry. And ashamed. And looking for love in all the wrong places, which led to mistake after mistake, which only led to more guilt and more shame. This poem – “I Never Heard the Voice of God” – is twenty-year-old me’s expression of that anger, shame, and self-pity.

             Fast forward fifteen years. Time had rounded off the sharp edges of my anger, my shame. Now, I was searching. Searching for purpose, and for truth. For Truth, with a capital “T.” In my pursuit of a meaningful existence, I changed careers mid-stream— from lawyer, to nurse. I wanted the work of my hands to be meaningful, more than merely a medium for money exchange— I wanted to help people, in a palpable way, that I could see. Born into broken trust, to my surprise, I was beginning to actually like people. To care for people, in a general sense. To want to be good and to do good.

             But I still wasn’t ready to meet God.

             Age thirty-five, I took a travel nurse job in California. I was looking forward to this time away from home as a chance to escape distractions, to be alone with myself, and to figure out what I wanted from life. And “the Universe” (as I was calling God, at the time), seemed to support this idea— a friend did a tarot card reading for me before I left, and the card she pulled to represent me was “The Hermit”— a card that indicates a time of inward focus, introspection, and soul-searching. “Wow, how perfect!” I thought, excited. I decided that I’d take this time to delve into energy work— energy healing, crystal properties, meditation— and I’d even bought a tarot deck for myself, to try it out. I’d always been intrigued by things that promised magic and mysticism, but had never taken the time to learn.

             But God had other plans for me. He had a divine appointment for me, in fact. Had I known this in advance, I’d probably have run the other way. Or at least, not renewed my three-month contract. Instead of going home with a sense of peace and purpose, I drove home six months later with an uneasy feeling that my entire world had just been turned upside-down. Like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, I’d caught a glimpse of the man-behind-the-curtain, and I couldn’t unsee what I had seen. As C. S. Lewis aptly put it, in his autobiography, Surprised by Joy—

“That which I greatly feared had at last come upon me. In the Trinity Term of 1929 I gave in, and admitted that God was God, and knelt and prayed: perhaps, that night, the most dejected and reluctant convert in all England…”

             On the evening of May 5, 2021, with a bowed head, tears and shower water both streaming down my face, I finally broke down and surrendered my will to God, inviting Him— nay, imploring Him— to please come into my heart, my life, and show me what to do. I couldn’t do life by myself anymore. This fierce woman who wore her scars as a badge of honor, her suffering as a sign of strength— I admitted that I wasn’t strong enough. I wanted help. I needed help.

             So, what happened to me?

             One conversation changed the course of my life. One rather long conversation. With a nurse I’d met in the hospital in California— also a traveler, our conversations at first focused on mundane topics such as favorite travel destinations. Eventually, our conversations broached the topic of religion. This nurse shared with me a story of a near-death experience, an experience where, in prayer, God assured him that everything would be okay—although that assurance was not to be taken as a promise of survival— but, rather, as a promise that even should death come— Everything. Would. Be. Okay. My friend told me that a sense of all-pervading peace soon followed.

             The sheer sincerity in his voice, as he told his story, gave me chills— the prickly kind where the hairs on your arms stand up. His sincerity allowed me to suspend disbelief, and just listen. Timidly, I asked— So… do you feel that way, still? Do you really have peace? My friend said yes.

             Peace. A calm certainty that everything is going to be okay. In that moment, I wanted peace more than anything in the world. I’d been a slave to chaos for too long. And I’d just gotten word that my mother’s dementia was getting to the point of putting her into a nursing home. I was going to be the one who had to make that decision. I was feeling everything but peace in those days.

             My friend said a prayer for me. He then suggested a few books for me to read—one of them being Mere Christianity by C. S. Lewis. A bit funny to admit, but I went out and bought Mere Christianity the next day— before I bought a Bible! (I think, for me, it had to be that way). I have a skeptical, scientific mind. But Mr. Lewis’s mind is finer than mine— I started reading and found it hard to put the book down— and even harder to argue with his logic. Where does our shared sense of morality come from? And for what purpose do we have it?

             These two things— a strong desire for inner peace, and the knowledge that things with my mother were only going to get more difficult as her condition declined— these two things led me to suspend not only my disbelief, but my stubborn pride and my sense of being a self-made woman, long enough for Christ to catch a foothold in my heart. In less than two years, I’ve gone from being a die-hard existentialist to a die-to-self daughter of our Heavenly Father.

             What’s really funny, is that since I became a Christian, I’ve discovered that Christians are some of the most “magical” people on the planet! [Oh boy, I’m *REALLY* a weirdo now… I only thought I was, growing up!]. So many strange and wondrous things have happened in my life since then— things that I can’t explain away as mere coincidence. I’m beginning to see God’s hand working in my life and in the lives of others, and I’m grateful for every glimpse into the great cosmic mystery that I get. Grateful, and excited to share those glimpses with you.

             This blog is my testimony, my witness. My prayer and my hope is that God will use these words to crack open another hardened heart, to help someone else who is struggling in darkness to open his or her eyes to the way, the truth, and the light. In Jesus’s name I pray, amen.

And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding,
will guard your hearts & your minds in Christ Jesus.
— Philippians 4:7

[My first & favorite Bible verse].