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Smut for Smut and Lots of Prayers
Hi guys!

Previous Months

♥ April 2012
♥ May 2012
♥ June 2012

Testimony

I've come a long way...

As I’m sure most of you are aware from my blog, I’m Christian, and I’m loving God with all my heart. But there is a story behind my love for him, and I’m ready to share it. My parents dirvorced when I was one year old, and my dad is an athiest and my mother is a Christian, but she doesn’t go to church, so I never had a strong role model in the religion field growing up, and was always told to “pick what feels right for me.” I would switch back and forth between houses constantly, and was always told this. Eventually, my mother and father decided that I’d live with my daddy so that I could get a better education (which I did.) But I was told by my mother that I had made this choice, and had broken her heart. I lived with that heavy on my heart for years, thinking I had hurt my mommy so badly and I couldn’t even remember doing so. I considered myself Christian then. I didn’t really understand what that meant, I just knew that there was a God and my mom forced me to go to church every Christmas and Easter. Other than that, I didn’t think about God much, and when I did, I was terrified of Him. Literally terrified. I was completely convinced that He was going to throw me into some fiery pit where I’d be torn limb from limb for eternity for hurting people and doing bad things, and for a young child that’s not a pleasant thought. Church started to scare me, because of that. I felt like I was constantly being judged and looked down upon. And then… Eventually we just stopped. We had never gone regularly before, but we stopped going on holidays. There was nothing to scare me anymore. When I turned 7 I developed a fascination with magic, so my Daddy showed me the New Age section of the bookstore (we LIVE at the bookstore pretty much). Then, he bought me a spell book. It was harmless, a colorful little book with neat spells in it and colors and symbolisms and numerology. It was cool. I loved it. And it was a great escape. Around that age, I was molested by my cousin, and by two of my teachers at a daycare. I didn’t realize what was happening, I didn’t realize it was bad. I just knew that I would get in trouble if I said anything, so I never reported it. It bothered me for a long time, and by time I realized what had happened, it was too late to say anything about it. So, as I grew up, I continued to stay fascinated with magic, and continuously grew more and more aggressive and angry. And depressed. Until I was about 12 my favorites section at the bookstore was the New Age section. By time I was 13 I had officially converted to Wicca, or in other, the worship of nature and magick, and was very depressed. It wasn’t like satanism or sacrificing goats or anything, I had pure intentions (such as healing, helping, etc etc), and I was genuinely convinced it would make me happier. I thought it was amazing, and for a while I was happy with my false gods and goddesses. I had developed a family and a network of friends who were Wiccan, and my dad had even gotten me a Wiccan reference book despite me not telling him (he was smart enough to figure it out though). Then my depression got much worse. I was a mess. I would cry myself to sleep at night for no reason, and periodically have emotional breakdowns where I would cry for hours, freaking out and clawing at my skin, hitting myself, cursing myself… It was bad. I hated my life. I would hole up in my room and just stay there, never talking to anyone and hardly sleeping. When I tried to tell my parents I was depressed, they brushed it off as a teenage phase. When I tried again, they didn’t think I was serious. It was hard, and I was crying out for help that just wouldn’t come. My friends weren’t there for me, because I was the one who had to be strong for them. I couldn’t show that I was breaking into pieces. They couldn’t see it. I continued to practice Wicca, and thankfully it managed to keep me out of falling into sex or drugs or alcohol. I stayed clean, because I thought it was the right thing to do. Though I still couldn’t be happy. I started trying to hurt myself, at first just using a fingernail to carve into my skin. I pushed everyone away and wouldn’t talk to anyone, and no one really seemed to care. Eventually, my dad confronted me about it. He asked, “What’s wrong with you? I hardly ever see you smile anymore, and when I do, I don’t know why.” And it hit me that he does care and that he does notice. He just didn’t know what to do with me. I was turning into a zombie, a shell. Towards the end of my freshman year, I met a boy named Andrew. My younger cousin had met him at her friend’s church, and had a huge crush on him. I, being the only protective “big sister” role she had, demanded his phone number so that I could check him out. I mean, he was 2 and a half years older than her, anyone would’ve done the same.I texted him, and told him I was “Bob” his stalker. And we started to argue. We hated each other for a good three months, though we, for some reason, could not stop texting each other. We’d never met before in real life, and we were constantly at each other’s throats, but there was some undeniable connection there. Mostly, we argued about religion. He didn’t like my beliefs, and I didn’t like his. We argued about it all the time, every waking hour. Then, that summer my mom moved to Ohio, and I would have to switch states for two weeks between her and my dad.I was miserable again, and Andrew noticed it. He tried to help make me feel better about it, though we still argued frequently. Still, he listened to me. And slowly we became very good friends. And my mom moved back to Kentucky at the end of that summer! Eventually Andrew and I arranged a meeting at a bookstore. Nothing fancy, he would just run in really quick to say hi and give me a hug, then leave. We were both nervous, and excited. And I had officially fallen hard for this guy, and he knew it. But he also made it clear that he wouldn’t be with me. I had no chance. I wasn’t Christian, and he wanted a Christian wife that he could grow with spiritually. Needless to say, I was devastated. I would cry every time we argued over religion, and every time he rejected me I just fell further and further into depression. I was a mess, and I was only getting worse. On April 21st, 2010, my Mammaw died. She was an amazing woman, who loved God and everyone else. And I loved her, so much. She was a huge part of my life, and I was devastated. She was the one person that I could talk to about anything at all and know she wouldn’t judge me and would give me some sound advice instead of just saying “sorry” or “things will be ok.” She was wonderful, and I still love her so much, and I miss her dearly.But after watching her life slip away on the hospital bed for four days, I realized that I didn’t have my life together. My Mammaw often times told me God loved me, and always had a Bible sitting open on her coffee table, this huge red and gold thing that was gorgeous but intimidating. She was a very wonderful Christian woman, and she still accepted me for what I was. It was then that I realized not all Christians are bad, and I prayed to God that night saying that, if he was real, he’d give me a sign that my grandmother was alright.That night, I had a dream about her in a brilliant white light telling me she was happy, and that she was ok. I thought it was a coincidence though, and prayed again. Again, I had a similar dream, where she told me it was alright and she was safe in Heaven. I was in tears. I told Andrew that I wanted to convert, and he helped me turn my life around.I stopped cursing, I stopped being so mean to people, I stopped practicing Wicca. Everything I did was suddenly for God, and I loved Him so much. I still love Him. God helped me find happiness, and made me realize that in order to be happy, you have to work towards it, and strive for it, and embrace it. He made me realize that life isn’t easy, but that he will only give you what you can handle, and if it gets too hard, he’s there to support you. He sent me an angel in disguise, via text message, and put events in motion so that I may turn my life around and find his everlasting love and acceptance. God has helped me realized not only that I do deserve to be happy, but that I AM loved. I AM talented. I AM special and unique, and I AM worthy. His unlimited grace made me the way I am, scars an all, and I’m eternally grateful.