What Greater Calling? (Hope's testimony)

Alright since this whole idea of sharing our testimonies was my idea, I suppose I will start: (sorry it turned out rather long.)

Here is my testimony, as well as I can remember it. Some of it was long enough ago that I am sad to say my memory of it is a little hazy.

As my fellow authors know, I grew up in a Christian family.  The Bible was considered our standard for living and I do not remember a time that I did not believe every word it said. I had not, however, given my soul to it’s Author.

When I was ten my family and I moved to another state. Those first two or three years were the hardest I had ever known. I was lonely, I was confused why God would take me away from everything I loved but through it all there was one big plus. We got involved with the local college students and began a family tradition of sharing testimonies around the dinner table. I would hear these students stories, and be terrified someone would ask me if I was saved. (I had myself convinced I was but I never dared try to convince my parents). Then, once I got over the terror I began listening to their stories.  They were all so sure, while I, on the other hand, often wondered how I knew I was saved.

Eventually I got so worried I began to pray, “God, if I don’t know you, if I am not saved, please show me how to be!”

Then, one night, my Mom made me madder than I had ever been. She prayed, in my hearing, that if I wasn’t saved, that I would trust Jesus. I was unreasoningly furious. How could she doubt? But of course, why wouldn’t she? I had never claimed to know Jesus!

When my 11^th birthday came I was in a scared state of limbo. It passed, and life kept going on. Then one night, about a month later, I walked out of the bathroom and into the room I shared with my older sister. Now, my older sister has an unnerving way of staring into outer space…often at someone! Tonight I was that someone and it upset me.

“Stop staring at me like that!! I feel like you can see right through me.” I flopped down on our bed in disgust.

“Oh, I can!” She raised a teasing eye brow. “I can see right through you. I can see the wall on the other side!”

“No.” I sternly stopped her. “I meant my heart.”

Then I nearly fell off the bed. What had I just said? I just opened up a conversation,  of my own accord, about something that I view as my most private and secret possession—my heart!

My sister seemed surprise to but she kept a cool head. “What’s in there? Jesus?”

“Yes.” I choked and began to hurriedly fall into my pajamas.

I have a blurred memory of her asking me question, something about how someone could be saved. And she told me later I answered reasonably.

After a silent and uncomfortable moment I whispered, “Joy, I don’t think I am saved.”

She was by me in a moment and held me tight as I started crying. “Do you want to be?”

“Yes.” I  answered miserably.

“Do you want to pray and tell him that?”

“I don’t think I can.”

“Then I will.”

And she prayed, asking God to open my heart and teach me to trust him. I too prayed, but silently. And I knew, then, I had finally had the courage to give everything over to him, a God I couldn’t see, and trust that he would work things out for my good.

I was baptized the next night in our hot tub because that was the only warm water we could find. (It was early March and there was several inches of snow on the ground.)

Life did not get easy for me and I was still not learning my lesson in trust. When I was about thirteen I hit the rocks.

Faith asked me once, what caused my depression. I was never really sure what started it but I think it was mostly my loneliness. My brother had just moved out, I still had no friends to speak of, and life did not feel worth living. I didn’t know the nasty road depression would take me down so I didn’t fight it. I sat back and simply nursed my wounds.

I began to doubt God’s goodness and one question in particular looped through my brain.

Why did God put us on earth? We simply live, have hard sad lives and then die. What is the point? What does anything really matter?

I tucked up in side myself, pulled away from the cruel world and awaited my turn to die. Though I never considered suicide I remember crying and begging God to take me home.

Then my Grandma got cancer. I thought, so what? She’ll go through treatment, lose her hair and come out fine, just like she always has. Life moved on, and I sank further.

I turned fourteen that year. There was nothing about my birthday to remember. It went by in a black, unhappy blur.

During this time, I began to sleep a lot. Pretty much anytime I didn’t have to do something else. It was my way of removing the pain for a while. My family thought I was anemic (which is still possible though for other reasons). I was so closed, and always had been that they had no idea my ailments were simply mental/spiritual.  (It wasn’t actually until a few months ago that I finally told some of them). 

Then May came and I heard my Grandma had been life lighted to a big hospital because she had (I think) perforated bowels.

At that news I came partly back to life in a sort of panic. What if she died? What would life be like then? How would I feel? No one I new very closely had ever died before but this Grandma, was one of only two grandparents still living. What if she died?

My family made a scurried trip some eight hours to her bedside where my older brother and his family already were. She surprised us by being nearly as chipper as normal. After several days she seemed to be on the mend and we were going to go home. Then, about midnight while we were all sleeping at a hotel we received a call.

I’ll not go into details about what caused the call; I simply will say that she was dying.

The next morning was spent by her bedside or in whispered conferences in the waiting room. The ICU nurses were wonderful. They actually allowed my brother to bring in his not quite two year old son to say good bye. And they said nothing when we way exceeded the room limit of number of people they allowed.

During this time I kept myself well together and stayed by her as much as possible. She could not speak because she had a tube down her throat to keep her from suffocating but sometimes she would tap on the bed side and when I brought an empty notebook she would take a pen and write notes.

I lost it then (and just now) when she wrote what she wanted done at her funeral. Her hand writing was bad because I was shaking the notepad.

Finally, when all the family was there her throat tube was removed.

All my life my family has sung together. Not as a performance but just for fun. There were many scripture songs that we all had memorized and I don’t know why but then, as we were all standing around and waiting for her to die we started singing. She asked for the notebook and when someone held it up she wrote, “On Christ the Solid Rock I Stand”. So we sang that.  Then “It is Well”. And another which I no longer remember. When we paused she took the notebook and wrote again, “I want the S--- family (mine) to sing these songs at my funeral.”

Then she wrote one more thing, “I’ll see you all in heaven.”

We sang “It is Well” as she passed into heaven. I cried more then, than I have in all my other cries put together.

I saw, in her death, that she gave glory to God for everything. Everything! And I cried out all my bitterness, all my doubts and that afternoon I learned why God had put us here, on earth.

To bring Him glory.

What greater calling could I ask for?

Of course there have been other bumps and humps since then but my Savior is good. He has never let me down though I have broken His heart more times than I can count.