The Truth About Me and God

Sometimes telling the truth is the hardest thing to do, because it isn't always standing up and yelling, "Hey, someone notice me!" 

Often, the truth is sitting off in the corner, marginalized and unwanted, silently waiting for the moment when it will be called forwards. Although truth usually has to wait a while, it's very very patient, because it knows that it can't be ignored forever. Someday the truth must step to the front and tell what it's been forced to hold silent for so long.

I'm guilty of marginalizing the truth, or as it's called by another name, reality. 

I try so hard to keep things real, and I dislike when others live fake lives, but here I am; the biggest culprit of them all.

I have struggled for so many years, wondering if I should share my testimony or not. 

Would it actually be a blessing to anyone? Would anyone identify with it?
Can I really glorify God by a story that is not finished?

You see, it's not that I've gone off and done a bunch of outrageous, shocking sinning. I've grown up as a pastor's daughter, and I knew my Bible better than anyone else in Pathfinders. I was homeschooled all the way until my last year of high school, and then finished that year at one of the best Adventist boarding academies in North America. I went canvassing for a summer when I was fifteen. I took four months off after graduating to go to a school of evangelism and got an media internship under some guys who had worked with 3ABN. I've been baptized twice. I attend a very spiritual, self-supporting Adventist college, and have racked up about 49 weeks (235 days, 1,880 hrs.) of canvassing experience since 2008.  I have memorized many chapters of the Bible, memorized most all the words to all the verses to most of the hymns in the new hymnal (and many in the old hymnal), and read Steps to Christ several times, as well as other Spirit of Prophecy books. I have performed on stage at the GC in Atlanta, and ASI in Orlando, and helped preach a couple of evangelistic series. I am on 3ABN with Fountainview Academy. I grew up having family worship every morning and mostly every night. Never really missed church if I could help it. Always paid tithe and offering, since I was little. I could almost quote the entire Pilgrim's Progress pt. 2 story, as well as most of the Your Story Hour tapes and some of the Pathways of the Pioneers series.
When I was little, I learned how to make bread, soymilk (or almost any kind of milk) and tofu at home, and fix a full haystack (complete with making fake cheese) in less than 30 minutes.
I was raised to be a good Adventist.

Talk about sheltered -
 I have never drank coffee, tasted alcohol, smoked, tried drugs, or had a boyfriend. Only tried fish once, otherwise have been a vegetarian (mostly a vegan). Never tasted Mountain Dew or other high-energy drinks. Never watched Twilight or read the books. I never happily listened to anything stronger than country music, and have never gotten into gaming, reading trash books, or any kind of sexual sins. We never had TV in my family's house, and only in the past few years had wifi. I didn't have a working smartphone until this summer.

A lot of you may have a hard time believing I'm telling the truth. 
I grew up very differently from most people.

On the other hand, those of you who did grow up like me and have made even better choices are probably thinking, "That's my life too. Isn't that the way it's supposed to be?"

Yes, and even better.

But then...why do I have a testimony?
If I have had such a perfect life, then what is there to say?

Praise God for keeping me out of the world?

True. He has, for the most part.

But I think my story is different from the girls who have grown up like me and are part of or connected to family ministries, who go to family camps, record inspiring music CD's with their best-friend siblings, write devotional books and blogs on vegan recipes or the modesty issue, have very sweet voices, perfect skin, and luscious long hair, and would never dream of wearing jeans in public. No offense if you are one of those girls I'm talking about; I just think you're a way better person than I am.
I am not a guard-your-heart, princess-type of girl who has never wanted anything wrong, and has always been close to God. In fact, I didn't even realize God wanted me to be close to Him until about four years ago.

See, although our family looked really good on the outside, we were so busy looking good when we went out that we didn't realize we weren't actually good on the inside. We were not good at home. There was often so much chaos at home that I thought of many different ways I could run away.
I am naturally a peace-craving person, and don't thrive on conflicts, so I grew up with the self-inflicted burden of trying to solve all the problems around me. When I was young, but old enough to care, I read all the books I saw around me on how to fix different grown-up issues, and did what I could to encourage others to follow the advice I found.

I was the oldest of my siblings, a very talented, intelligent child. Therefore, I felt it was my responsibility to save my family, my extended family, all three of my dad's churches, all my friends, and the whole rest of the world. As I worked through my schoolwork, I would ponder my fate, and wonder what would happen if I couldn't fix everyone's problems. If I couldn't succeed  -but I didn't think of that option. I didn't know what I would do.
I learned that my own feelings and thoughts were not important or appreciated, so I gave up trying to express them and focused on getting others to talk about themselves instead.

All this time, I never realized that Jesus loved me. I could sing all the verses to that song, and write my own, but they didn't sink in. I thought I was completely alone; I never connected my religion with my reality.
I could listen to my friends and tell them how God could help them, but never understand that He could help me too.

Instead of turning to Jesus for help, I told myself that I didn't need any help and drowned myself in reading books. At first it was the nice mission books and Laura Ingalls Wilder books, but eventually it became historical fiction and started edging into fantasy. I had at last found a way to numb the constant, gnawing pain that ate me from the inside out.  When I couldn't handle the situation around me, I would run to my room, close the door, and flop on my bed in gutwrenching silence. I couldn't speak, couldn't do anything about it.  I could never admit how I felt.
A few times I tried to pray and ask God to help, but it seemed like my prayers were hitting the ceiling and raining back down on my head like icicles.

God, where are You? Do You see me? Can't You do something? 

No answer. So I told myself that I didn't matter to anyone and didn't care, put on my CCM music (that I wasn't allowed to listen to), and almost instantly forgot about the anger and frustration I felt. If the music didn't help, then I would read a book.
Eventually, fictional books were banned from our house, so I quickly learned that I could write my own stories. I gradually shifted into my own virtual reality, where I was a lonely princess who was about to be found by an abnormally perfect guy, or an tough orphan who learned to cope with life on her own terms. In one scenario I desperately needed a savior-figure, and in the other I was my own savior. These stories ate me up. I daydreamed so constantly that I actually started to wonder if my fictional boyfriend existed in real life. However, to everyone else I acted tough, like I didn't need anyone or anything, (least of all a boy) to save me. To admit a need would be to admit a weakness in my shell, and I couldn't allow myself to do that.
If I did, I would fall apart completely.

When I felt the shell cracking I would run to the woods behind our property and cry to myself. No one could know that I was crying. How I wished that my imaginary boyfriend was real and could comfort me! I knew that my daydreaming wasn't actually helping anything, but I didn't know what else to do. God wasn't coming through for me, and I believed that was because I wasn't quite doing something right.
After a while of trying desperately hard to do everything I knew to do right, and worrying properly about everyone else's problems, I started realizing that I needed help.

Unfortunately, at that time, I didn't know how to ask for it. So, like many other teens who deal with chronic emotional pain, I became depressed. I wore black as much as possible, listened to the heaviest CCM music I could find, hid behind my bangs, started reading anime, and learning how to draw anime, and learned how to look as emo as possible while still semi-fitting the stereotype of how a pastor's daughter should look. If anyone asked if I was ok, I put on a happy mask and said I was fine. As soon as they left, however, I would and hug myself as tightly as possible, chanting silently, It's ok. It's ok. It's ok. Everything is going to be just fine. Just don't cry. Don't cry.
 It worked; I learned to stop crying. I learned how to not look angry or frustrated. I learned how to mask the truth, to lie about how I felt. I didn't think anyone cared, or could help if they did care, so I shut down and stopped acting like I cared. 

I soon developed some health problems, either from the depression or as a cause of the depression. I wanted to sleep constantly so that I wouldn't need to experience life. I thought I was fated to die young because I had failed at my mission of saving the world. I couldn't even deal with my own issues. I worried constantly about everything I could think of; and with the power and scope of my imagination, I could find a lot of things to worry about.
One morning, I remember laying in bed, almost paralyzed with depression and thinking, God, if You're real, could you help me? I'll give You my life if You do. I got baptized soon after that, hoping that maybe then God could help me, since I had done a good Christian thing. I didn't understand anything about baptism, other than that I needed to agree with the Adventist beliefs into order to join the club. I didn't feel any different after coming up out of the cold water. I was just hoping God would be happy with me now. It didn't seem like He was.

A few times I thought about killing myself, but I knew that was wrong. I didn't want to make even more problems for anyone, plus I was too scared to do anything to hurt myself. I couldn't cut my skin on purpose; that was absolutely horrifying. All I could do was sit in the dark and ache like crazy until I was too tired to stay awake. 

About this time, I went to academy for my senior year. Getting away from my situation back at home, I determined to be a different person. I was going to be a happy girl now and make friends with every single student. Nobody had to know that I was depressed. The people back at home seemed to think I was going to be that way forever, but I wanted something different. I stopped wearing black, writing stories, daydreaming as much, and focused on getting to know other people and doing my best to be a different person. I definitely succeed in being different; I don't think the staff at that school or anyone who knew me there will ever forget me.
I was a little crazy.
On top of that, though I could hide the depression, I soon developed extreme anxiety.
I had some kind of attack one morning after church, but everyone thought it was a medical issue, so no one knew how to address it. 
After that, I started having panic attacks regularly about 4 to 5 times a day. I panicked while falling asleep, and as soon as I woke up. I lived in constant fear of sudden death, and felt like I had completely lost control of myself. I think that was the most frightening part; my iron mask was melting, and I felt like I would die if anyone knew that I was actually depressed. The loneliness heightened and I found myself wishing for death. One day, I was cleaning the tour bus alone, pondering how hopeless my life seemed. I began to believe that it wouldn't matter if I were alive or dead. Just then as I reached up into the overhead compartment and pulled down a bunch of empty wrappers and lunch bags, a Glow tract fell out with them. I picked it up dazedly and turned it over.
It was titled, "Does God Care That I'm Hurting?"

My heart stopped. Maybe God did notice me?

I held on to that moment and didn't tell anyone about it. The panic attacks continued.
During most of the attacks, I felt like I was covered in physical darkness. The devil whispered a constant stream of lies into my ears, and I was incapable of praying for help. Sometimes I gasped, Jesus, please help me! and the darkness became a little lighter, but most of the time I just started to shake uncontrollably and cry out of terror.
I'm lost! I wasn't good enough; now I'm too far to be saved. God can't fulfill His promises to me because I can't even believe Him. I have to fight the devil alone, but I'm not strong enough. Is God going to let me die now, like this? 

To all who are reaching out to feel the guiding hand of God, the moment of greatest discouragement is the time when divine help is nearest. They will look back with thankfulness upon the darkest part of their way. . . . From every temptation and every trial He will bring them forth with firmer faith and a richer experience.--The Desire of Ages, p. 528

God was there, right beside me, though I couldn't discern Him. He sent many different people to stay with me, pray with me, and listen as I tried to explain the tangled mess of unrealistic self-expectations and lies in my mind. That year, 2010, I grew through a fierce struggle, but came out on the other side a little stronger, and a little happier.

The health problems still continued. I got my blood drawn many times, went to different doctors, went to counseling, and even got exorcised.
Nothing really helped. Although I had learned to control my thoughts enough to the point where I no longer panicked, I still felt aimless and hopeless. Going to the school of evangelism helped me stay busy and in a spiritual atmosphere, but I made myself too busy to have time for God and got distracted.
I was scared that God wasn't happy with me, so I tried to appease Him by doing things for Him instead of talking with Him.

The spring of 2011, I was at home and extremely unhappy. I hadn't gone to college yet, so my friends had moved on without me. I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life, anyway.
Out of desperation, I finally started applying to different Adventist colleges and decided that I liked Union the best. I had grown up on the outskirts of the Southern community and always felt out-of-place and unwelcome, but the Union students I worked with at camp were very friendly. At this time, my dad decided to resign from the ministry, so I lost the 75%-off tuition costs benefit of being the daughter of a conference employee. That really started to limit my options for college, although I was eligible for a very large scholarship based on my ACT score. Union ended up being the cheapest college, and they wanted me to come so badly that they gave me all the scholarships, free money, and access to loans they could find. It was looking like a pretty sweet deal, until my parents told me they would rather I went to Ouachita Hills College instead.

I was extremely angry that they would ask me to consider it. I didn't like the things I had heard about it. On top of that, they had just accepted jobs there and would be moving soon. I didn't want to live with my family any longer; I wanted out of the house. I wanted to move on with my life, to create and pursue my own dreams. I wanted to be free from my past and start a new chapter. I wanted to make my own working religion, outside of the one my parents had trained me to live.
Ouachita Hills College had a funny name, I only knew a few people from there and I didn't like them, and it was in Arkansas, of all places. That was the state I least wanted to live in. Who knew what kind of people lived there, and what kind of a strange place it would be? 

I was very angry with my parents for accepting the offer to work there. It meant that they could not help me with any college tuition. The only option I had for college without getting into debt was Ouachita Hills College, because since my parents would be staff there, I would have free tuition.
I hated that. I felt like God and my parents were conspiring against me to completely ruin the first chance I got at having a somewhat normal life.
Now I couldn't move on, I would have to keep living the same, sheltered Adventist lifestyle. I couldn't date anyone there, (not that I would want to date anyone from that school), and I would be forced into canvassing! That last one was the biggest part. Since I had barely made it through the canvassing summer of 2008, and a couple of other short programs, I had decided that I really disliked the work. In fact, I hated it! I hated that school too. They wanted me to be miserable for the rest of my life.

So I told my parents that I was sure God wanted me to go to Union. It all seemed to make sense to me. Why go to a place that you hate, when you could go to a place where you want to be?

They said it was my choice, but one day my mom tried one last time. She had broken her elbow and developed a serious infection in the site where they had operated on it. As she lay on the floor, grimacing in pain, she looked up and me and simply asked me to reconsider Ouachita Hills College.

I shook my head and left her there. Back in my room, the Holy Spirit started poking me.

"Honor thy father and thy mother..."

And then I instantly knew what I had to do. If this was a matter of God's law, I knew what the right thing was. And so I fell on my knees and surrendered my choice to God. I wrote Him a contract, saying why I was choosing Ouachita Hills College, so that I wouldn't be tempted to change my mind.

(UPDATE) I found the contract on another old blog. Here it is:

Today, July 14 2011 I decided to go to Ouachita Hills College, in accordance with my parents direction and realize that I forfeit any other privileges I might have gained at another college. This decision has been my own, and it was based on the desire to follow God's will and learn some valuable foundational skills and maturity that I might not gain elsewhere.
This choice seems to be a little risky and somewhat presumptuous from different standpoints, but I trust that what I cannot see is something that God sees and takes into account. His will is what I desire to do, and I believe that I will fully benefit from this decision. God help me to keep looking forward and not waver. I choose to follow Him and stay at OHC until I have learned what He wants me to learn. The determining factor will be whether my parents feel I am ready to leave or not. 
I leave my future up to God and trust that He knows what is best for me, and what will first make me holy, and next make me happy. My rebellious spirit I give to Him, and I promise not to turn back or try to recant this decision, as it has been my own choice, and not a force of my will.

And so I told Union I wasn't coming. I applied to that hick school in Arkansas, instead. On the application, where I was supposed to write an essay about why I wanted to come, I told them why I didn't want to come and why they shouldn't accept me.

...and they accepted me anyway....

And so I went, determined to stay there for one semester and nothing more, just to make my parents happy. I applied to get a degree in Christian Media, but Mrs. Rodgriguez, who is now the president, convinced me to major in Education. I didn't want to be a teacher, but she was the first normal-looking person there, and she seemed to care about me, so I followed her advice. I wasn't going to change, and be like the people there, though. I hated the Scripture songs they sang all the time, disliked the dress code and other restrictions, and dreaded canvassing.

And now I'm in my fourth year of Education at Ouachita Hills College.
Over these past years, I've changed a lot.

Those of you who know me would probably agree. I look like I am happy.
It's true, I'm a lot happier.

But this is that part of the story that has always made me reluctant to tell the whole thing:

I'm not completely perfect yet.

Shocker?

I still fight depression sometimes. Sometimes -very rarely now- I still want to panic, although you would never ever be able to tell when I feel like that. I still wonder what God is doing with my life. I still am not sure how to relate to God; still not sure if I'm doing everything I know to do right in order for Him to fulfill His promises.

The difference is now that I really distrust myself. I have learned to live by choice, and not by feeling. I have learned to obey God, although what He asks sometimes doesn't make any sense. I have learned to love Scripture songs, canvassing, and the weird people that I go to school with. I have even learned to call Arkansas, that hick state, home.
And I found Jesus there, at that school I never wanted to go to.

Looking back on the decision to come, and thinking of all the broken dreams I left behind, I think of this verse:

"Yea doubtless, and I count all things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord: for whom I have suffered the loss of all things, and do count them but dung, that I may win Christ." 

Philippians 3:8

If I had to lose the whole world and everything good in it, just to know Jesus, I would do it.

Not because I feel like I love Jesus more than anything, but because I want to love Him more than anything.
Not because I am not attracted to anything in the world, but because I choose to be more attracted to Jesus.
Not because I feel like obeying, but because I choose to.

I don't live in unreality anymore; I am learning to connect with my real life, learning to calmly process emotions instead of deny them or worship them.
I'm learning to move forwards despite how I feel.
I'm learning to walk by faith.

I learning to realize that during all those dark times I went through, Jesus was right beside me, holding me together. Though I couldn't see His hand, He was guiding me. Though I misunderstood Him, He understood me.
I'm starting to believe that He loves me; starting to accept that. He was the Savior-figure I was longing for the whole time, though I didn't realize it.

I was a lonely princess, and He came to save me from myself.
Although I'm still growing, I am learning to let Him rescue me.

And that's my testimony, for what it's worth. I left out a lot, but there essence is there. It's the truth about me, and my experience with God.