My Testimony: Trying to Stab God in the Heart

Almost fourteen years ago, I was sitting in a youth class on a Wednesday night at a church that I had been attending for about four years, questioning how God could claim to be who He is.  My parents were involved in various auxiliaries and I was at church three to four times a week.  In all of our church-going, my family couldn't seem to grasp the concept of carrying their salvation home.  Our house was filled with hell.  

My parents divorced, my mom left us, then my dad checked out.  Shortly after they swapped roles and my dad left and my mom checked out.  I was ten, scared, and trying to care for my two-year-old brother.  My mom then married one of the reasons for my parent's divorce, only cutting us innocents even the deeper and compounding issue on issue.

How could God really care?  How could He let so much happen to children?  Anger became my armor and bitterness my shield.  I was fed-up with the mess that the adults in my life had created, leaving me to pick up the pieces.

I sat on a bench, checked out from the lesson being taught, screaming on the inside.  Seething with venom for this God who could allow such things.  That sat by why I felt like I was bleeding to death.  Where was my rescue?  Where was my salvation now?

Knowing that blaspheming the Holy Spirit was the only true way to concrete the void between me and this God, I tried.  I tried several times to figure out how to complete the separation.  Spitting in God's face as the internal dialogue raged on inside of me despite my calm demeanor on the outside.

Class ends.  Church is dismissed.  And in my innermost darkness, I sense a stirring.  Before I could get out of his reach, God's messenger came.  A youth minister who was a little too enthusiastic for most people's taste.  He began to look at me with piercing eyes, causing me to shift in my discomfort, and then began to share in my internal conversation without being invited or informed of its existence.

"You do care."  My insides trembled.  No I didn't.  I didn't care anymore.  God obviously didn't care.  Look at what He allowed to happen.  

"You do care and so does He."  The tears began to warm my ducts as I fought to not let them expose themselves.  How dare he chime in on something he knew nothing about.  Something He knew nothing about.

Within a few moments, the minister's words began to pull back the veil of the infected wounds of my heart.  Then the most amazing thing happened...God revealed himself.

No I didn't see God in the room, but I felt His hand touch my heart.  I felt His love surround me on every side, inside and out.  I no longer had control of my emotions...tears fell, my heart bled, and a warm sensation set over me.  All of a sudden, the very accusations I set against Him, were voided.  He did care.  He cared enough to not just send His Son in preparation for our separation, but to track me, pursue me, to hold me while I kicked and screamed in His arms as the infection was lanced out of my wounds.

He took a little girl who hated the world.  Hated her parents and tried to hate He who loved her.  Who actively sought separation while He continued to pursue her.  That night I was saved from all that held me down.  As I tried to stab Him in the heart, He started healing the broken places.

He stopped the lives of other people that night to reach out and touch me.  He returned my venom with an overwhelming flood of love.

Then He took my heart in His hands and gently started reactivating the dead the places.  He didn't give me a lecture.  He didn't look disapprovingly at me.  He just gently gave me life in all the dead places.

I was so bound.  I felt like a mummy in my own skin.  Completely wrapped up and unable to be anything worthwhile.  He loosed me inside of myself.  He freed me and told me of His creation [ME!].  Of the wonderful creature He created to walk in freedom and lead others to the place of His love.

Never condemning me.  Ever patient and gentle, continually washing me and keeping me.  Keeping me better than I could or ever have kept myself.

Fourteen years later, He has never forsaken me.  He has never been swayed by my tantrums or taken back His investment.  Despite my best arguments that I wasn't worth anything, He continues to show His greatness to me and in me.

The night I tried to stab God in the heart, He reached down and engulfed me in His love.  What a God I serve!

The journey has not been without bumps, but I have never been alone or unequipped to deal with all that has happened.  Even the darkest of days do not compare to the darkness that threatened to engulf me fourteen years ago.  Nor has His intervention and warm embrace been withheld from me since that day.