New Hope Church of Niagara

Pastor Thom Speaking 9:15 & 10:45

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Nov.03- Understated, Unexpected and unexplained Nov.23- 20 Ways to bring Jesus into Christmas, Emmanual - God with us Nov.23- Brendan's Story Nov.16- Just Another Day?

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Changed Lives...So Life Went On ...Mandy K.

I didn’t grow up in a Christian home. Despite that, I don’t ever recall a time in my life when I wasn’t aware of God. I had grandparents who would cart me off to church every chance they got, and probably for that reason alone I grew up knowing about Jesus. In fact, I decided at a very early age that I wanted to become a Christian… when I turned 25. I guess I figured a person could have just about as much fun as they needed to in life by the time they were 25. And then I could get on with doing the “right thing”, and surrender fun for God. I was pretty pious for an 8 year old..

So life went on.

I grew up in a village called Point Edward, just outside of Sarnia. My father was an alcoholic and had many issues that go along with that. My mother had her own share of struggles, in addition to dealing with my father. I don’t know if my parents’ marriage was ever stable. I don’t ever remember feeling like home was a safe place. My mom did the best she could, to shield my brother and me from my father’s junk, and to nurture us as best she could. She did well. But even the best mother in the world can’t be a father too. And that has its price.

I was always a Goody 2-Shoes Kid. I am that girl who got straight A’s, played all the sports, obeyed all the rules, and was basically liked by everyone. But somehow I always felt alone, unloved and undeserving of love. My parents divorced when I was in grade 5, and I hit a rough patch. I don’t ever remember being angry about them splitting up, or wanting them to get back together, and I wouldn’t have even thought that my childhood was abnormal. I mean, what family isn’t dysfunctional, right? I thought I was fine. But suddenly I started smoking, sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night, stealing money, fighting with my mother, my teachers, and failing tests – on purpose. I didn’t think I was angry, but all kinds of hurt and anger were flying out of me. I don’t know what brought that period to an end. I guess at some point I got tired of trying to be the bad kid, so I just took all that pain and stuffed it deep inside. Which would turn out to be much more dangerous.

But life went on, and I was the good girl again. I entered high school, made more friends, became a cheerleader, joined the debate team, what more could you ask for? Life was good, but I was not. My inner world was turning darker and darker every day. I don’t know how else to explain it except to say that I was dying inside, for no apparent reason. And the more pain I felt on the inside, the brighter I tried to shine on the outside. It only got worse the more I pretended to be something I wasn’t, to myself and everyone else. I felt more alone than I ever had in my life.

I did continue to have occasional brushes with God. Occasionally I would visit my aunt and uncle in St. Catharines, who went to a very warm, very upbeat church. Just about every time I went with them, I cried at some point during the service, often during worship, when I would feel an unfamiliar love tugging at my heart. I was fascinated by the way the pastor would talk about God, like a friend, like a father, like someone who actually walked beside you through life. I would head home again thinking that maybe I would be a Christian now, before I turned 25. I would start to read the Bible. I would stop swearing. On average, my commitment lasted a week or so.

There were now other forces at play in my life, though. Since the time of my grade school rebellion, I had learned that despite how alone I felt, there was affection in the world. There was light, and there was happiness, and there was a way to feel very special. That way, was boys. I basically had a boyfriend from the time I was 12 on. Although it’s fairly cliché with the father issues and all, I really believed that with a boyfriend, I could almost feel loved. I kept trying. “Maybe this one will love me enough. Maybe that one will do the trick.” It shocks me now to realize how young I was, and what I was up to. It would probably shock my parents too. I don’t know how God kept me safe through all of that, but surely it could only have been him.

When I was 15, I had a particularly serious boyfriend who I cared a great deal about. Between the affection from him and his whole wonderful family, I even began to see my dark thoughts start to lighten up. It was a really good year. And then he dumped me.

And for some reason, when that happened, the sprig in the dam broke loose inside. Over the next 6-8 months, my inner world turned from dark to dangerous. I thought about committing suicide often, evaluating the options: how I could do it, where I could do it, when I would do it. I had trouble keeping up my trusty façade of the good, happy girl. I rarely slept, I dropped most of my friends except one, I had a couple of boyfriends, but my heart wasn’t even in that anymore. It just felt like all the pain in the world had welled up and rolled over me. Everything from my childhood, my father, some other things that had happened to me, everything that I had tried to ignore landed on top of me and it wouldn’t go away this time. I hated myself, I was filled with despair. I had no hope for anything. I just wanted to die. I was 16 years old.

That year, I went to spend the summer with my aunt and uncle. By the time I got there I was pretty much a ticking time bomb. Which oddly enough, I think was right where God would have wanted me. We went to church, we went to church camp, they held a small group in their home every week, all summer long it was God every which way you looked. It didn’t take me long to surrender. And this time it was real, it was deep, I knew there was an invisible person standing right in front of me, reaching out to me. I did a lot of crying that summer, and a lot of laughing like I hadn’t done in a long time. For the first time in so long, I felt like I could breathe. I felt that maybe I wasn’t alone. I felt like Someone had seen and known everything, and that Someone had loved me all my life, though I hadn’t known him. I met Jesus face-to-face that summer. My conversion didn’t happen in a day, exactly, but I know that by the end of August I was sold out. I knew that I would spend the rest of my life pursuing a deeper relationship with God, and that it would be the most important thing to me, forever. And it still is.

I wish I could say it was the end of my feeling alone, it was the end of my looking for love in the wrong places, even that it was the end of my struggle with suicide. It wasn’t. My conversion is ongoing. But the love and connection and friendship I have with God are immovable, and I wouldn’t trade them for the world.

This isn’t the path I would have chosen for myself, and it certainly isn’t what I want for my kids. But God promises that in his hand, even the worst of heartaches can be fashioned into tools for his Kingdom. And I believe him. He exchanges beauty for ashes, every day. Romans 8:28 says “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” I thank God that he called me. And I thank God that I answered. And I thank God that it’s turned out to be really really fun.

Mandy