My Testimony.

I’m driving home from uni, praying. I can’t shake the feeling.

“Claire, you need to write about this.”

So I get home, sit down, and turn on my laptop.

My hands meet the keyboard to start typing, but nothing is coming to mind.

I stare at a blank screen for ten minutes, then turn it off.

Over the last year, this has happened to me approximately six times.

Each and every time I try to open up about my faith, fear creeps in and I can’t bring myself to put it into words.

Today, during the drive home from work, I started thinking about it once again. And realising why I was scared, made it abundantly clear that this has to be done, and that it has to be done today.

I am a Christian, and I’m no longer afraid to say it.

‘Christianity’ has been a part of my life, in one way or another, for as long as I can remember.

I grew up in a congregation that was basically made up of my extended family, and thanks to my wonderful Nanna, your girl can perform a broken rendition of ‘He’s Got The Whole World in His Hands’ at a moment’s notice.

My best friend’s family have been the perfect picture of Christianity for basically my entire life, and attending youth group with her has produced some of my favourite memories from my teenage years (a personal favourite: being thrown in mid-air and falling directly onto my face in front of cool high school boys in a Lady Gaga costume that I assembled myself at the age of 13).

But even though I considered myself a ‘Christian’ for the better part of 19 years, this never-ending fear of judgement prevented me from truly knowing God.

Every time I got close to being ‘saved’, the world threw me a curveball, and instead of trusting God, I continued to take matters into my own hands.

Today, I want to share those times with you.

Nanna & Pop

 My Nanna and Pop were the picture-perfect, Godly couple.

Despite the fact that Pop was a MAJOR stirrer and loved a good jump scare (my entire extended family constantly talk about his power move: randomly bashing the underside of the dining table with his walking stick for no reason), he had so much heart, and cared deeply about leading his grandchildren to truth.

Nanna was the sweetest, most humble, grace-filled woman, that I have ever known. She genuinely loved her neighbours, and remained joyful for her entire life- even as a widow.

After they passed, everything seemed to fall apart.

Our family slowly but surely stopped going to church, and we all grew distant from one another- a distance that still exists to this day.

And when it came to God, I just didn’t see the point in trying to know Him when I had nobody to teach me anymore.

I look back at my short time with them with a smile, but also with regret. For had I only asked Pop to read his bible to me just once, or simply asked why we said grace before we ate, my life would have probably been very different.

High School

If you have read any of my ‘Real Life’ content, you will know that high school was generally not a pleasant experience for me.

I’ve talked about my experience with bullying quite a few times (this post sums it up), but there’s one piece of the story that I’ve never had the courage to share (until now, I guess).

One day, a friend of mine was talking to a boy that she was interested in about the subject of purity, and to put a long story short, good old Claire came up in conversation.

Being that this boy was not the biggest fan of me, soon enough, almost every single boy in my year was informed that they shouldn’t “waste their time on me” for reasons that you can probably piece together.

The sad part?

I had no idea that everyone knew.

For a solid year, boys were ‘fake-flirting’ with me, so they could laugh about it with each other later. I was the butt of probably the most embarrassing joke of all time.

And what makes it even worse?

That decision hadn’t even crossed my mind before, because I still thought boys had cooties.

When I found out, I was beyond mortified, and very, very hurt. The girls who were bullying me made me feel bad enough, and now the boys were in on it too.

“Why?” I thought. “Why does believing in God make life so difficult?”.

Instead of owning it and placing my trust in him, I shut God out, and didn’t see him again until my life spiralled out of control.

2017 

2017 was the hardest year of my life so far.

In the space of six months, my grandfather passed very suddenly, my Mum battled cancer, and looking back, I now know that I was suffering with extreme anxiety.

Before Mum was diagnosed, I started praying again for the first time since high school. I didn’t know what I was doing, but I knew I needed someone or something.

I spent the day of that appointment saying the same sentence over and over again, crying out to whoever would listen.

So when Dad said those terrifying words, I felt completely betrayed.

“Why, God? Why?!”

I was angry, and uncontrollably heartbroken, but I knew that I had to be strong for my family. I practically shut off my emotions for three months, and it got very dark.

As treatment started, things just kept getting worse, and worse, and worse.

Eventually, I broke.

 

One day, as I was driving home from uni, with tears streaming down my face and a scarily rapid heartbeat, I screamed.

“I can’t do this God! Take this away from me! I don’t want this anymore! Take this away from me!”

I was hysterical, and then I wasn’t.

The tears stopped falling, my heart slowed to a normal pace, the world fell silent, and I heard it.

“It is well.”

The weight that had been pressing on my heart for so many years had lifted, and I was filled with an overwhelming sense that everything would somehow be ok.

I’m aware that it sounds bizarre, but I just remember physically feeling the weight of the world getting lighter, and with it, falling into a completely calm state.

I went to sleep that night, and actually slept.

But it doesn’t stop there.

I woke up the next morning to the sound of my parents talking in the kitchen, and what I heard assured me that God is very real. So undeniably real.

It was a miracle that set us free forever.

(Conveniently, I cannot share the details publicly, as it is not my story to tell the world. But if you do happen to see me on the street and want to know, I will happily tell you.)

Ever since that day, I have been living my life for God.

Thanks to an incredible friend that came into my life during my final semester of university, I have now found a church that I consider to be my second family.

At 21, I now have a purpose beyond just living, and for the first time in my life, anxiety fails to take away the joy that that brings me.

But it’s not just the good times that I appreciate.

Despite the pain, I am so thankful for what I have been through.

Through Nanna and Pop, God showed me what marriage is supposed to look like, and thinking about being a wife and mother one day has become a very exciting prospect.

Through that boy and those rumours, God shielded me from heartbreak and helped me to grow the thick skin that I now need on a daily basis.

And the pain of 2017 has truly set me free.

He’s got the whole world is in his hands, and I will never have to carry the weight alone again.

 

Feature image: Carolyn V via Unsplash. No changes made.