These are true stories by volunteers who wish to share their experiences.

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Down to 0 and Desperate

Topic: Financial Provision

By: Janet

12/2025

I’m just going to tell you my favorite God story from about 17 years ago at a difficult time in my life. I had just left my abusive husband. I was a single mom with 3 young children. I had to humble myself and move back in with my parents. Everything seemed harder than it needed to be. I got a job catering events, but knew I needed to step it up if I was going to raise three kiddos by myself. So I wrote a letter to the local YMCA asking for a scholarship for two of my kids to attend their daycare program for a very low price. By God’s grace, they approved it, and I was able to pursue a nursing career.

I applied for the nursing program at our community College, but there was a very long waiting list. The day before the semester started, they called me and said someone backed out at the last minute, and they had an opening for me! I was on it! I obtained my nursing degree in only three years. I got little sleep and had no social life during that time, but God got me through it.

The most memorable moment of the three-year adventure was one Friday when I had clinicals at a hospital 45 minutes from my parents’ house. I had $0 to my name and no gas in my car. I started to question the whole idea of me being a nurse. I couldn’t even afford to get to my assignment.

A small voice whispered in my ear, “We started this together, we will finish it together”. Instantly, I felt such a sense of trust that I climbed into my Chevy and started to drive. 0 MILES TO EMPTY- that’s what I was working with. I covered the dash and just drove. I made it to the hospital and decided not to think about the drive home until after my rotation.

One particular patient had just come out of a bilateral amputation of her legs above the knees. She was an older woman; my heart really went out to her because she was clearly grieving the loss of her limbs. I sat with her a little longer than I was supposed to. I listened to her and prayed with her. God wanted to hang out with that woman that morning, and He saw to it that I made it there so that He could use me.

The absolutely mind-blowing part of the story is when I said goodbye to her at the end of my shift. Her husband shook my hand and said he prayed for a compassionate nurse for his wife since she was struggling so much, and that I was an answer to his prayer. When we released hands, there was a $20 bill in my hand!

Obviously, it was a weird thing; I couldn’t take money from a patient. Then I looked him in the eye and knew God told him to give me that gas money. He surely knew by the tear that ran down my eye that it was more than just 20 bucks. It was God’s faithfulness. It was freedom from the uncertainty that I had been a slave to for so long.

We gave each other scandalous smirks for a quick second because we both knew we were part of something divine. I cried the whole way home and vowed to never leave or depart from my Lord, my Provider!

I haven’t.

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When One Family Member Suffers, the Family Recovers

Topic: Family Struggle

By: Anonymous

12/2025

Our daughter has an older 25-year-old special needs brother who has a genetic condition known as Williams Syndrome, which, for him, is characterized by severe gastrointestinal difficulties and challenges, which have required him to undergo multiple digestive surgeries.

In late 2022, a very complex series of back-to-back digestive surgeries resulted in my son being considered clinically deceased for about 5 minutes or so. He told us later, after his recovery, “he didn’t want to be burned inside a box”. The strange thing is, when my wife and I discussed what we would do if he, in fact, did die from the incident, he was in a medically induced coma. Besides that, my wife and I weren’t even in his hospital room when we discussed how to handle his body after death; we were in the lobby by the elevators.

Our daughter has had 3 admissions to various health facilities since the time of Covid and her brother’s near-fatal, most recent series of surgeries. That’s when I started looking up causation possibilities of mental health disturbances and found Well-Child Syndrome or Glass-Child Syndrome, a vague, non-specific psychological condition according to the DSM-5.

Currently, my daughter is working toward obtaining her BSN and RN. Our son is doing well at a county daily activities and worksite. My wife is our son’s full-time caretaker at home (she had to leave her 26-year career due to the circumstances), and I am still working in the field of drug testing toxicology.

We all receive therapy. My wife and I receive marriage counseling. We have utilized psychologists, psychiatrists, therapists, social workers, and clinical counselors over recent years, and continue to participate in these services to this very day.

Our son’s near-death experience, or NDE, redirected me personally back to my faith, which I had veered away from over a period of many years.  I recall during his post-surgical hospitalization, I cried out to God, “Lord, please don’t take my son,” in tears of sorrow, uncertainty, and a pending feeling of being on the edge of major loss in my life.  Then, later down the road, I thought,  God knows what it is like to have to lose a son, when Jesus, his only begotten son, died on the cross for us all.  If any being of existence knows what it is like to lose a son to the clutches of death, it is he, God Almighty.

He always understands such pain, hurt, and emotional disturbance of our souls.  In our son’s darkest hour of recovery, when things were at the lowest possible level of dire circumstances, all I could do was pull my personal KJV Bible from home and bring it into the hospital to read scripture to him while he was in his coma. I hoped, prayed, and in faith “knew” that he somehow was hearing & listening to those words and sentences of scriptures that I was reading to him over his hospital bed, taking in the strength which they would provide.

What I noticed in this obviously extremely difficult time was that all the nurses, doctors, and other patient health care professionals were working all around me inside the hospital room as I was reading the Bible directly over my son’s body.  I was grateful to recognize that not one hospital employee of any medical level of authority near us ever asked me to move, or please stop reading to him temporarily, or a “can I have a minute with the patient please”, nothing, they just kept working to care for our son, realizing themselves, how very fragile the situation was for his continued survival and hope for an expected “return to a new quality of life”.

The days went by as he slowly improved, and God kept him going as apparently, it was not yet his time to depart from this life. He now remains living (and a huge Amen to that, indeed!).  The Lord has his ways of transforming our lives, calling us back to him, delivering us from despair, and granting us more time to unite as one big family under the direction and guidance of our heavenly father through his son Jesus Christ and restoring us by his Holy Spirit.

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I Ignored God’s Warning!

Topic: Red Flags

By L

10/2025

I’m going to start my story at a point in my life when everything started taking a turn for the best! About 2 years after leaving a toxic relationship, I started going to church and gave my life to the Lord. I had a little daughter and owned my own condo. I secured a good job, and the Lord’s favor was on my life. I kept moving up in the company and felt so in tune with God and my decisions.

I remember having to tell the truth to a judge in a courtroom about a traffic ticket that I was fighting. God made me be honest, and it was so thrilling to live in an upright way. The judge showed mercy on me, and I was so elated because my family was seeing the change in me and giving God credit.

Fast forward to one Friday in February, when a random dozen roses were delivered to my condo. Included was a note to be ready at seven for a surprise Valentine’s Day date. Mind you, I had not been concerned with men or dating. I was so content with my life that this came as a great surprise. The adventurer deep down in me called my sister and borrowed a pretty dress. She babysat, and I stood there ready to go as a manager from my job showed up at my front door promptly at 7!

We dined at a lovely restaurant. During the “date”, and I’m not making this up, while he was mid-sentence, his eyes turned an iridescent green, and a chilling sensation went up my spine to the core. It was so out of place that I stood up, excused myself, and went to the restroom. I splashed water on my face, stared in the mirror, and asked God if He was showing me something evil in the otherwise very handsome man I was dining with. Everything in me knew in that moment that the answer was “Yes!”, but I rationalized it and went back out, a decision I will always question.

I’m certain God warned me that evening because from that moment on, I was sucked into an abyss of craziness that I am still in disbelief over (20 years later). I am not exaggerating. He was a liar, an abuser, and had a dark past that I didn’t find out about until God saved me from his web. He even told me that Satan had a grip on his life that he had no control over. I don’t know where he is today, although I pray for him.

I do know that I made a decision after that experience to learn what my weaknesses are and to involve people who love me when making big decisions because I was easily manipulated.

I’m not anymore. To God be the glory that I live to tell of His goodness and that He has helped me grow to a place where I can help others who are being deceived.

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Betrayal!

Topic: Betrayal

By Alana

9/2025

Honestly, the hardest thing I had to go through in my life was the betrayal of loved ones. I know people in society are always downplaying it like everyone goes through it, but nonetheless, it’s a raw experience that you just can’t get used to. It affects you. It affected me. I was raised in a pretty normal family and felt loved by my parents. When I was just a teenager, I met my first husband, and we were together for over 10 years. I found out that despite appearances, he was living a separate life on the side. It was the most painful thing I’ve ever experienced- like a knife going through my heart. But I was young, so I carried on and tried to love again- just a lot more guarded.

Then it happened again. Okay, now I wanted to know what was wrong with me. My self-worth started to be challenged in a big way. Why wasn’t I worth the same loyalty I was giving? Needless to say, I spent way too many years trying to change myself to be more lovable, more worthy of devotion than I should have. It left me further from who I was created to be and less like the Lani that I remembered before I gave love a try. I missed myself, but she was just a memory like an old friend.

Some girls from work invited me to a Bible study, and I accepted because I knew there had to be more to life than what I was experiencing, and I was curious. Not right away, but over time, I started to really understand who God is, and that helped me to understand who I am. I can humbly say that today, many years later, I know who I am and can love others again without feeling like I need to be someone I’m not.

Forgiveness was a huge part of my journey because, at the end of the day, we all either know who God is or we don’t, and until we do, we may do some pretty dumb things. He is the way, the truth, and the light. If you feel a little lost or too hurt to hope, start with Jesus! He will walk it out with you.

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Without a Dad, I Learned to Be a Man

Topic: Manhood

By Tom

9/2025

I didn’t grow up with a father in the house. No one to show me what it meant to be a man, no one to steady me when I wavered. Like a lot of men, I went looking for strength in all the wrong places — toughness, distraction, sin, anything to fill the ache.

For years, I tried to muscle through life without ever really knowing who I was. Then at 26, I met Christ. And slowly, He began reshaping me from the inside out. Not overnight. Not without scars. But day by day, habit by habit, truth by truth.

Through the Army, through working on cars, through leading men, through the heartbreak of loss and the gift of a second chance at marriage — God has been teaching me what real manhood looks like. Not perfect. Not polished. But rooted. Rugged. Faithful.

Because here’s the truth: the world doesn’t need more men who are busy, successful, or impressive. It needs men who know who they are in Christ. Men with clarity. Men with conviction. Men with a mission. That’s the journey I’m on.

Every son longs to know his father delights in him, and after reading the Bible and understanding more about God, I believe it was really His approval that I wanted all along.

I don’t know where you all are starting from. Maybe you’re strong but drifting? Maybe you’re broken and searching? Maybe you’re just tired of pretending? Whoever you are, wherever you’re at, I know that God has more for you! One day at a time, by God’s grace, I pray that you will hand Him the pen too and let Him write a story that you wouldn’t have ever dreamed of for yourselves.

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From Attempted Suicide To Rejoining Life

Topic: Suicide

Excerpt from Rebuilt On Ruins by Nancy Virden

9/2025

This time, the hope that had stretched for 32 years snapped. A new belief shot through my veins: my husband has never, will never love me. My will to live sank. Going home to be with Jesus forever seemed the logical next step. Depression impressed on me that there had been too many losses with only more to come. “Unlovable” swirled in my thoughts. Evidence to the contrary fell into the quicksand that is severe depression, and all positive thoughts drowned.  

False negative beliefs about the value of my life were in their full-blown glory by this point. Negative spiritual forces piled on that weakness, pressing for my suicide. Still, I wanted to be obedient to God, to honor him. I knelt and asked God, “Is it time? Please, let it be time.”

A firm, loud, male voice answered in my mind, “Yes, it is time. Come home.” Relief swept through my body. Half a beat later, the familiar small whisper of God said to my spirit, “No.” The first voice was not God’s, and I knew it. Irrationally deciding that I was uncertain, I ultimately chose my will over God’s and attempted suicide. A phone call from a therapist landed me in the ER and psychiatric unit. With a broken heart and battered mind, I tried to end my life again. It felt as if I had become an empty cavern, and everything that hinted of life fell into it and disappeared. There is no greater darkness than considering the defeat of one’s survival instinct as no big deal.

Jesus never left. He did not ask me to climb out of the pit to sing joyful songs, read his promises, or go to church. Instead, he entered my twisted world and met me there. He gave me a dream.

In this dream, I was happily strolling along a bright and peaceful street. Neat homes and manicured lawns rested behind widely arching mature oaks, their silver-green leaves x-rayed by the sun. Hearing a thunderous plunk, I asked a nearby young girl what was going on. Giggling in excitement, she announced that her father had built a bowling alley just for her in their backyard. Clearly, contented families like hers filled that neighborhood.

Looming out over the end of the street stood a towering, white mansion. In the distance behind the mansion lay the expansive, mystical version of Los Angeles, an enormous city that was everyone’s desire to reach. For in the City of Angels, no one was ever sad, and goodness reigned. One had to pass through the entire house and exit through the back door to enter the city of heavenly perfection.

A wealthy elderly man lived in the house. He warmly welcomed me at the front door, excited to see me. Once inside, the conversation turned to my desire to pass through the back door.  He said, “You can’t stay. Not yet. It is not time.”

Abounding with contented calm, I exited and followed the path toward a house I shared with a different, loving husband and his pleasant extended family. They cherished me. The charming yard teemed with content young in-laws, sprawled over the porch, and playing in the grass. When I tried to capture this joy with a photograph, the house shrank to the size and gray appearance of a shack. The lawn converted into an unkempt, muddy bed littered with old rusty pieces of metal and broken bottles. The now unruly children were dressed in rags.

I woke, already weeping. There would be no happy home and no contented family cherishing me. Everything I thought necessary for my wholeness would not manifest or end my pain. Like the photograph, hopes and dreams I had tied to this earth were fading to nothing. It was time to put them away.

I sobbed throughout the rest of that day, grieving the loss of joy experienced in the dream, and sorrowful that death and going to be with God would have to wait. It was devastating to know it was not time yet; life would continue in its cycle of hope for love, then no love, then trying to pretend there was love, which was so agonizing. I was empty of all but tears.

Surrendering again, imperfectly yet sincerely to his will, I joined those who make the difficult decision to rise again. Without hope in myself, I chose to discover what enjoying the gift of life means. God was going to have to teach me.

Years later, He still is! I no longer hope in the temporary and uncertain things of this world. My hope is in Jesus and the promise of eternal life with Him someday – in His time.

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God Sent Me to Jail to Save My Life

Topic: Drugs and Crime

By Crystal

8/2025

I’m Crystal, and this is the first time ever sharing my story. I grew up attending mass with my Grandmother. None of it made sense to me, and no one answered my questions. The year I turned 13, Gramma passed away. My mother was sad for a long time; the pain I felt inside was unbearable.

My parents divorced the year I turned 16. This was a shock to my brothers and me. Life got a little crazy and turned upside down for a while. Family, home, and church were all gone, faded into memory.

When I was about 18, my daddy passed away. If you thought things could not get worse, the year I turned 21, my life, my world, came crashing down when God called mommy to heaven.

I blamed God! I was mad at him, my parents, and Gramma for leaving me alone on this earth with many responsibilities to deal with. To say I went down a dark path is an understatement. I went from being a normal, spoiled teenager to being the mother of four, taking on bills and rent, and having to live like “I got this” when in reality, I did not. I needed a full-time job and a car.

I thought I needed to numb the pain to make it through the day. I was mad at the world and felt that God and the world hated me. For years, it seemed nothing would get better. I couldn’t keep a job. We moved every six months for almost nine years because I did not want to get comfortable. I would not allow any real relationships in my life, and did not trust anyone. How could I? I was lost without hope.

I turned to drugs and lied to many people. I stole to get what I wanted. I was not a good person for a very long time and used my losses to justify my behavior. On April 20, 2016, my actions caught up to me. I was about to be drug-tested by my probation officer, but knew they were looking for harder drugs, not marijuana. I did not have a care in the world.

After dropping for the drug screen, four sheriffs came up to me in the waiting room. They put me in handcuffs and took me to jail. Mean faces and eye rolls met my questions about why I was there. Fourteen days later, I pleaded my case in front of a judge. She seemed so cruel when she sentenced me to eighteen months, with the hope of getting into a rehab center to reduce my sentence. I did not care about rehab at that moment and still did not understand why this was happening. I found out later that I had tested positive for Fentanyl.

Jail saved me from either an overdose or death. God intervened; he put me there. I was approved for a rehab center where I was introduced to God, Jesus, and church in the proper way. I no longer blame God for all the bad things that happened, and I understand the deaths were not punishment because of anyone.

I am far from saying my journey is over. God sent me to jail to save my life. He sent me to rehab to help me mentally. He sent me to a church home to help me understand him. I will still long for the touch of my mommy’s arms wrapped tightly about me, to hear her voice, and smell her hair. However, when I get down on my knees to pray, I can feel the hug and warmth coming from God.

I have found true friends, a husband, and a church family that I thank God for each day.

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Jesus Caught My Son

Topic: Physical Safety

By Hayley

8/2025

When my son was only six and a half years old (June 20, 2006), he fell 35 feet from his window. His injuries were extensive. Broken bones and internal damage threatened to take his life. By God’s grace, every injury he suffered was an inch or a centimeter from being fatal.

He was placed under a medicated coma. When they finally woke him, he kept asking to see the man in white who had caught him as he fell. The man had told him it wasn’t his time and that he needed to stay with his mommy and daddy.

I have always and will always believe that man was Jesus. Even though I was a practicing pagan, I still believed it was Jesus. Now I am a disciple of Jesus, and will never forget to praise him for saving my son.

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It Could Have Been Me In Prison

Topic: Drugs and Crime

By Anonymous as told to Nancy Virden

8/2025

I volunteer in a women’s prison, some of whom are in there due to driving incidents. This could have been me. When I was young, I was driving under the influence of drugs. Suddenly, a man was in front of my car and I hit him! I was terrified that maybe he was dead.

The police took me to the police station. No one asked me about being high. Turns out, the man was fine and had a history of jumping in front of cars and suing for “medical care” and distress. Instead of being seen as a criminal, the police viewed me as the victim!

I have never forgotten the sensation of believing I had killed a man. It brings me to tears when I remember it could be me in that prison. Showing grace to these incarcerated women is natural because I am no better than they are.

My privilege is to teach these women about the love God has for them. Using the Bible, together we explore the grace of God and how He wants to live in us. Introducing them to Jesus is an honor.

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Memories Bring Restoration

Topic: Memories

By Michele

8/2025

Hi, my name is Michele with one L because my father didn’t want the word “hell” in my name. That set me on a path spiritually that I would not change for the world.

I was born in 1970. My parents divorced in 1973. My father was awarded full custody of me and my brothers at a time when men were not given visitation, much less full custody. My mother was neither mentioned nor seen again until 1983. My father remarried, and I was instructed to call his wife “mommy”.

My new “mommy” was verbally, mentally, emotionally, and physically abusive. Her father later became my sexual abuser. All these memories were locked away in my brain in an attempt to self-preserve.

I grew up, got married, and had three healthy children, a fantastic, fulfilling job, and my own business in that field. Life was good! Several years passed without much thought about “mommy”.

I was an active member of my local church as a children’s ministry leader, co-lead of the praise dance ministry, and a missionary. The baptism of the Holy Spirit came to me when I was 13 (a memory that was not locked away).

One day, while cleaning a client’s home (a home eerily similar to my childhood home), I had a vision of a girl about four years old scrubbing the floor on her hands and knees with nothing but a toothbrush and bleach water. The vision became clearer and clearer until I realized the child was me. I spent the next 72 hours lying on my bedroom floor with every childhood memory flooding back to me in real time. I wound up in the hospital and was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). I was 48.

I started habitually smoking marijuana to cope with the pain and grief in the best way I knew how. I felt betrayed by my father, who did not protect me from these two monsters. I had a major crisis of faith, too. How could the God that I loved and served most of my adult life have abandoned me as a child?

Then a life-changing memory shook me to my core and restored my faith:

I was five years old, a skinny child with naturally curly and kinky hair (I’m Hispanic). We lived in South Lorain, Ohio, on a corner with many houses built on it. Behind a ranch house were weeds of the burly, prickly kind, growing past the windowsill. The tenant told my father, who told my “mommy”, to pull the weeds out. She made me pull the weeds out by hand without gloves. It was a hot summer day, just before I started kindergarten. She would not give me water until the job was done.

I was sitting in the dirt cross-legged and crying. I felt abandoned, alone, hurt, broken, and confused. My nails were filled with dirt. As I was sobbing into my hands, I said aloud, “My mommy left me and I don’t know where she is, my daddy isn’t ever home, and my new mommy is so mean. Nobody loves me, nobody loves me, nobody loves me”. Then the sun hit something silver in the dirt.

I knew how to sound out letters. I reached over and picked up the object; it was a pin, and when I turned it over, it read, “JESUS LOVES YOU”. The Holy Spirit filled me with a love that I had never felt before. I had no knowledge of God; however, I knew that whoever Jesus was, he loved me!!

He has never abandoned me. He has given me beauty for ashes and has restored and grown my faith. I am sober, I am free, and I am HIS.

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MIDNIGHT FRIEND

Topic: Loneliness

By Anonymous

9/2025

In the middle of the darkest hours
When there is no one else to call,
And the world sleeps in numb response
To the heartbreak, the growing pall,
You are the friend who listens still,
Understands the looming end
You are my Prince of Peace, my Lord,
You are my midnight friend.

When silence o’erwhelms melody
And joy has met its foe,
As longing tires and slowly dies –
It is hope that feeds the soul.
Whispered songs, though faint of breath,
The battered mind attends
You are my God of hope, my Lord,
You are my midnight friend.

With You, I can suspend the charade –
You know my heart too well.
For in it dwells your Spirit of truth-
Life, in this once hollow shell
Turning ’round my face to You
The stone will melt to flesh.
You are my Counselor, my Lord,
You are my midnight friend.

As pathways merge with shadows,
And favored dreams fade from sight,
Grasping my hand, steadying my stance,
You are present in my night.
Your rod and staff – they comfort me,
I bow as I ascend.
You are my Shepherd, O my Lord,
You are my midnight friend.

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From Slave-to-a-Bottle to Free

Topic: Alcoholism

By Linda

8/2025

I first drank at my friend’s house when I was 12 years old. Her family kept the liquor stock full in their house. I went there daily. I didn’t just have beer, and I didn’t have just one hard drink. I kept going until I blacked out, vomiting, and then repeating the cycle. The next morning, I’d wake up and do the whole thing all over again, with anticipation. You see, for me, alcohol made me feel normal, confident, and invincible. Even though I was well-liked at school and did well academically, I had undiagnosed ADHD and never felt quite like my peers. Whether real or not, I felt like an outcast.

Most of the parties in high school centered around my friend’s “party house”. I would do what I now know as masking at these parties, suppressing my true self to fit in and meet social expectations.

In college, I did well; my perfectionism demanded nothing less. Unfortunately, drinking increased, and though I graduated with a degree, I was still a slave to the bottle.

I got married and started my career with Child Protective Services as a social worker. Eager to help children and families while establishing a sense of purpose for myself, the job lasted 18 months. It was too heavy. Devastating stories increased my anxiety and proportionately, my drinking. My husband and I did a lot of couples’ partying, which was fun, but wasn’t at all good for me because I was masking again.

The turning point came when I had my first son. I stopped drinking during the entirety of pregnancy; however, once my beautiful baby was born, I poured a large glass of wine and then another. I couldn’t take care of my infant due to postpartum depression that hit me hard.

In only three weeks, I drank multiple huge bottles of dirt-old gin that had been sitting around. I stayed in the basement and avoided reality. Finally, a psychologist diagnosed anxiety and depression and prescribed medication. Making a concerted effort to try not to drink as much ironically caused me to drink twice as much. I drank with my meds, pretty much blacking out each night for the next three years.

It wasn’t until my husband spoke the D word that I was faced with the consequences. Within the depths of my soul, I acknowledged that I was an alcoholic. I dropped to my knees and asked God to help me. Remembering a card in my wallet, I called a rehab center. Before I knew what I was doing, I was participating in an outpatient program four days per week and attending regular AA meetings.

I learned how to think during this intensive time. They say, “stinkin’ thinkin’ got us drinkin'”, and there is so much truth to it. I threw myself into all the teaching and worked the program. I started eating better and working out. It didn’t take that long to feel good and free from alcohol because I was really working it! My sober date is 10/8/2010!

I wish that life had been peachy since. No, my husband unexpectedly passed shortly after I got sober. It rocked me! I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, and it took two years to find the right combination of meds. I was learning how to regulate my emotions, but everything took a lot of hard work. It is still incredible to me that I didn’t pick up a drink after my husband’s death. I know it must have been God. Every day has a challenge in different ways; life is not easy. I can thankfully say that I am no longer drawn to the bottle. I could relapse at any moment, but living in God’s grace, that draw is gone.

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God Made Me New

Topic: Drugs and Crime

By Dianta

6/2025

I grew up in Slavic Village (part of Cleveland, OH). I am no stranger to bigoted assumptions and derogatory name-calling. As the oldest child and the only son, not only did the majority of responsibility fall on me, but I was also the scapegoat. The rod was not spared in our apartment, and neither was the frying pan on the cranium. My mother always justified it by reiterating that she was both mother and father, so it was her duty by default.

Around my 18th birthday, my father was arrested and sentenced to 27 years in prison for allegedly selling drugs to someone who overdosed on my father’s property. I kept in touch the entire time he was incarcerated and was thrilled when he was released in 2003. To my surprise, he was emaciated and very sick. Unfortunately, he passed away from prostate cancer. I am glad I was able to spend his last 4 months with him.

Drugs were no strangers in my family, and I got caught up selling at a young age. That’s what I knew. I had a good friend named Jeff who lived across the street from me my whole life. He was like a brother. He asked me to hook him up with a cousin so he could get into the game, too. He went a bit deeper into that lifestyle than I did, and eventually I became his “right-hand man” as he became bigger and bigger in the drug world. The partying, an unlimited flow of money, and all the things that money buys seemed all good. I had moved out of my little apartment and was flying high.

I always believed God was real, but did not see Him as anything I could be concerned with because of my lifestyle. The two did not go together until suddenly, they had to.

Jeff inevitably ended up in prison, and I had a small family. My daughter and I have always had a good relationship, but I cannot say I immediately left drugs and became a model citizen. In 2018, I had my first stroke, and it slapped me into reality harder than my mother and her frying pan ever could! My heart couldn’t handle the abuse of drugs, and it almost gave out on me. Two more strokes in as many years left my speech and mobility severely impaired. For over 3 years, I did not go home at all. I had to live in a nursing home and participate in aggressive therapy to learn to walk and talk again.

I called out to God. He helped me get better, and I even heard Him tell me to reach back out to my brother Jeff, which seemed like the last thing I should be doing if I wanted to get my life straight. But wouldn’t you know it, God was doing a similar thing with Jeff behind bars. Jeff had come out of prison, returned to our old neighborhood, and started a church!

I learned what it meant to give my life to Christ rather than just giving some time to religion. My entire life has been nothing but restored since then. I can see now, looking back, that God has a plan for my life. I pray regularly for my mother and daughter to know the Lord like I do. I was baptized in 2023 by Jeff, and I now have a church family that walks out life with me. God is good, y’all!

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Fatherhood

Topic: Real Manhood

By Edwin

6/2025

I grew up attending church in the Bronx of New York. My father was a minister, and my siblings were all very talented musically. Despite my own lack of giftedness, I was very proud of my family.

Countless memories come to mind of my father being a strong, godly presence in a neighborhood that desperately needed God. One particular memory was the neighbor’s relatives who would ask my father for money for their booze or whatever else. He would engage in conversation with them and speak words of encouragement, inspiring them toward a hope for a deeper truth than the status quo they experienced. He’d then give them the money they needed, all while assuring them that what they spent it on was between them and the Lord. They’d later tell him that they couldn’t buy their booze because of that convicting one-liner!

He was a true man of faith, consistently portraying good character both in the home and in public.

I, on the other hand, got in a little bit of trouble early on. I always thought of myself as the black sheep. Some people naturally choose the right things to say and do in life; I had to work on developing my character.

In 1997, my firstborn daughter joined the world, and I had the joy of fatherhood for the first time. My wife had two children when we married, so we then had three, because I raised them as my very own. I was a fun dad, and I loved to spend time with them. We would go to the movies and McDonald’s play place, and really enjoy each other’s company. I love those kids!

I’m very proud of the man I’ve become, and am infinitely grateful to my father for teaching me how to be a responsible man. My family will always have a roof over their heads, food on the table, and the bills will be paid. If I don’t have it, I’ll work harder to get it. That’s what a man does.

So many young men are raised without fathers; the streets are their “fathers”. I am thankful that God allows me to speak life into so many young men who need words of encouragement, inspiring them toward a hope for a deeper truth, just as I heard my father share.

Some important character traits that I hope to pass down to generations are loyalty, responsibility, positivity, punctuality, and the ability to make it happen. A father’s legacy is more than the amount of money he has in the bank; it’s who he is and how he treats people when no one else is looking.  

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From Taking to Giving

Topic: Alcoholism

By a 3rd party who knew Gary

6/10/25

Gary’s story started long before we met him and consisted of decades of drinking, partying, and inevitably living on the streets. He was your “friendly neighborhood drunk”, to put it in his words. 

One winter afternoon, while Gary was sobering up behind a convenience store, the course of his life was drastically changed in a way he never imagined. A red van pulled up, and the driver asked him if he knew where any hungry people were squatting. (Apparently, Chick-fil-a donates leftover food to charity.) 

Gary, always a kind-hearted and caring guy, hopped into the van and led the young man around their neighborhood, delivering bags of free chicken and salads. The delicious, high-protein meals were a hit, and, almost before Gary knew it, he was hopping in that red van a couple of times a week, hitting up all of his friends, meeting the needs of single moms, sober living houses, and anyone else he could think of that would be blessed by the meals. 

The two men, while serving the community together, formed a once-in-a-lifetime friendship. That June, Gary was a groomsman in his new friend’s wedding and became Uncle Gary to their newborn son. Gary always believed in God, and as his mind became clearer, he was able to form a relationship with his Lord and Savior and start to heal from years of living outside of God’s plan for him. 

The “chicken route”, as they always called it, was opening major doors to invite unchurched people into a church family. Gary found himself starting a church with his new friend in a Boys and Girls Club. They would meet in the gym on Sundays, and there were no dress codes or good-behavior rules. It was beautiful! Folks simply showed up, just as they were, learned about God, ate a meal, and worshiped God together. 

Gary went through so many years of his life not knowing what his purpose was. He had been caught up in the cycle of addiction that he learned before turning 10 years old. But God saw fit to make it clear to him that he was important to God and to the world. God used Gary right where he was, and not only rocked his world, but everyone’s world with whom he came in contact. Instead of taking dollars and change from people at storefronts, Gary literally started giving. He handed out food and invitations to community gatherings. Every day, Gary woke up and joined with other guys in the neighborhood to tackle different service projects for others. 

The years of alcohol abuse, unfortunately, cheated Gary out of a long life. His health was severely affected, but there is no doubt that God fully restored Gary spiritually. He crossed over into eternity with his Savior with great assurance of his place at the heavenly table and left a legacy in his neighborhood that will be cherished for years to come! 

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Seeing Love For The First Time

Topic: Childhood 3

By Jeanne

5/31/25

I come from a large family, and that was really hard for me growing up because of the personality that God gave me. I was extremely rambunctious and was constantly running around. My father would get frustrated with me and beat me up like a guy. I didn’t need that; I needed love. 

I got married young because I got pregnant, but the marriage wasn’t good. I really needed love, and wanted to talk to my husband, but he wouldn’t. I turned to food and got up to 315 lbs after my first daughter. 

A little later, I got a job and began to party and drink. There were five girls at my new job who would always try to talk to me about Jesus. I’d listen, but I didn’t believe in Him yet. 

Then, one unforgettable day in the grocery store, a girl named Kelly, whom I’d known vaguely from my past, walked up to me and told me I was special and invited me to church.  God hooked me into her eyes, and I saw love for the first time ever. It was supernatural. 

I went. Everyone at her church was so kind, and I kept waiting for them to fake me out. It never happened. I waited three years and then got baptized. For me, it really was “down with the old, up with the new”. I was plugged into a source of life now, and I started thriving.

I served the community with my church friends and married the most amazing man. He gives me love, too. I get lots of love. 

Psalm 37:4 says: “Delight yourself also in the Lord, and He shall give you the desires of your heart.”

That’s exactly how it went. Because I delighted in Him, I lost all the weight (through a 12-step program focused on God). I’m an encourager to others now, and I share the gospel with whoever will listen. (I would share it with a rock!)

My father apologized to me for the abuse. I know my granddaughter needs comfort and love. I give her as much as she needs! My favorite thing to do is to go into grocery stores and tell girls about Jesus. ‭

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From Shattered to Redeemed

Topic: Childhood 2

By Deb

6/8/2025

Hi, I’m Deb. To share my story is to tell of a grace that is greater than all my sins. 

Growing up, affection was absent from our home. I felt unloved for the first half of my life. I didn’t hear my dad say “I love you” until his 75th birthday party. That’s hard for a girl.

There was a lot of hypocrisy. I would hear Dad’s church friends talking smut in the garage and knew something was really wrong. My mother was “cool” for sure. Between the dirty jokes and drinking (she worked at a bar), she could be counted on for a good time. When I was 14, my uncle died, and my mom was hysterical. Come to find out that they were having an affair for 14 years, and he wasn’t really my “uncle”. I developed empathy for my mother later when she divulged to me that she was raped by my grandfather. It explained a lot; she was just trying to find love, too.

I was a twin, and my sister ended up with aggressive cancer. She was told she only had three years to live. She was a believer in God and boldly proclaimed, “Only God tells me when I die”. She was amazing. She never told me how to act, and always had joy. I know now that God strengthened her. She lived another 15 years after her cancer diagnosis. I started to believe that God had a say in it. 

At 19, I got married. Domestic violence started, my nose was broken, and my husband put a gun to my head and regularly played Russian Roulette. God spared me. The pain was just awful, but the rejection- that was much worse! The marriage ended after he kidnapped me from my job, and the cops kicked the door in to find me tied up. We divorced, but he stalked me to the extent that I had to leave the state.

Although I was free from my abuser, I now had an even more toxic mentality that “no one was ever going to tell me what to do again.” But remember, I still craved love, so I got married and divorced again because marriage can’t work under those conditions. 

I became suicidal, tired of the pain associated with a lack of love, and feeling extremely unworthy. I saw a Billy Graham videotape and asked a guy at work about it. He introduced me to Jesus, his Savior, right then and there. 

I married my fourth husband, Nick, but because of all of the unaddressed damage and baggage in my life, it started out as just more toxicity. I joined a Bible study where I could be honest, and I shared and prayed. When I realized I was neglecting myself by not praying to Jesus about me, things started to change. I allowed God to define me. He broke up the debris in my heart and filled it with grace, mercy, love, and forgiveness. When I read Psalm 30, I did a dance with Jesus that I’ll never forget! I was free!

“I will exalt you, Lord, for you rescued me. You refused to let my enemies triumph over me. O Lord my God, I cried to you for help, and you restored my health. You brought me up from the grave, O Lord. You kept me from falling into the pit of death. Sing to the Lord, all you godly ones! Praise his holy name. For his anger lasts only a moment, but his favor lasts a lifetime! Weeping may last through the night, but joy comes with the morning. I cried out to you, O Lord. I begged the Lord for mercy, saying, “What will you gain if I die, if I sink into the grave? Can my dust praise you? Can it tell of your faithfulness? Hear me, Lord, and have mercy on me. Help me, O Lord.” You have turned my mourning into joyful dancing. You have taken away my clothes of mourning and clothed me with joy, that I might sing praises to you and not be silent. O Lord my God, I will give you thanks forever!” ~Psalm 30‭‭

I’m still married to Nick, 25 years later! The only dancing I do now is for my Jesus. I do my best in Christ, and I know that He doesn’t expect perfection from me. He is my perfection. 

I picture my father’s church friends in the garage growing up, and it saddens me to recall what they were doing and talking about, contrasted with the powerful men of God who surrounded my husband Nick, praying with him when he went through a cancer of his own. God is moving.

Go where you see life; draw close to Him, and He will lead you to the real believers. I started reading my Bible out loud and being transparent with the Lord because He already knows and He’s waiting! I started with a shattered life and ended up with a redeemed one! 

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Out With The Old, In With My Fresh Start

Topic: Spiritual Growth and Discovery 1

By Hayley Rose

6/8/2025

On January 8th this year, I googled “Evangelical Churches Near me”. I didn’t know what that meant necessarily, but I follow some people on social media who are from that group. So when the church I attend now popped up, I went to the website and noticed there was a 6:30 pm class. I called and asked if it’s open for first timers, and I was told, “yes, please come”. So I did. I walked in and sat down with some people whom I now call friends. I didn’t know at the time that this was going to be day one of a whole new beginning for me. Ever since, I have dove headfirst into all things Jesus, trying to live and love like him. 

Like everyone, I have a past. I have my traumas, losses, and sinful ways that have brought me much pain and led me in the wrong direction. I don’t like to use the word regret because to me it brings shame, and shame can lead to depression that takes years to come back from. Today, I choose to use the words, life lessons, because, for good or bad, they shaped me into the person I am today. 

In 2022 and 2023, I dealt with many health issues, and even had to have a total hysterectomy, in which cancer was found. That made me realize I am not invincible, and it opened my eyes to the fact that I was not living my best life. I had worried too much about things that have no importance.

I started to look deeper into myself. I withdrew from alternative lifestyles and people who made me doubt and question my life choices. I realized I was lost. I needed something, and just couldn’t put my finger on it… yet. I started watching social media and realized how horrible this world is turning with hate and forgetting what matters, and how humankindness is becoming humanUNkindness. I said to someone who was being rude, “You need Jesus”. Then it hit me, so do I.

I’ve had turbulent relationships with churches basically my whole life. I have tried all the different types of paths. Again, something was always missing… Jesus. Sure, the churches preached his way, but it became obvious that they didn’t necessarily follow His way, so in turn, I eventually walked away. 

I need people to help keep me on my path, hold me accountable, guide me, and walk with me as I grow within my journey. All I have felt at my new church is welcome, and I believe and trust that these people truly do want to live and love like Jesus. When I recently decided to be baptized, it was because I wanted to dedicate myself to Jesus and do it in front of the church community that I want to be a part of.

Every year, I try to think of a word that defines it. This year it’s “reinventing”. The scripture that hits home and wraps up my testimony nicely is 2 Corinthians 5:17. It reads, “Anyone who belongs to Christ has become a new person. The old life is gone; a new life has begun!”

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My OCD Life

Topic: Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder

by WEBBBLOGS w/permission

6/8/2025

I grew up in the 80s when mental health wasn’t talked about much, and if it was, I never heard about it. I knew I was different. I knew something wasn’t right in my brain, and because of that, I was terrified I was going to die.

I couldn’t understand why I would do things so many times, like count, touch, write, walk, cough, and blink. Pretty much everything I did, I would do repeatedly. It was frustrating and extremely exhausting. A great example of my behavior for those of you who are not familiar with OCD is washing my hair 8 times. Yes, 8 times. I would wash my hair repeatedly because if I didn’t, I would think something bad would happen.

As the years went by, I learned to accept my strange behavior and also how to hide it. To this day, I wonder how my loved ones did not notice the oddball things I would do.

I finally heard the words obsessive-compulsive disorder and the meaning of it about 10 years ago. Imagine how thrilled I was to know I was not the only one who had this and that there was a name for it. I started learning about OCD. I would watch any show and read any article that talked about it. There is no cure, but there is treatment if that makes any sense. Basically, the “experts” say to not give in to the compulsions, to live with the uncertainty.

Today I’m trying a lot of things. I’m trying to tell myself these thoughts are just the disorder and they mean nothing. I’m trying to do things only once. I’m trying to remember that OCD is a mental illness, and I’m not the only one who suffers from it. I’m trying and learning how to cope with this illness.

I don’t want to be stuck in my head anymore. I want to enjoy life, find my happy place, and explore the things that bring me joy. It’s going to be hard to discover these things. I’m finally ready to take that first step towards a happier, more fulfilling life. I’m ready to start this new journey one step at a time.

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Childbirth Life or Death Decisions 1&2

Topic: Abortion/ Childbirth 1

By Nancy Virden

5-19-25

“There is something not right. I can find no reason in your eyes for you to be having trouble with your vision. I recommend an MRI. “

That was the ophthalmologist’s declaration after a thorough and lengthy exam. I was 27, pregnant with my first child, and had been experiencing double vision since age 14, especially of late. Doctor after doctor guessed at the problem and came up with nothing except theories. More than one told me it was in my imagination.

Being pregnant, I was told to wait until after the birth to go for the Magnetic Resonance Imaging (MRI) test. When my early-bird newborn son needed special care, my issue was postponed. He was nearly ten weeks old when my multiple tests began.

I say multiple, because it turns out one has to jump through a few hoops before brain surgery. The MRI showed a giant mass behind my left eye, and the neurosurgeon at the Cleveland Clinic wanted to admit me on the spot. I begged to go home so I could prepare my baby and his grandmothers to watch him.

He gave me a little over 24 hours. The trapping of the aneurysm and recovery took time. I was finally allowed to go home and hold my baby again after ten days.

Jonathan has been a life changer for me in more than one way. He was God’s way of changing my heart and opening me to the world of children, which I have not left in 37 years. Mostly through churches, I have occasionally put in 40-hour weeks, 15-hour days, and long weekends into working with children. Two part-time jobs involved teaching and supervising children. Mentoring, homeschooling, and leading the crafts class in a children’s ministry are ways in which children have remained part of my focus.

Last night we talked on the phone for a long time because it was his birthday. He is wise, perceptive, and honest, and gives great advice. I listen to him. Hard to believe it was so long ago, and yet it seems only yesterday that we went through our mini-crisis. Memories of leaving my baby boy still choke me up.

I want to share this today because Jon could have been aborted. The crisis was real, and the life of the mother was definitely in peril. The MRI didn’t take place until after birth because putting him in danger was a no-brainer (excuse the pun). As a Christian of deep faith, I knew God’s will would be done. Sure enough, in His mercy, he had Jon arrive three weeks early when he was smaller, and giving birth was not so strenuous as to burst an aneurysm.

I rejoice in Jon’s life and am grateful to know him.

Topic: Abortion/ Childbirth 2

5-26-25

Thirty-four years ago, the doctor on the phone said to wait.

“Wait until they are five minutes apart.” So I waited.

Suddenly, at 1:00 a.m. on a hot Memorial Day weekend, contractions were five, three, then one minute apart within a quarter of an hour. My baby was coming now.

Like his brother, he was three weeks early. I had never heard of back labor, so it went ignored all day. Expecting regular contractions, I had simply rested all day and tried to get comfortable. The phone call is when I told the doctor-on-call that my back hurt about every fifteen minutes, but it seemed unimportant to him, too.

There was a more pressing issue. This baby was transverse. He was sideways, as my bulging tummy to the left proved. I had been denied a midwife for this reason, and the plan was to safely turn the baby pre-labor. The alternative was to have a C-section. Uh-huh.

My husband called paramedics, and they screeched down the street. After assessing the situation, the baby was manually turned and came out feet first. Needless to say, there was pain.

There was an even more pressing issue. My tiny son was completely blue. They rushed him out to the ambulance and shot off as fast as possible. While I waited for a second ambulance for me, baby Timothy was showing no life signs. He had none for ten minutes. The paramedic did CPR until they arrived at the hospital, when Timothy suddenly gasped and trembled to life.

God had forewarned me months earlier that this pregnancy was going to have trouble. As a result, friends and family had been praying for us. I had memorized Psalm 91 and trusted. As I was put into my ambulance, I prayed Psalm 91 aloud. When paramedics shared notes and timeframes, it was when I started to quote that chapter that Timothy breathed.

While Tim was in neonatal intensive care, he was tested for about everything that could have gone wrong. I was told he was brain-damaged, probably deaf, and unable to walk. None of that was accurate. I was the only one not panicking.

I have watched this boy grow from infancy to manhood with sharper hearing than most. He walks fine. His brain is perfectly operational. His love for music and people is evident in his empathy and actions. He is kind, generous, and still a miracle.

I’m sharing this story because Tim could have been aborted. It was never an option in my mind, even though I knew there was something wrong before learning he was growing sideways. He was at high risk for birth injury as a transverse baby. In fact, his umbilical cord did come out first, and I held it tight as if by some instinct. Some say I spared his brain, but I know God was actually guiding me. Even though my life was at risk if I birthed this child naturally, I trusted God to know what was best and carried this pregnancy to term.

Today, Tim’s birthday, I am so glad to know the man, and am grateful for his life.

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Would I Kill My Son?

Topic: Enabling

By Amy

May 2025

My name is Amy. I am a recovering enabler. My father was an alcoholic, but my mother never drank and seldom allowed alcohol in our home.

If my mom wanted to spend time with my dad, she had to go to his favorite bar after he got off work. Mom joined their bowling league, so bar visits, with me in tow, grew to three or more times a week. This was the beginning of my learning to enable. I watched mom do it so well, and it became second nature to me. Boy, did I perfect it!

Forty years later, my son is a recovering addict and alcoholic. From the age of 15 to about 28, he spent every birthday either in jail or in a rehab center! I didn’t have any good ideas. I went to a seminar about addiction and its effect on the brain. I learned that when a person becomes addicted, they begin to feel like the drug is necessary for survival, just as food, air, and water are needed for survival.

I asked my son what it felt like. He replied, “Have you ever seen a fish on land, completely out of the water, flopping around, trying to get back to the ‘air’ it needs to survive? That’s what it’s like, I feel like a fish out of water.”

I spiraled into my enabling habits, making sure that I was taking care of everything for him. I felt like he needed as little stress as possible, and as long as he came home each night and I had eyes on him, he was fine! Silly girl.

Eventually, someone suggested Al-Anon. (Al-Anon members are people who live with or are worried about someone with a drinking problem.) After the third Al-Anon meeting, an older woman said she wanted to help me. I was grateful; I needed help! She told me that she feared I was going to be the last person to hand my son the $20 that would kill him!

I was mad! So sarcastically, I asked, “So, what’s the secret? How did you save your son?”

She boldly replied, “I don’t know the answer. I was the last person to hand my son the $20 that killed him.”

That statement absolutely devastated me. I knew of people who had kids who overdosed. But she made it real, right in front of my face, where I could no longer ignore it.

Thankfully, my son is still with me today, alive and thriving. But, don’t think that we haven’t had our share of relapses and “off the wagon” events. It’s an ongoing struggle for the addict and the enabler, but through the years and the tears, we have had some pretty remarkable moments filled with love for each other, just like any other mom and son.

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God Saved Me Out of a Nightmare

Topic: Domestic Abuse

By Lauren

submitted 4-13-2025

Although I have many cool God stories to share, I’m inspired by the Boaz story in the Bible to share a segment of my relational life. I hope that it will inspire someone to not only trust God with the messes we’ve made ourselves but to believe that He will redeem our messes when we trust Him.

After ten years of a happy and normal life with my high school sweetheart and the birth of my beautiful daughter, the rug was pulled out from under me one fall evening. It was the first time I had experienced betrayal, and I’m not just talking about cheating on me. There were layers of lies, theft, and duplicity uncovered that I wasn’t prepared for. We amicably separated.

Shortly after, I walked into a Pentecostal church on the corner of my street, searching for goodness and something to fill the hole in my heart. I found the Lord Himself. The church was full of amazing people who taught me about Christianity and what a walk with Jesus looks like. Jesus became my closest friend, and I was joyful seeing my little daughter worshiping Him and making friends with the other kids at church.

Only a few years later, I met a guy who reminded me a lot of my dad. His attributes included a great work ethic, quietness, and motivation. Deep in my gut, I knew the Lord was telling me that I shouldn’t date him. Well, I was foolish and did not take heed of the warning.

We had a one-year-old son, and I was pregnant with a second son when the abuse escalated to unbearable levels. No one else knew about the physical abuse, and I felt so alone. One night, at my rock bottom, I got on my knees and asked God to forgive me for isolating myself from Him and for choosing my own way, disregarding His direction. I was in quite the bind with two (almost three) children, living an hour from everyone who loved me, with a man who terrified me.

Fear, humiliation, inability to think clearly, and more fear filled me. But despite all of that, I did have hope. Because I knew the character of Jesus, I knew He would be faithful even when we aren’t faithful. So I laid it all out there, my big ole mess, and said, “Help, Lord!”

Words cannot adequately express what the next 24 hrs looked like. Jesus swept in the next day, like my knight in shining armor, creating answers for me. A friend I hadn’t seen in years drove over an hour to visit (randomly!), and while we were talking, I didn’t hear my phone ring. This caused my abuser, a guy who never ever lost his cool in front of people, to leave work, drive up onto the front lawn, and lose his temper for all to see. My visiting friend “just happened” to be a social worker and perfectly handled the situation. The cops were called, my mom was called, and my children were whisked away to a neighbor’s house, where they didn’t have to see any of the ensuing drama.

I left that day and never looked back. My car, belongings, kids’ belongings, and most importantly, my fear were left behind. That situation is my Bethel, the place where I go in my head when I feel helpless or alone.

My faith started when I walked into the Pentecostal church years prior, but I saw God’s faithfulness for the first time that morning after I surrendered complete control to Him. I have not looked back since! I have lived each day with gratitude and have seen many, many miracles as I trust my Lord to provide for my every need day by day.

I call it my Boaz story because five years later, after working hard to rebuild our lives and find stability without a man, the Lord sent me a godly man. Without hesitation, he married me and my 3 children and raised them as his own. They are all adults now, and we have 2 more children together. We have been married 15 years, and I still cry when I think back to the mess that I lay at the feet of Jesus that night in my bedroom. I asked Him to make something beautiful from the wreckage, and words just can’t express how secure I feel right now.

Just like my new husband found delight in being our redeemer here on earth, Jesus wants nothing more than to welcome us into His Kingdom, where He will heal our broken hearts, dry our tears, and restore our joy!

Revelation‬ ‭21:‭3‬-‭4‬ ‭reads, “I heard a loud shout from the throne, saying, ‘Look, God’s home is now among his people! He will live with them, and they will be his people. God himself will be with them. He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain. All these things are gone forever.’” ‭‭

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Willpower Failed, God Succeeded

Topic: Sexual Addiction

By Joy

2/19/2025

I am a pastor’s daughter. Born a pastor’s daughter. I did all the right things: never did drugs or slept around, always went to church, and got good grades. Then I discovered my best friend was gay. I’d done things next to her and with her that, in retrospect, I wouldn’t have done if I’d known. I loved her. I loved her very deeply. In jest, I’d even asked a pastor to marry us. I pretended to make out with her, I changed in front of her, and I slept in the same bed as her.

I tried to reconcile this with the teachings of my upbringing that told me she was going to hell. I knew she was a lovely person with a tender heart for animals. How could God send her to hell?? I couldn’t figure it out. I went away to college to get away from it all, from home, from her. I had to grow up and figure things out.

I began to role-play online using written stuff, typed out. None of it was “real,” so it seemed fine. I had male and female characters, and slowly, it devolved into homoerotic sexting, intense homoerotic sexting, and “E.R.P.” erotic role-play. I became addicted and dabbled in animated porn, some even of a pedophilic nature. I stopped going to work and school and stayed up at strange hours. I neglected my health. Eventually, I dropped out of college and returned home a severely depressed failure.

For years, I stayed addicted. Even after I met the man who became my husband and to whom I’ve now been married for 15 years, I was still addicted. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t stop! I wasn’t hurting anybody, right? It was all pretend. It was entirely pretend, right?

Except I noticed when I was intimate with my husband, I was thinking about my role-play relationships. I would be thinking about them as I drove to and from work. I fantasized and thought up new ways to shock, alarm, tantalize, control, and sensationalize my next interaction with a stranger on the internet. It was like a drug.

I confessed to my husband that I was still role-playing, and he tolerated it, but he did ask me to stop. One Valentine’s Day, I vowed I would. I did stop for a while, but like the slippery slope, I made adjustments and concessions. I claimed to myself I could role-play without it getting sexual. But it never stayed non-sexual for long.

Finally, I prayed to the Lord. I prayed long and hard. I literally had to ask Him to make it disgusting to me. I knew it was disgusting to Him, and if it ever got out, if anyone ever knew, it would be horrifyingly disgusting to them, too. But to me, it was the call of the Siren.

Finally, the Lord made it disgusting to me, too, and the attraction slowly died. I had to treat it just like any other addiction. I’ve long since broken off communication with almost everyone I role-played with and put a huge separation between myself and them. I know that, right now, going back to ask if anyone was hurt would not be healthy for me. I have to pray for God’s grace over those people with whom I once shared that sick, dark connection. I also avoid certain sites, social media platforms, and instant messengers.

It was long and slow. Cravings would sometimes pop up out of nowhere. I am glad to say today that I can fight those, and I’d like to say I closed the door on that dark, weird, and twisted part of my life for good.

But it still affects me. I still know what I did. And I often wonder if some of the dark, weird, and twisted things I wrote affected someone else adversely. I replayed over and over in my mind while feeding off of these people; did something I wrote do that to someone else? I can only ask God’s forgiveness.

I tried my best to look perfect, but know I failed. I needed the power of God to help me break free. I go to work and to church, and am starting to develop a slightly healthier relationship with household chores and everyday adult living. I have a healthy relationship with my husband and don’t lust after others or wile away my time fantasizing about some other world. For the most part, I live in this one.

God is the answer. Jesus is the answer. Don’t be fooled. I was and am a very strong-willed person who can do almost anything I set my mind to. I was sure I could break free of my own strength, and I tried. But it was submitting to Jesus and begging Him, not to take this away from me, but to make it disgusting to me, that finally worked. Sheer willpower won’t do it; only the power of Christ.

He’s there to help. Any time.Any place.

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From Questions To Exclamation Marks

Topic: Spiritual Growth and Discovery 3

By Paul Malanij

submitted February 2025

(My friend Paul wrote his story for a magazine. He shared it with me to share with you! -Nancy)

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Jesus Guided My Car to Safety

Topic: Physical Safety

By Edie

1/29/2025

It’s difficult to narrow down the number of times Jesus “took the wheel”  in my lifetime.
On one occasion, years ago, on a rainy night, I gave my heart to the Lord.

I was driving alone from New York to Washington, DC to pick up my daughter who had taken a college tour. Suddenly, the skies opened up, and the pouring rain blurred my vision. I knew I was near Baltimore, Maryland, where two major roadways merge. Back then, there were no cell phones or GPS guidance systems in cars. I was on my own to figure out my next step and found myself driving in one of the left lanes because of the merge. 

Blinded by the splashing of tractor-trailers to my right and the torrential downpour, my visibility went from a blur to zero, and my mind immediately went to a traumatic memory of my father’s fatal crash years before. My hope was crashing, and my body tensed, but Jesus took the wheel, literally, visually, and guided my car safely to the next rest stop just minutes ahead.

I sat in my car in the parking lot of a rest stop crying, but feeling a sense of calm as well. Jesus had placed a hedge of protection around me. I knew that although I was fatherless, I had The Father. I knew I was a single mom responsible for raising three children, but I had continual guidance from the Lord. God’s word doesn’t promise us that life will be easy, but if we place our complete trust in Him, we will arrive safely at our destinations.

On that rainy night, Jesus, my Savior, “took the wheel,” and He has never left my side.
I have not visually seen Jesus since, but as clear as day,  I know He lives. I have been blessed countless times since then, and each passing day is a continuing testimony to His unconditional and unchanging LOVE.

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A Season of Depression and Healing

Topic: Depression

Submitted by Jonathan Virden

Recorded in 2012; submitted 1/2025

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The Inner Child is Met by Love

Topic: Childhood 1

By Nancy Virden

1/25/2025

If I could sum up in one word the Heavenly Father’s character as manifested in my life, it would be tender.

He understands the little girl whose needs went unmet. He recognizes that my heart is fragile.

He calls me by name when I ignore his voice until weakness drops me to the ground. Then, he gently picks me up.

His love is that of an invested Father because he draws me gently and honestly to the truth, even as his heart breaks over my sin.

Life changes. People change, sometimes, unfortunately. The potential of whirling tragedies once seemed to mark my path ahead. Blindly, I stumbled forward, feeling pummeled by circumstances out of my control. It was scary to perceive the future that way. Since God specializes in guiding the steps of the unseeing and fearful, would I ever learn to trust him?

One certainty is that God has been with me my entire life. In faded reflections, I see a Heavenly Father who carried my best interests close to his heart. He is a mastermind, keeping watch over every detail.

As a young adult, I asked God where he had been when that little girl cried in the dark. The answer I heard in my broken spirit was that he had been there crying along with me.

I know he was. And he has never left.

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Husband’s Last Days

Topic: Grief

by Bonnie Isaacs

4/16/2023

His strength was waning, and his voice was growing too weak to finish the conversation. But it was decision time. The hospice oncologist said if we were going to move him back home, we would have to do it now… within the next day or so… or he would pass away at the Hospice of the Western Reserve facility.

Just days prior, we had arrived on the weekend with the expectation of a brief stay. I had not come prepared to remain with him, but saw how quickly he declined and was losing the ability to express his needs, so I stayed day and night. Through considerable effort, my dear husband had said, “I thought we were going to get these symptoms under control and go back home, but now, it isn’t looking like that is going to happen.”

Medication adjustments and several things had been done to make him more comfortable, and we could take him home. But my nurse’s mind saw the signs, and I knew this would require putting in place a caregiver rotation at the house and relying heavily upon family to do this. And much of my husband’s last strength would be expended in that move. Perhaps it would be better to stay there and let the compassionate and skilled staff do what they do best, and let the family spend quality personal time in visits rather than physical assistance.

I wanted desperately to let BJ make this decision for himself. He had always made big decisions, not necessarily without talking things through together, but ultimately and prayerfully, he had. But this time… and at this time… I would need to make this decision for him. I would need to make an executive decision on his behalf that would not be reversible and could be wrong.

I stayed with him for his final eight days before his promotion to glory. The three-year battle with pancreatic cancer was coming to a close, and I had much time to think and pray, to grieve, and to mourn the loss of this great man of God. Husband of nearly 42 years; patriarch of my family of three daughters, two sons-in-law, and one grandson; priest to my household and also to many others in the flock he had pastored over decades of ministry. I was losing him.

During those last days, a minister friend said something that struck me oddly at the timing. He
reminded me that BJ and I are one. Why would he say that, knowing soon we would be parting? The answer to that was one to God’s glory. Another dear friend sent a messenger text, “Joshua 1:5,9.” We had not spoken of the struggle then raging in my soul— losing my hubby, patriarch, priest, and dealing with the fear of making wrong decisions. But God knew. And He gave me a clear answer in those verses (italics mine):

“No man shall be able to stand before you all the days of your life. Just as I was with Moses,
so I will be with you. I will not leave you or forsake you. “ Have I not commanded you? Be
strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the LORD your God is
with you wherever you go.” (ESV)

The same God who was with BJ would remain with me. The same Holy Spirit that guided him
would be guiding me. Although my partner was being taken from my side, I would not be alone.
Strength and courage would be my portion. This has proven so to be, by God’s gracious and
abundant provision.

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When I Accepted Jesus

Topic: Spiritual Growth and Discovery 2

Excerpt from Rebuilt On Ruins by Nancy Virden

9/2025

I owe the most important and vital gift of my life to my mom. At the age of eight, a buddy and I made a pact; we would wait until we had “lived a little” before getting saved and becoming righteous. We would wait until we were old – fifteen maybe.

Glorious fifteen arrived. A cousin and I had made big plans! Her family was about as pleasant as mine, so she had scoped out a car, knew how to get the keys, and we were going to steal it to run away for good. Consequences were not on our minds. Whatever danger or harm might befall was of no concern. Getting away was our only focus, no matter the price. We set the date for a Saturday in July. 

Summers always included church camp. Campfire was always the best time, singing and laughing at corny skits prior to a Bible lesson in front of spectacular flying embers and varicolored flames. The planned escape was set to follow camp week.

As this was my first experience at a co-ed summer camp, I immediately latched on to a boyfriend. Whatever the leaders said went in one ear and out the other. Talk about Jesus was only so much blah blah blah. Saturday was coming! 

Thursday, I woke feeling unusual inner pressure. It seemed physical, an unsettled sensation in my gut, but unlike any illness. It was not a stomachache, but I could not eat; not painful, but I could barely move. Uncomfortably, I skipped breakfast and the morning activities.

In the silence, God began to speak. He asked me to come to him; I said no. He said, “Today”. I refused.

The pressure grew heavier. I was ill but not ill, weak, but not incapable of walking. Joining my friends for lunch, they wanted to know what was wrong. “Why are you so quiet?” they asked. Without an answer, I returned to bed.

God spoke again. He said, “Turn your life over to me.” His voice was as the Bible describes it, a still, small whisper that believers recognize in a very real sense in our spirit.

Alone in the cabin, I hollered, “You are not getting me! Leave me alone!” Restlessly tossing and turning, the pressure grew heavier. The entire day passed while arguing with God.

I did not want to miss my favorite part of camp. Once arriving at the campfire and rejoining the boyfriend, we sat close and held hands. Guitars played, dozens of teenagers sang, and fire roared in the barn-like “round house.” Smoke lofted through the open ceiling. Suddenly, a pastor was inviting us to come and pray at the altar. The unsettled and heavy feeling had me restless. I could not run from it, and it would not shake off.

God spoke again. “Come to me. “

“No.”

“What did you say when you were 8? “

“That I would get saved at 15.”

“And what are you saying now?”

“30.”

“If you wait until you are 30, your heart will have grown so hard you will not ever come to me. You will spend eternity in hell.“ 

Believing this warning was not difficult; he was God Almighty. Suddenly, the boyfriend’s hand seemed icky. Refusing God no longer seemed wise. I made my way to the altar to accept Jesus as my Savior, and immediately the mysterious pressure disappeared. This was no game. My understanding of the Bible had already taught me that Jesus wants all our being, not lip service. My declaration to follow Jesus was real, albeit not too sentimental in the beginning.

Disappointed about Saturday and alone on the way back to the cabin, my attitude was still cranky. “Ok, are you happy now? You got me. I do not want to go to hell, but thanks for ruining my life.” I mumbled to God like a spoiled brat. This newfound faith was not yet about having a loving relationship with Jesus; it was about being good.

Saturday came. My cousin was unforgiving when I told her I could not go. My buddy too, was confused and angry when I refused to lie to her mom for her. This was upsetting, yet I had undertaken a lifetime vow.

In my childish naivete, it did not occur to me that God had just saved my foolish juvenile delinquent Grand Theft Auto neck.

Two weeks after my conversion, it occurred to me that a good Christian should probably read the Bible. Laying it open, my eyes landed on a verse that spoke directly to a need only God could have known. That is the moment I realized that faith in Jesus was not limited to being good; I had gained a Savior and eternal friend.

I told Mom what had happened. She praised Jesus, adding that she had gathered some friends together to pray just for me that week – you guessed it – on Thursday.

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The Little Child Deep Inside

Topic: Childhood Hurts

By Connie

11/2025

(Connie’s poem was published, and she offers it to you! – Nancy)

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