I come from a single-parent home. My dad was sexually abusive and was ordered out of my life when I was three. I grew up really fast, because my mom was raising me and my younger sister alone. My sister had seizures then, as well as a g-tube for feeding. I was never really a kid. And school was terrible. The first time I experienced acceptance from my peers was in my freshman year of college. Before that, I had a guy who I thought was my friend tell me I should just kill myself, that I'd be doing the world a favor. I had other things happen throughout my schooling that humiliated me and made me hate myself. This part of my life before college is a story in and of itself, but it's not the one I want to focus on. People always say college is the best four years of a person's life. I think they're right, so I want to tell about my four years of college, starting with freshman year.
Things were never okay. I always knew there was something off, but I could never figure it out. Then, one night during my freshman year of college, it was there, whispering in my ear: homosexual. I began having thoughts involving one of my close girl friends. I did not understand, nor did I want them. I tried shoving them off, but couldn't. So, I tried to ignore them. But that helped for only a little while.
I was on spring break when that happened. I went back to school without having talked to anyone about them. They were on my shoulders, mind, and heart, weighing me down, killing me. The week I got back to school, I stopped eating. I became an anorexic and an exercise addict,working out sometimes 4-6 hours a day. I spoke to my adviser on Wednesday. The thoughts were too much for me to handle by that time. They were consuming everything, even when I was sitting in class with a female professor. I confided in my adviser, and she suggested I talk to the campus counselor. I had only been out of counseling for one semester and now I had to go back in. I was so angry. I'll never forget walking to the counselor's office and scheduling an appointment with her. I wept as I walked down the hallway after scheduling for the following Monday.
Counseling was hard. Everything was hard. The anorexia continued, as did the over exercising. I felt that if I had control over those two things, then it was okay that I did not have control over the other things going on. I hated God and myself. My self-esteem plummeted into the ground. I moved into a stage where I did not want to be touched. I fought to not go home at the end of the year. My relationship with this friend also took a turn for the worst. I did not want anything to do with her. I would get so angry at her when we spoke, that when we were done, I would go to the football field and throw my football as hard as a could, as many times as I could, and scream at the top of my lungs. Then, I would fall to the field and weep. I was so angry at everything. I was struggling with not only this stuff, but stuff from my past, again. I was so tired of dealing with the sexual abuse that I did not want to do it anymore. There were times where I contemplated suicide, and even scratched my arm with a box cutter. I had hit the pavement.
I ended up having to go home that summer. Little did I know that the next year and a half would be hell. My pastor 'counseled' me that summer. He eventually told me that what happened with my dad actually never happened. I hated him for saying that. I did not understand. How would he know? He wasn't there. I thought it was some sick joke. He even had the audacity to tell me that God told him that it never happened. I was seriously tossed upside down. He told me that what I decided to do, whether I accepted it or not, would determine where I was ten years from then.
So, by the end of the summer, I thought I had accepted it. I had learned a few things along the summer and thought I was done with counseling. I was wrong. I spoke with my advisor about the summer's events and she posed some questions that made me doubt my decision. So, I took them up with my counselor. She advised I come back and talk about some more things. So, I did.
By Christmas of my Sophomore year of college, I found out what really happened, supposedly. I was so tired of not knowing what happened to me when I was three, so I asked my mom to come and have a session with me and my counselor to discuss it. She agreed and the night before we were to go home for break we met with my counselor. I had some questions ready to ask my mom, but only got the first one out. I asked my mom, “ For my dad not to be in my life, something had to have happened. So, what happened?” She asked the counselor if I was mature enough to handle adult content, to which the counselor assured her I was. Then, ugly words spewed from her mouth.
I could not contain my emotion at what I was hearing my mom say my dad did to me. I put my head down, blocking out all view of people, and wept. I wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out. I wanted to run, hide, get away from what I was hearing. But, I couldn't. I continued to weep. The rest of the session was about me asking a few more questions and arguing with my mom about how she had replaced me with her boyfriend. I still wanted to run.
When I got back to school for the new semester, I had to face my monster for the first time since that day in the counselor's office. I hated it. I tried to run from it. I tried to deny it, but found that all I could do was work toward accepting it. So, I did. With the help of my counselor, friends, and God, I worked to accepting that it was me it happened to, and that it did indeed happen.
Besides having to do that, I struggled a lot that year. I really wanted a dad. I hated not having one, because it hurt. My longing was so overwhelming at times that I begged God to just take it away. But, He refused. I was hurt that He wouldn't. I think I knew He wanted me to find Him as Father, but I struggled to. When I thought that I had, I found I had really not. It was hard.
I also struggled with my relationship with my mom that year. She had started dating the summer after my freshman year, and I hated it. She was not dating the way Christians are supposed to date, and that made it hard for me. I was also not comfortable with a man sleeping in my house, and my mom did not understand why. We fought about it, and I could not even find the words to explain to her why. So, our relationship plummeted.
That was an interesting year for me. But, little did I know what the next one would hold.
My school closed that year. I was going to be transferring to a new college. I got a job that summer, working in the library at the new school. So, I stayed with a family who lived near the campus. They were going to be traveling for 6 weeks, so I house sat for them. The last week of June, I had a friend come and stay with me. This was the same friend whom I had homosexual feelings/thoughts about my freshman year of college. And I thought those were behind me, although my counselor and I never talked about them.
Half-way through the week, disaster struck within me. The thoughts were back, but different this time. I came very close to asking to do things with this friend. Luckily, the hand of God held me back, and nothing happened between us. But, I began to withdraw from her toward the end of the week. When she left at the end of the week, I was glad. I had to think.
I told her later that week that I needed some distance for a week. I wanted to take that week to think and pray, and then we would talk, so I did not want her to contact me. She didn't listen, and that made it more difficult. Through that week, I wrestled with God. I finally realized what the problem was at the end of the week. I needed to deal with some things so that this wasn't an issue. Because of the sexual abuse, I had some misconceptions about sex and relationships. Because of this, it was easier and even seemingly safer for me to have a sexual relationship with a female than with a male. This was the exact thought I had when I was a freshman that spring break night. I realized then that I had some things to deal with.
So, I set out to distance myself with this friend, putting boundaries on our friendship. I also went about trying to find books to help me with this area of a distorted view of sex. Nothing I found helped, but only hindered. I ended up cutting this relationship off completely. It was what I had to do.
I knew of a female counselor from the campus that I met in the work out center a few times. I stopped her outside of the gym one day and told her my situation. I asked her for any resources she could recommend. She pointed me in the direction of the counselor that was on campus, who happened to be a male. Stepping out of my comfort zone, I sent him an email and we scheduled to meet the following Monday. I had three days to prepare myself to be in a room alone with a male. I was terrified.
I spoke to my friend who was going to be my roommate that next year, and she sensed my fear. She told me that she would drive an hour and twenty minutes to sit with me in an hour session with this counselor. And she did.
When it came time to go the session, I was still terrified. I was nervous about talking to a man about such intimate things. But, I did it. I met with him for the rest of the summer, which was a few weeks. Each time, my roommate was there with me. By the end of the summer, I had pretty much ceased communication with my friend from home, but was really angry with her. I soon realized that my anger was not because of her, but because of me. It was easier for me to be angry at her than myself because of what my thoughts and feelings were toward her. I did not want to face that I was thinking those things.
When school started at the end of August, beginning of September, I was still a mess. I was still struggling with homosexual thoughts, anger, and so much self-hatred. I was also just tired of dealing with everything. By the second week of school, I wanted to go home.
I continued counseling with this man, and my roommate continued coming with me, although she now sat outside the room rather than in it with me. By the beginning of November, I went to a session all by myself. I sat in the room, alone, with the door closed, with a male, knowing that no one was outside waiting to hear me if anything happened. And everything was fine.
And then something happened that I was responsible for.
It ended our counseling relationship, forcing me to either quit counseling or find another counselor. I hated it. I hated myself and I hated him. I hated God, too. I was so confused, angry, and hurt. I blamed myself, because it was my fault. I played the “if only” game. I became bound by shame and darkness. I closed myself off from people. I hated life. I don't know how I made it through the months that followed.
Right away, I began self injuring. I was told that if I was in an okay place, I could wait to start counseling again until the next semester. But, I was not fine. On top of the self injury, I was having suicidal thoughts. I began with a new counselor, a female, and hated it: hated her. I hated the reason I was there. I concealed from her that I was hurting myself, which didn't help me any.
When I went home for Thanksgiving break, I confided in some church ladies. They recommended I go talk to my doctor. So, I did. After I told her I was having suicidal thoughts, she told me I just needed sleep. I left out the part where I was hurting myself, because it was only minor: digging with my fingernails. She prescribed sleeping medicine, which I only took for a few days. I was sleeping all the time, and was just tired of sleeping.
When I went back to school, I began having thoughts about taking all of the sleeping medicine my doctor had prescribed. I was scared I would do it, so I had my roommate hide it from me, only giving me one if I asked. The suicidal thoughts continued, and over the next three months, the self injury intensified. What started out with using my fingernails to scratch my arm turned into using a tack and then a safety pin to scratch my arm.
At this point in my life, I felt far away from God and felt without hope. I felt done for, like the demons had won. But, I continued, for some reason, to hang in there. The month of January was perhaps the lowest and darkest time of my life. There was a night where I didn't think I was going to make it through without killing myself. The self injury got more frequent and didn't seem like it was going to slow, or stop. I felt trapped, alone, fearful, and so ashamed.
During the month of January, I began going to a new church. But, I was so far from God, church was just a duty at that point. When I was there, I would be standing there during worship, my insides screaming. All I wanted to do was run out of there and yell at the top of my lungs that there was no God. But, something held me back.
By the end of January, nothing had changed. Things were still a mess with me. The first weekend in February, my wing and I were supposed to go on a retreat to one of the girls' houses in Ohio. Because of a snowstorm on that Friday, we couldn't go. So, I was able to go to church on Sunday.
Going to church that morning, nothing was new. I did not expect anything to happen or to change. Again, church was a duty.
That morning, my insides seemed a little quieter, and the urge to run was not as strong. When the pastor got to the pulpit to preach, he told us that he was going to give a different sermon than what he had prepared. He said the Holy Spirit would not leave him alone, and he knew that God had a message for someone, but he didn't know who.
He talked about how we are not alone: how we may be in the most difficult battle of our lives, but we are not without help. I needed to hear that. I was feeling so alone just in that week. He also talked about how the enemy might say, “I've got you!” but he never has us, because God has us in His hands. That was also something I needed to hear, because just that week I had been feeling like the enemy had me in his hand and there was no escape. I felt trapped and hopeless, as if there was no way back to God.
Everything in the pastor's sermon that morning was for me, I'm convinced. God knew what I needed to hear and so spoke it. During the altar call, I went, weeping. At the altar, someone prayed for me, and then another. Afterward, I just sat there in a seat, not sure why I was still there. I felt drained, but not like I could leave yet. A man came and asked me if I got what I needed that morning. I mumbled that I did not know. He sat next to me and asked me what was wrong. I told him a few of the things I was struggling with, and he introduced me to the worship leader. She sat down next to me, and listened while I told her what I was struggling with. She then prayed for me, calling the suicide and self injury what they were: demons. She cast them out in the name of Jesus, and pleaded His blood over me. I felt something break in me. That morning, I walked into the church service as one person, and left a completely different person. I have not been the same since.
Up until that day, I did not want to feel any of the emotions I was covering with anger. I did not want to deal with any of the gross stuff that was inside me, even though I knew I needed to. But, I felt I was ready. I felt I had a new determination and strength.
After that Sunday, I began talking to God. I began having a real relationship with Him. I had a desire to get to know Him as Dad, so I did. At one point, I was at work, doing my job, talking to Him as I worked. I was telling Him that I knew that I needed to deal with the stuff that was inside, but I didn't know how to without hating myself. That's the reason I refused to deal with it before then. I didn't need another reason to hate myself. I heard Him speak to me, saying, “Mindy, I see you, I know you, and I love you. I know the junk that is in your heart and I love you anyway. You don't have to hate yourself.” I was amazed. So, I didn't have to hate myself, huh?
The following week in chapel, the speaker confirmed what God had told me a week earlier. He said, “When we are before Christ, we can look at ourselves honestly, because He sees us, He knows us, and He loves us anyway.”
The next counseling session, I was ready. We dug deep into the hard stuff. My counselor and I must have been really in tune with God, because at the same time I realized that counseling was like being refined, she told me that counseling is like being on the threshing floor. After that, I had found some verses that talk about being threshed: Jeremiah 51:33 “For thus saith Jehovah of hosts, the God of Israel: The daughter of Babylon is like a threshing-floor at the time when it is trodden; yet a little while, and the time of harvest shall come for her.”, and refined: Isaiah 48:10 “See, I have refined you, but not as silver is refined; rather, I have refined you in the furnace of suffering/ chosen you in the furnace of affliction.” I knew God was refining me, and it hurt. The fire was hot. But, I knew it was the only way. And I was willing to go through it, knowing that He was there with me. I didn't come to understand this verse until just the other day. When God refines us, He can't refine us like other things. The furnace of suffering involves bringing up painful things from the depths of our being. These are things that we have hidden for so long because we don't want to deal with them. That's the suffering part.
For the next few months, my counselor and I dug our way through some tough stuff. I wrestled with difficult things and she helped me understand some things I had not understood before. I began having victory after victory as months passed and I resisted the self injury. I began to find who I was in Christ and become confident in who I was as a woman. I had always rejected my femininity because of the sexual abuse and wanting to appear tough. But, I began to see that it was okay to accept my femininity and even enjoy it. I love being a woman now!
The reason all of this started goes back to my distorted view of sex. Since my turnaround point, I have come to realize that sex is nothing to fear, nor is it bad. It is good, and that's how God created it. I'm still trying to unlearn and relearn what sex is and how it was intended, but at least I'm open to it. Before, I never wanted to discuss it.
Another change that has taken place is in associating with my male peers. I had always avoided them, for fear of rejection and hurt like in high school. I have finally come to a place where I think they're okay. These guys aren't like the ones in high school. I also am more confident in myself, so it doesn't matter what they think. I'm open to dating one and eventually would love to get married. I'm no longer afraid of guys.
This summer brought another change. For so long I had wrestled with not having a dad. For some reason, this longing has been the worst in my college years. This last year, God brought me to a place where I had to surrender unto Him my longings and let Him fill them. It was very difficult, and I wrestled and fought Him on it. Finally though, I came to a place of surrender. I let Him fill those longings and meet those needs that my earthly father could never fill, and I found that it was good.
Around April, I felt that I wanted to send my dad a letter. I thought about it for awhile, and then discussed it with my roommate. She seemed to be okay with it, so I discussed it with my counselor and a few other trusted friends. All doors seemed open. The only one I had to go through yet was my mom. I talked to her last, and surprisingly got her support. She said she sensed a strength in me that wasn't there before. I was speechless.
I continued to think about things regarding contacting my dad and discussed them with my counselor. At the end of the school year, I felt confident in sending a letter. I finally sent it in June after 18 years of no contact with my dad. My letter told him that it was okay if he wanted to contact me, but that if the letter was our only form of communication (if he didn't write back), then I wanted him to know that I forgave him.
With the letter sent, I felt I could finally move on and leave the past in the past. I wasn't expecting anything back from my dad, but a week later, there was a letter in my mailbox. Since getting this letter, I have sent him a second letter, received pictures of him and my half-sister, and have talked to him on the phone. It is the beginning of restoring this relationship. God really is restoring the years the locusts ate between me and my dad. I'll meet him one day soon, but I'm not ready yet. I'm still processing what has occurred so far. It's so surreal.
I finish writing this testimony on the 7 month anniversary of when my life was changed and saved because God thought I was worth it. It has been 7 months since I have last self injured or had a suicidal thought. I have been living for 7 months in the freedom that God intended for me to have. I love the number 7. It is the Lord's number, which means 'perfection' and 'wholeness'. God has indeed made me whole, which is something I thought I'd never see.
Psalm 30:11 “You turned my wailing into dancing; You removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy.”
In the beginning of my Junior year of college, I felt God say to me one day, “Mindy, you are going to carry out Isaiah 61 in other people's lives, but first I need to carry it out in your life.” I was amazed. I had always loved Isaiah 61. But, was I really going to carry it out in other people's lives?
Well, I feel He has done Isaiah 61 in my life. Isaiah 61:1-4 says:
The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is upon me,
for the Lord has anointed me
to bring good news to the poor.
He has sent me to comfort the brokenhearted
and to proclaim that captives will be released
and prisoners will be freed.
He has sent me to tell those who mourn
that the time of the Lord’s favor has come,
and with it, the day of God’s anger against their enemies.
To all who mourn in Israel,
he will give a crown of beauty for ashes,
a joyous blessing instead of mourning,
festive praise instead of despair.
In their righteousness, they will be like great oaks
that the Lord has planted for his own glory.
They will rebuild the ancient ruins,
repairing cities destroyed long ago.
They will revive them,
though they have been deserted for many generations.
On July 11 of this summer, 2010, I was supposed to be in Fort Wayne for a concert. But, every attempt to get there failed. I went to church on that morning and during worship, a word stuck out to me. It was the word 'presence'. I wasn't sure why, and decided to think about it later. Well, of course I didn't think about it later, because in my attempts to get to Fort Wayne for the evening, it slipped my mind. I went to church that night, after not being able to get to Fort Wayne. During worship, the word 'presence' again stuck out to me. I asked God about it, and He told me that I was going to have a ministry called 'Presence' Ministries. It will be based off of Isaiah 61, and its purpose will be to bring freedom/deliverance to men, women, and children through the glory of God's power and presence.
As you can imagine, I was speechless. But, if God said it, I was going to believe it. Well, I was at home the week before school stared, and one day was cleaning my room. I found an old journal, and began flipping through its pages. I came to one dated July 23, 2006. As I read through the page, the day came back to me in my mind. I was in church, getting ready to serve in the nursery that morning. A woman approached me and said that she and her husband had really been feeling that God had something special in store for me: that God had a ministry for me. As I read this, my memory went straight to that day this summer when God revealed to me the ministry. It was nearly 4 years ago to the date.
I really feel God has given me a ministry. If not, none of this stuff in my life would have a purpose, and God has a purpose for everything. I am excited to continue on this journey and see where God takes me and how He uses me. I have learned to trust Him, and I know He is good and that He won't lead me astray. “God, here I am. Use me as you please.”
