Testimonies of Salvation and Answered Prayer (Devotional Thread)

In the fall of my 29th year I was married to my second husband. He was a mechanic at a local car dealership, which was handy because I worked as a part-time rural mail carrier and my 2 vehicles often needed repairs. I also worked nights at two different jobs; one was at the neighborhood country store, and one was as a bartender at a mid-range restaurant, known for its beer selection, in the same town where my husband worked.

The restaurant policy was to give the workers a free shift drink at the end of the night. One night my husband came back into town to have a drink with me there, and then we went out to a couple of other bars. By the end of the evening we were pretty toasted, and we landed in the seediest dive around, a pool joint, at closing time.

My husband had a tendency to change personality when he drank. The drunker he got, the meaner he became. We had been married about 4 years; I had noticed his rages accelerating, but he had never hit me.

At last call I turned from the pool table where a couple of other guys were talking to me, to look for my husband bent over his beer on a bar stool. He wasn't there. His jacket was gone, too. I asked the bartender if he knew where my husband had gone.

"He went to get the car, I guess," he said. Well, I knew that could not be the case, as both of us had cars parked very nearby, being that this bar was across the street from where my job was. I started to feel a little nervous then. I got my things and headed out to the parking lot. It was somewhere between 2 and 3am.

My husband's vehicle was nowhere in sight, but as I unlocked my car, got in, and started it up, I heard the squeal of tires coming around the corner onto Main Street. It was him, and I knew I was in for an argument, probably about the two guys I had been talking to at the pool table. I headed out onto Main Street and turned left toward home. My husband pulled right up onto my bumper. We never should have been behind the wheel at all, and it was (in hindsight) a miracle that we both survived the trip home.

The fight started in the driveway. Our neighbor's house about a hundred yards away was dark and quiet. My husband followed me into the house where the screaming and finger pointing continued. I argued back, protesting my innocence. It only enraged him more. I was afraid that this time he was going to hit me. I thought for sure if he started hitting me, in the condition he was in, he would never stop.

My dad, it suddenly occurred to me, would be up, watching the Turner Black and White Movie Channel about then. I often called him before I went to work at the P.O. early in the morning. I staggered over to the phone, which in those days was hanging on the wall (this was way before cell phones).

I was barely able to make out the numbers on the dial I was so drunk. My husband continued to scream in my face. He suddenly reached out and ripped the entire phone off the wall! He threw it across the room. It jangled and burst into pieces. I was in absolute terror for my life.

My dad had raised me to know how to shoot. Both my husband and I had guns hanging on a rack in the living room, with the ammo stored separately but nearby. I went for my .30 carbine and its clip, which had 10 rounds in it. I was so drunk that I could not line up the clip with the well of the magazine to load the gun. While I was struggling with it, my husband tore it out of my hands.

I turned and ran for the front door as fast as I could. I made it off the deck and down the seven steps before I fell, landing on my hands and knees in the dew-covered grass in the front yard. I was crying and screaming. My husband followed me out and walked down the steps. I heard his work boots on every wooden plank. I heard him load the gun and chamber a round.

"Daddy! Daddy!" I screamed. "Save me! Make him stop! Daddy! Make it all go away! Daddy! Save me!" The only excuse I have for crying out for my dad was my drunkenness. I never called my dad "Daddy."

My husband did stop! He turned around and walked back into the house! I got up and stumbled to my car. I thought I would lock myself in and sleep until daylight, but the keys were in it. I never leave my keys in my car, but to my surprise there they were! I drove away, just a couple of miles, to a pull-off near a brook deep in the woods on a private, dead-end road. I rolled up the windows, locked the doors, shut the engine off, and went to sleep.

It was so cold when I woke up. I drove back to the house. My husband met me in the driveway. He had his uniform on and was going to work. The sun was shining; that seemed so incongruous.

"I will be back this weekend for my things," he said through the little crack I made in the window. When he drove away I got out of the car and went inside.

Over the rest of that week I felt something like a cancer growing in my guts. This was my second marriage, and certainly not the second of my relationships. They had all failed. I was a failure. I could not do life. I had nothing else to try after years of sex, drugs, alcohol, and myriads of other habits and distractions to try to cope with this world. I wanted to die. The feeling just kept growing as I got up each day and went about my business on autopilot – going to work at night or to the P.O. in the daytime if I was scheduled. I was scheduled that Saturday. When I got home his things were gone.

I sat on the rug in the middle of the living room as the sun was setting. I had a revolver in my hand. I was picturing how to hold it: To the side of my head, I decided. But just before I raised the gun I had a vision. I saw a vast dark space full of nothing but smoldering heat. I was the only soul there. It was the kind of darkness that presses against your eyeballs, and the kind of heat that makes the air difficult to breathe. I knew it was hell. I knew that if I pulled the trigger I would go there, that I deserved to go there.

I did not typically think about God, or heaven, or hell. I knew there was a god "up there somewhere." Anyone looking around at creation could see that. I also had been given a minimalist Roman Catholic education when I was very young, up to First Communion. My mother had later been "saved" in the "Jesus Movement" during the 70s. She spoke in tongues. I thought it was weird.

But in this moment I spoke to God out loud for the first time ever as an adult. It was also the first time as an adult that I used the name of Jesus Christ as anything other than a curse.

"God, if you're there, I really need you. I’ve made a complete mess of things. I don't know how to make life work. I've tried everything I know to do and I am at the end. If you're there, and if you can hear me, I need you. Is it true what I've heard, that Jesus Christ died for my sins on the cross so that I could go to Heaven? If it is, I need you to take over. Please forgive me for the mess I've made. Please show me how to live."

I went so far as to make a deal with God. I found out later you are not supposed to do that, it supposedly never works, but I also discovered God’s incredible mercy.

"If you bring my husband back, I’ll know that it’s you doing it, that you have heard me. I will read the Bible, and I will tell everyone what you’ve done for me."

That was it. I stood up. I felt as if I could go on. One might even call it peace. The feeling of cancer in my stomach receded. I put the gun away.

God did bring my husband back. I did read the Bible (my husband was jealous of that, too). One day a couple of Jehovah's Witnesses came to my door. "God sent you to teach me how to read the Bible!" I told them enthusiastically. During one visit they asked me what, if any, Scriptures I knew. "I know the ten commandments," I said. They knew exactly where to turn to find that passage, Exodus 20, and I was so envious of that ability! Later that afternoon before my husband came home from work I sat on the couch and read that passage over and over again.

On the first reading I thought, 'I've kept most of these. I’m a pretty good person.' By the time I had read the ten commandments through about five times I knew I was guilty of breaking every single one of them. I sobbed, literally sobbed, for over an hour. My heart was broken. If I had not already believed at that point that Jesus died for my sins, including the sin of murder when I aborted my child, I could not have endured the conviction I felt. God was holy; I was not.

One of the customers on my mail route was a pastor. He started meeting me at the mailbox and talking to me about what I was reading in the Bible. Eventually I was baptized by him. I joined his church. I quit drinking and drugs and years later cigarettes and even coffee. I learned and grew and changed by leaps and bounds! I even became a Sunday school teacher, first for children and then for women. I have been a Christian now for 26 years. Jesus has never left me nor forsaken me, though my husband, who never understood the changes I was going through, did. I call God “Papa” in my prayers, which is very close to “Daddy.” I know Bible verses now that explain why I screamed “Daddy!” on the night my salvation began:

Humans cannot know God through reason and the explanation of others. But we can know Him through our own experiences.

When I was a three-year old child, my father lay dying. My mother prayed for help as she sat on his death watch. She had been told by his physician that he would not live through the night. She had two children under the age of 6, no money, no income, no family she could call on. In the depth of the night, after praying, crying, and racking her brain to try to think of something she could do, "I finally said: 'I don't know what I will do'," she later told me, and at that moment she looked outside into the darkness, from the third floor of the hospital room, and, "Someone was out there. I don't know if it was Jesus an angel or what, but someone was out there. And suddenly I knew everything would be all right." It was. A calm and peace came over her. She fell asleep. When morning came, my father was much better. He recovered. Together, he and my mother raised their children and sent us to college.

Those who doubt such miracles--including those who can't manage to make them fit preconceived ideas about truth and reality--can do so all they want.

They can accept and receive the peace of God, or they can doubt. The truth will remain.

I have experienced many such miracles myself. My life is a testimony of salvation by Jesus Christ and answered prayers.

My understanding is that Jesus Christ is a manifestation of God, Who has many forms, and that as such he is eternal.

Many years ago, I asked Jesus Christ to guide me. I asked only that He protect me from all evil influences and all untruth. I believe that He has guided me, and has taken me to many strange and unexpected places. My confidence has always been in Him, and it will remain so.

He has led me to the concept of God as the Great Unmanifest, Which is the greatest Truth that my mind can comprehend, but I am also aware the Jesus Christ is the Same as God the Father, the Holy Spirit, and the Great Unmanifest.

I was a teen during the 60’s and very much a member of “The Woodstock Generation”. Being and artist and a musician also placed me in the midst of drugs, free sex, and leftist politics. There was something in me that knew I was a lost soul, but that only caused me to sink deeper into nihilism, leftism, eastern mysticism, witchcraft, and self-hatred.

My husband and I married at 19, and were dirt poor. Since the only vehicle we could afford at the time was a motorcycle, I learned to drive on two wheels. A female biker who could ride on her own was unusual back then so, I got some respect and self-esteem from that, as well as being the front-(wo)man for a rock/blues band. So I was immersed in two somewhat sinful worlds, as a biker and rock musician, with all the stuff that went with that.

In 1981, my husband had a “Damascus Road” experience on a curvy road in Boston called “The Jamaicaway”. While he didn’t crash the bike, God gave him a vision of where he would go IF he did. It was shortly after that we both came to the Lord in a Pentecostal Church outside of Boston. Of course, I quit the Blues Band and got swept right into the Music Ministry, probably before I was mature enough to handle it.

Anyway, we went through some really difficult times, including church splits, false accusations, family issues, etc, and we finally moved away from Boston (for a job that never materialized) to Florida.

In Florida, things went well for a while, but then, due to a hideous bout of depression my husband took his own life exactly 10 years ago tomorrow. At the time, we didn’t have a church because we were so disillusioned, but We still had our faith in Jesus. About a year before my husband’s death, I had joined FR and started the Jerusalem Thread. The largest amount of kindness and support I received during that terrible time was from the Brothers and Sisters on Free Republic. I will always thank God for that!

In Florida, I became a Music Minister for an outdoor church that reached out to “outlaw” Bikers. The church still exists in Pompano Beach, although I have moved back to Boston. I am president of the Boston Chapter, and still have my colors.

Now I play bass and piano (not at the same time LOL!) at a very humble little A of G Church nearby. I love the church and its people, even though we can’t hug each other due to COVID regulations. The governor doesn’t want us to sing (!) but we do anyway.

The point I am making is that the Church is the Body of Christ, not a building, or a denomination, or a conference, or a synod. And, although I went through some really horrible stuff and did some SERIOUS sinning, Jesus never left me nor forsook me.

He was always there, calling me, even when I didn’t want to listen.

And now, I feel like I have come home.

Do you have your own personal story of transformation you would like to share?

OK:

My testimony (and rather than using my slow stiff arthritic typo fingers I'm mainly using dictation box speech-to-text software available on the Chrome browser - even though I prefer Firefox - although I have to do some editing afterwards) of conversion is that of one raised in a strict devout Irish Catholic household in a predominate Catholic area in MA. Two of my uncles we're Catholic priests overseas, and as a family we never missed Mass or a holy day of obligation, etc I was/am the middle of five children and along with my two brothers I was an altar boy.

My dad sometimes served as an usher (and they took the 25 cent "seat money") and who was a very honest man of conscience as was my mother who was part of the Sodality. One time my mom told me that my dad was called upon to give an introduction to a speaker for a Holy Name society meeting, and had trouble providing an honest introduction. For he could not say, "it gives me great pleasure who introduce..." since it did not give him great pleasure. I forget what he came up with. But anyway that type of strict and conscientious upbringing resulted in me chafing at the yoke in my later years as a teenager and finally leaving home. I had started working at a local dairy farm at age 14 (dad said I was either going to get a job or work around the home property. I chose what I thought would be the easier alternative). After graduating from H.S. I also worked as a manager for gas station for a while and in the pool cleaning business.

After leaving home where I was paying rent I soon became part of a group of a number of guys around my age renting the "white house" next to the dairy. Later I was invited to become part of a group of four of the relatively more stable guys who rented another house in a nearby city, three of whom were in a rock band (we were also Star Trek devotees). At the dairy where I worked I had started working processing milk as well as making truck deliveries. This was all in the early 1970s. My life in this era was basically work and partying, drinking , smoking weed (almost perpetually) and seeking sex with women, and occasionally doing drugs. To a large part this life was a means of escaping or subduing conscience. However, after about 6 years of all this I became depressed, which was not normal for me, and although no one had spoken to me about salvation I knew that my problem was sin separating me from God, and I felt that I was as one on train tracks with the judgement train coming, and that I needed to get right with God.

Because of my upbringing and with my parents being those of integrity, I understood that asking God for forgiveness meant a change of life, in this case a permanent life repentance. I knew this would be quite radical and I did not feel ready for it especially since I was due to go to a wedding in a few months and I knew I would get drunk. I therefore entered into period of reformation in which I would stop or tone down my drinking etc. and sneak (lest my party bodies made fun of me) out to Mass mornings but not go to communion for I knew that that was wrong. My plan was that after this wedding then the coast would be clear to go to Confession and formally repent and obtain forgiveness. Note that at this time I knew nothing much more than Catholic teaching. And so that is what I did. I think that it was in October 1977 that I went to Confession at St Thomas Church with a priest who was a former drill sergeant. I tearfully confessed that I was away from God and the church and was repenting of my former life. He told me that took great courage and gave me some prayers to say and I went home.

Now my dad had reverenced the Bible hand occasionally read it and I knew it was the word of God - which is why I had not wanted to read it. But now I knew I needed to get a Bible, and so I went to the large Ann and Hope department store and look at the Bible's and pick the one with the most colorful cover which turned out to be the living Bible (I later felt it was a watered-down translation). Note that although I believed that was forgiven of my past life I became even more conscious my sinful nature, and sometimes would spend most of my Sunday afternoons - that being the only day I had off after working about 60 hours a week - repenting for basically having thoughts and feelings arising from my sinful nature. I also felt I needed to go to confession at least once a week even though I was living quite a straight life.

Someone also told me that there was a new Christian station that had just begun in the area, and so I began listening to it and which fed my hungry soul. And because I was repentant and wanted to please God then when I heard that salvation was by grace, and not by any merit of works that I had done or could do then I immediately told God (even if it meant pulling my truck over) that I trusted Jesus Christ for my salvation and not anything that I had to offer.

Sometime around this time I realized an inner change taken place in me. I'd become the main route driver for the dairy, delivering milk and ice cream, and would be driving down the highway and noticed that even nature seemed new to me, even though I was raised in a rural area. I also now saw woman as unique creations of God to be appreciated for what they were and not for their anatomy (although that certainly can be appreciated). I was also very eager to help people and was voted the most helpful employee at my work at this time, and I felt I could not think evil of anybody, and also felt much indebtedness to any who helped me. No, I sadly cannot say this innocence and constant goodwill etc. remained continuous (it is said there was only 11 days journey into the Promised Land if one stayed on the straight and narrow and overcame all obstacles), yet I had a definite conversion and experienced profound changes in heart and life. And rather that morbid introspection I started realizing I needed to thank God for what he had done for me such as in making me a "new creation in Christ Jesus," "accepted in the Beloved" " bought with a price."

I wanted to serve God yet I was still in the Catholic Church making every single Mass and holy day of obligation, and I also volunteered as a lector and served as a CCD teacher. However, I was different and after mass I would sometimes be sincerely telling others about salvation that I had experienced, yet with rare exceptions no other Catholics we're interested. My mother told me they considered it to be boring and my parents basically opposed it although they overall saw my conversion as a good thing. I also began to attend Catholic Charismatic meetings which is where I mainly met the few Catholics I found who were interested in the Bible and talking about the things of God .

And apart from church I was also telling others about Jesus and the need for salvation, and most of them were Catholic themselves if not practicing ones. I also even felt God wanted me to go on the highway and warn people not to go in the strip clubs but to repent, which I did many times, even after working till late at night, for this was all by myself while I was working at least 60 hours a week Much of this, as much as was of God, was to help me to trust in the Lord, to walk by faith even without much fellowship. However I did want and sought seek the latter, which is partly why I went to the charismatic meetings.

Now by this time I had known about other churches in other places that were what called born again churches, but even though I am sure I would have went to churches of ministers I heard on the radio like John MacArthur, Chuck Swindoll, Vernon McGee, Chuck Smith , etc yet I was not willing to trust the local ones.

Yet by this time I had known from the Bible that some of what the Catholic church was teaching was not that of the New Testament Church, and so about 6 years after my repentance and conversion then I humbly sincerely prayed to God (in the parking lot of where I worked) that if it was his will for me to leave the Catholic Church and go to a different one then I trusted that he would show me. and which He promptly did.

The next night going to the store where I worked I found an old friend of my dad's who sometimes did mechanical work for him. He was a senior citizen not only in age but also in height, and when I told him something about his need for God then he loudly proclaimed he believed in God and told me about a church down hand off the highway that he went to. and which is what resulted in my leaving the Catholic Church and into Evangelical Fellowship about 1983 and far more service, by the grace of God, thanks be Him.

However, this is not the end of the journey, or of only forward motion in sanctification or of repentance and seeking more, which continues, but only God deserves credit for salvation and for anything good done thru me, while the only things I can and must take credit for are my too-often failures in the full obedience of faith.

Wherefore, my beloved, as ye have always obeyed, not as in my presence only, but now much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling. For it is God which worketh in you both to will and to do of his good pleasure. (Philippians 2:12-13)

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