So this week I was talking to a new "friend" on Facebook. We discovered very quickly that we share something very special in common...we're both firm believers in the grace of the Lord. *grin* He asked me to tell him how I came to know our Savior, and I typed out the following reply. Looking back on it, I decided it's something I kinda wanted to share. This is the abridged version of my testimony. :-) I hope someone may find some encouragment...

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Well, I was technically "saved" when I was four years old. I was raised in the church, I memorized all the verses they could throw at me, and I really did love God throughout my life.

But here's the rest of that story. It's long, so you don't have to read it all if you don't want to. LOL

When Mom got sick, they had her in an induced coma for 26 days before she died. I was at the hospital for 24 of those days, just living there, taking care of her, chatting with the nurses, and playing "hostess" to the people that would come to visit her. A LOT of people from our church came in and out of that little hospital room...

Anyway, the whole time Mom was there, I prayed hard. I memorized more scripture, I "fellowshipped" with more believers, I utilized every ounce of faith that I could muster....and I watched people that I'd known my whole life really, really grow spiritually through the trial. My brother Bobby, for instance, started reading his Bible every day, and he prayed for her ALL the time from home. She wasn't conscious, but the nurses told us she may be able to hear what we tell her...she just couldn't respond. So Bobby would write her letters for me or Dad to take up there and read to her. The way he spoke...he had a fire in his belly. He was passionate and had more faith than I'd ever seen in him before.

Surely, I thought, this is just a tool God is using to grow us in our faith, and Mom will get better when the hospital stay has accomplished its purpose...

Well, Mom didn't get better. She got a little worse. And then a little better. And then a lot worse. And then one day, the doctor took Dad aside and said, "If any of the kids haven't been here to see her yet...you'll want to bring them in now. I doubt she'll make it through the day."

To make it all even worse...that was Amanda's 14th birthday.
Well, we all prayed hard. Partly still holding out for Mom's recovery....but mostly just begging God not to let mom die on Amanda's birthday.

In His mercy, he didn't let her go that day. The next morning, February 3rd, she died quietly, peacefully, with her family around her.

So...I guess all of ^ that was to say that after she died, my whole being sunk. I thought it might've been my fault....maybe I didn't have enough faith. (I know now how ridiculous that is.) I was okay enough to make it through writing her obituary, and making her funeral arrangements, and going through the ordeal of just existing that week...but I hit a spot about 2 months after where I just SANK. All of a sudden, I couldn't hear God anymore, and I hated it. I got r-e-a-l-l-y mad at Him. I said, "You know what, God? FINE. If You're not going to talk to me, I'm just not going to talk to You either..."

And I didn't. Not for a very long time. I got depressed and bitter and I got really good at pretending that I wasn't depressed and bitter. :-P

Finally, one night, I couldn't take it anymore. I was at church, and the praise band sang a song called "Blessed Be The Name"..do you know it? Anyway, we sang that song at my mother's bedside, and we sang it at her funeral, and I fell apart. I left the room bawling, and my friends followed me. I had to tell them what I was dealing with. One of my friends just said, "Ashley...God is weeping with you. Just because you can't hear Him doesn't mean that His heart doesn't break for you. You know that He's mourning for you..." She told me to just start talking again...even if He didn't talk back. I knew she was right. I knew that God wasn't sitting on some lofty throne, watching me break myself and getting a kick out of it. He wasn't mad and shunning me out of spite. I didn't understand why He was silent, but I knew that He loved me. So...stepping out in faith...I broke my side of the silence the next morning. And He didn't start talking back right away....but gradually, as I learned to live in what I *knew* about Him, instead of just reacting to what I *felt*...I could hear Him again.


Hehehe....that was the short version. ;-)

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I think I'm going to forever look back on that time in my life as one of the major turning points in my spiritual walk. I actually see it as a more significant (and certainly more dramatic) experience for me than when I asked Jesus into my heart one morning under the dining room table. (Yeah...under the table. I have no idea why I did that, but I do remember thinking it would be a more--er--"spiritual" place than any other spot in my house. Four-year-olds are weird...)

Two years later, I'm still figuring out this whole "God cries with me" thing...

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Give me one pure and holy passion
Give me one magnificent obsession
Jesus, give me one glorious ambition for my life:
To know and follow hard after You

To know and follow hard after You,
To grow as Your disciple in the truth
This world is empty, pale, and poor
Compared to knowing You, my Lord
Lead me on, and I will run after You


We sang that song in church this morning. I love it. It's what I'm gonna pray for myself all this week...maybe for a couple of weeks...

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Okay, I guess that's all I wanted to say for now.

I love you, dear blog family. I want you all to know that Yaweh cares for us...cares for you. He is good. And He is good even when the circumstances are not.

Be significantly blessed this week.

Quintessentially yours,
~Ashley Michele~