My parents were divorced while I was an infant so there were always two homes to shuffle back and forth between in California. My devout father raised me the orthodox Christian way; church on Sunday, Bible studies on Wednesday, etc. Although my mother has enormous faith, the common church involvements are not her forte. Our apostolic experiences involved frequent visits to McDonald’s where we would sit in the parking lot laughing at pigeons, writing goofy poems, and pondering on the Good Word. It really was the best of both worlds.
Growing older, my walk with God blossomed. I found myself at age twelve, being baptized in the Pacific Ocean. What a wonderful memory I will always hold dear to my heart. The debatable subject is when exactly I received the Holy Spirit with evidence of speaking in tongues. If you were to ask me, I would tell you it occurred a few years later while at a family retreat in the woods during a Christian concert. The story my dad has is much different. His version states I received the Holy Spirit a few years prior during a road trip to Louisiana. The details are such: So there I was, this little girl, sitting in the backseat with a block of cheese exposed on a cutting board and a single fly fixated on utilizing the precious orange square of sharp cheddar as its resting area. With the windows rolled down and my constant motions shewing the bug away, I started rambling incoherently. Upon finishing, I looked at my dad and asked, “Do you know what I said?” He answered, “No, my daughter.” I replied, “That means, ‘I love you’, in Spanish!” By no means were the “blabadeeblada’s” spewing from my lips translatable, let alone Spanish. Since that point, my father claims it was the filling of the Holy Spirit. That’s certainly a cute story, however, the details are almost irrelevant when compared to the heart of the subject; God dwells within me and it’s proven by my walk with Him today. Amen!! Now on with my testimony.
At the age of fifteen my dad remarried to a wonderful woman of the Lord. The fairy tale happenstance started through internet correspondences on a political Christian chat site (or something of that nature). Apparently they exchanged numerous emails before my dad realized the person on the other end was a woman. When this grand epiphany occurred, naturally, his interests were peaked and the relationship stirred in a different direction.
My soon-to-be stepmother resided in Ohio while father-deary and I were located in Montana. Thus (insert sarcasm), a very reasonable compromise was made. The wedding took place in her home town prior to her entire life being uprooted and moved to a state that holds more cows than people. How fun is that? Now, Montana is where I successfully (barely) completed the glorious high school years. Mind you, sometimes it felt as if the end of high school was but a dream. Difficult times arose between my father and stepmother and I simply could not wait to graduate. Practically as soon as the diploma was in hand, I was in route for Ohio to marry the son of my stepmother’s best friend. (Cough) The word fiasco pales in comparison to the actual word(s) I would like to use to describe my departure from the Big Sky state. “What is going on now?” I asked myself with exasperation. A game changing fight between my father and biological mother prolonged my dream. Being whisked away by child services (I was only seventeen at the end of my graduating year), put my dreams to a screeching halt. CPS placed me and my fantasies in a youth boarding home. Among my many guardians, apparently none were considered fit to take care of me at that time. I wondered if I would ever get to Ohio. The odds looked bleak as I lulled myself to sleep in the tiny room of a tiny house containing ten other teens. My second night’s stay in my new abode is when I decided to face reality. There I stood at the end of my bed with my suitcases open, slowly unpacking each item, when a sudden boisterous calling of my name came from upstairs. (Sigh), “This better be good.” I whispered while climbing the grim tiny steps. My eyes must have fallen out of my sockets at that point, for behold, my father stood in the doorway with an apology and a first class, one way, ticket to Ohio. “Thank you God!” I shouted in my head. “Now my life can really begin.” I thought. The light at the end of the tunnel appeared again.
Shockingly, this next portion of the story is short lived. My years in Ohio were all of two. I know, I know, such build up only to lead you here. Well, yours truly, the betrothed, had sweaty feet syndrome……errrr…..cold feet I mean, and called everything off. Surely I knew the Lord had other plans. Hmmmmmmmmm, or was it that I had other plans? Stuck in a marriage with a husband who refuses to cut the umbilical cord between him and his mother did not seem appealing to me whatsoever. So onward I went, on my own and back to California where the real backsliding began.
“California! I am here and I am free!! Let me grasp this freedom with both hands and live life uninhibited!!” This fun, carefree mentality lead me down the ways of alcoholism, drugs and promiscuity. Jobs were hard to hold down because I had become completely unreliable. After turning twenty-one, I started working as a bartender and my life was defined by the amount of hours spent either serving drinks or slamming them back. Although I knew I was in the ways of sin, I remember asking the Lord not to leave my side. SNAP! Is that a cop pulling me over? “Sure Mr. Officer, I will gladly take a DUI.” said my blood alcohol contact which was so high it was considered a second offense even though I’ve never had any prior mishaps with the law. Great. What’s next? Fast forwarding a few years, family stresses were the persuasion I needed in my decision to move yet again. This time to Austin, Texas.
Ahhhhhhhhh! Home sweet home. I haven’t been able to shake Austin since. My time in Texas has breached five years and I absolutely love my life now. Nevertheless, this autograph still holds several stories with memories comparing to less than a bed of roses.
After my initial move to Texas, money was dwindling quickly, job opportunities were scarce and the living situation became increasingly harder for the family members who housed me. I felt shameful. I had no means of giving back. From the way I saw it, there was nothing I could offer up to help my loved ones who had provided such hospitality over the course of several months. I overstayed my welcome and thus, by my own deduction, this metamorphosed into homelessness. Yes, I consciously and purposely put myself out on the streets of downtown Austin with no money and only a backpack full of clothing. I began to hang around the wrong crowds. Don’t get me wrong, not everyone I befriended were bad people. The majority simply did not believe or follow the teachings of Christ and, instead of offering up guidance to them, I fell into their ways of sin. You become your environment, right? More drinking, more drugs, more emptiness. How was I going to get myself out of this mess? “God, please don’t leave me” I’d say inwardly.
One morning I awoke in my $30 a night dump of a motel room to hear singing and instruments blaring outside my window. My curiosity was as caffeine and I instantly jumped out of bed to investigate. Once opening the door, I discovered chairs in the middle of the parking lot and they were filled with people singing praise and worship songs. Apparently a local church was holding service RIGHT THERE! Without skipping a beat, I found a seat and my singing/sobbing commenced. God’s Spirit grabbed a hold of mine and said, “If you won’t come to Me, I will come to you.” From that point on, with His help, I dedicated my time towards making drastic changes in my life. My ways were turned and the blessings seemed endless. Within two weeks I had a job and within three weeks I had a place I could call home. Sadly, there were still instances where I continued to stumble…no wait, I’d fall…and fall hard. A couple years passed and my drinking was as much of an issue as ever. My poor broken heart still shattering with every corner I turned. Finally one day the chaos of my own conduct became too much. I threw my hands up and fell to the floor. I said, “Lord, I can’t live this life my way anymore. It’s not working. I give it ALL to You! I only want YOU! Forgive me Father!!” In that moment He reminded me of my homelessness. He said, “Every time you prayed for Me not to leave you, I was saying ‘come BACK to Me’.” It’s indescribable –that impact. The moment was matched by an overwhelming rush of peace within my soul. It had finally arrived; the moment He knew I would come back and fully submit myself.
Now here we are in present tense, two years later. I live soberly and am apart of the body of Christ with a wonderful local church. There is faith and trust revived within my being. By far am I perfect. My stumbling is a continued work in progress yet this is true for all of us. All I pray is God’s will. -Bring me my husband Lord, if it is Your will. Let the outreach ministry You’ve started with me grow, if it is Your will.- He is my guide and I strive to feel His presence every moment of the day. We may not always feel Him there, but He is. Never take your focus off Him. When you do, that’s when you jeopardize the blessing He wants for your life. He can bring you through anything, and my story is proof of His grace.
Go with God.
-Robin
rcmileyluv 