A Testimony: Courtney

   When I began writing this I dubbed myself, “an Isaac.”

   I wasn’t sure what to write, wasn’t sure that I really even had a story to tell at all. I heard this sermon a couple of years ago about how everyone is either an Abraham (a person of great faith), an Isaac (an average guy), or a Jacob (black sheep, prodigal son, that sort of person). I was an Isaac and the important thing was (as the purpose of the sermon preached) that I was content with my story, and therefore the life that God has gifted me. The day I finished my first draft of this post, I had three separate encounters that led me to see the perspective of three friends of mine on my life and journey of faith. I guess now I’m not so sure that I am an Isaac. I’ll let you draw your own conclusions. 

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   Most testimonies that I’ve ever heard or read are fashioned a lot like a story. There is a beginning, building action, the big climactic event of distress, the turning point, and a happy ending with Jesus. But I’ll be honest from the get-go  –  mine isn’t like that. I know that people say you’re not “born a Christian,” and maybe they’re right. But I can’t honestly remember a time when I didn’t believe and desire to follow the basic facets of Christianity.

   I was born into a family that went to church regularly, always provided me with a Bible, and encouraged me to pray daily. I gave my life to Christ and was baptized when I was nine years old, and I understood what all of that meant. I knew that I sinned, that I needed to be forgiven, and that Jesus gave his life so that I could be. I revered and worshiped God for that.

   My progression as a Christian was a very steady thing. As I aged and matured, I gained a deeper understanding of what it meant to truly follow Jesus and of the significance of His death and resurrection. Although at one point my family stopped encouraging me in the spiritual ways that they had in my youth, it was the first time that I saw (through hindsight) that it was me who wanted these things, not just my family wanting them for me. I asked to go to church, I prayed on my own time, I read the Bible to myself. It was no longer a family activity with parental support, but something individual and personal.

   I never experienced that one, epiphanous moment that many have – the moment when everything clicked into place. There were many individual moments drawing me closer to the Lord. Like a yo-yo I would be pulled in and then I would let myself back out. But no matter how many times I rolled down that string, the Lord was always there to bring me back up. And the falls have been shorter and shorter every time. 

     I’ve mostly struggled with the same root problems for as long as I can remember. Depression has been one of the worst, and simultaneously one of the best. It sucked, and it still sucks on days that it gathers strength inside of me again, but it has served a great purpose. So I’ve learned to welcome the trial for what I can gain from it.

   My first serious bout of depression was . . . well, middle school in its entirety. For a lot of reasons. So I went to therapy and took anti-depressants and placed bandaids over a thousand wounds that would never heal without stitches. My counselor was great, and I appreciate everything that she did for me, but ultimately her help was only enough to keep me from bleeding out until I could make it to the hospital. The problem was – I didn’t know I needed to go there, and neither did anyone else. So I learned how to change the bandages myself and kept moving forward, bleeding slowly but surely.

   The first truly divine experience that I can recall clearly occurred when I was in 8^th grade. We were doing this thing at youth group called SLAP – sing loudly and praise (or maybe it was pray?). It was the first time I actually felt the presence of God. And now that I’m trying to type this out I’m realizing that there aren’t even words to describe it. It’s electrifying, but in a gentle way. Powerful yet soft. Like this one huge juxtaposition – infinite righteousness, grace, and love dwelling in sin, rejection, and misery by choice. An incredible kind of love.  

   A few years later I was in a tough spot and nothing seemed to be able to help me. All the stuff I thought I had dealt with had actually been slowly simmering in the background and I watched as it began to boil at full force. My closest friends were all leaving me for college, a boy had left me heartbroken, changes were happening in my family dynamic that were uncomfortable. I felt alone. The depression I didn’t realize I was still struggling with resurfaced. I felt abandoned. I felt used. I felt belittled. I felt lost. I felt inadequate. I felt jealous. I felt embarrassed. I felt dead inside.

   
   Giving it all to God was not something that I had been familiar with at that point. Knowing that “Jesus saves me” doesn’t always translate to “I can lay every single pain and struggle I have on the cross”. But with the help of a book called The Shack, many conversations with my best friend’s mother,  and realizing for the first time that God would (I knew he could do anything) speak directly and personally to me through other people, I was able to realize that I was okay. That I would be okay. That Jesus could unlock me from the mental torture chamber I had created for myself.

   It has been a very slow process of healing, and something I honestly think I’ll wrestle with for the rest of my life. I discovered how much I was loved and accepted in Christ. I began to understand that I was worth something no matter what anyone else said or did to me. I started to see that the Lord would always provide for me (if not in the way I expected or thought I wanted). But that didn’t mean that my life was then after sinless, easy, and void of a depressive mentality. Not a bit. 

   It was a constant battle to remember and apply those things, as well as new ones that I came upon. I’ve had my fair share of really bad mistakes and running in the complete opposite direction from God. And I’ve had to learn painfully and slowly that even though Jesus could break the chains every time I bound myself with them, a lot of the time he would give me the key and sit with me until I unlocked myself. 

   BUT I had found something that worked. Something that really, truly, long-term worked in 1) improving my quality of life and 2) displaying God's love. Through all of this and some other things along the way, I developed a passion for Christ-centered counseling. Because I truly believe that it works. I’ve seen my life, and the lives of many people around me, receive healing transformation in Jesus. Depression, anxiety, relationship problems, alcoholism, sexual problems, abuse, addiction, mourning – these are the things I’ve seen God’s love heal. The Gospel is where we can go and lay our burdens to rest, and in return we are comforted and set free. 

These experiences have sparked a desire in me to share this kind of therapy with anyone who wants to listen, anyone who wants to try something new when nothing else is working, and in anyone who knows that this is the way but doesn’t know how to get there. If you’re interested in hearing more, for any reason, feel free to respond in the comments below, or send us a private Facebook message or email. I would love to chat with you about it! 

-Courtney