Do You Have a Jesus Story? (It's National Write Down Your Story Day)
The lost need to hear your story and be encouraged by it.
We are living in extraordinary times. For many, this is a scary time. Politically, it's never been more tumultuous, not just in America but in the world. Suppose you continue to focus on the negative stories that legacy media relentlessly hurls at you. In that case, you will be scared to death. When you know Jesus, there is nothing to fear—those who don't need to hear your story.
Romans 10:14 - New Living Translation
But how can they call on Him to save them unless they believe in him? And how can they believe in him if they have never heard about him? And how can they hear about him unless someone tells them?
It's our job as Christians to tell the lost about our Lord and Savior. There has never been a more exciting time to do that. We are experiencing the third great awakening, and billions of souls are being saved. Let's not drop the ball after the awakening and ensure it leads to reformation.
Here's my restoration and reformation tale. My journey with the Lord was a roller coaster ride for decades. I'm sure I'm not the only one in that boat. I'm fully on board now, and my life is blessed beyond belief.
When I was nine, I gave my heart to Jesus and was baptized in a little Baptist church in Santa Clara, California. When we moved to San Jose and started attending a Pentecostal church, I was introduced to the gifts of the Holy Spirit. I was slain in the Spirit and given the gift of tongues when I was 12.
Despite always attending church, our household was very dysfunctional. My mother loved God and ensured that we knew who Jesus was and that He died to forgive our sins and offer us eternal life. However, the way she lived her life was not always God-honoring. My mother, God bless her, did not find her worth and value in Christ. She wouldn't have constantly searched for a man to fill the hole in her heart if she had.
My father deserted her, my brother, and me before I was two. My first stepdad and father to my two younger brothers was very abusive, not just to my mother but to my brothers. He had an affinity for me, so he never beat me, which left me with a lot of confused, guilty feelings.
I don't remember going to church then, but I'm pretty sure we did. My mother's quest for a man after finally leaving the abusive relationship with my stepfather led to a couple of boyfriends. I remember being very fond of one who treated us well. We liked him and had his son.
The other one was a creep in my memory who didn't give a rip about us kids. I believe his relationship with my mother was purely physical. He had a son who came to see him on weekends. I remember the boy showing us his father's Playboy magazines in the garage one day while our parents were in the house. I'd never seen pictures of naked women, and I knew looking at them was wrong, probably because we were still going to church on Sundays. Neither my mother's boyfriend nor his son knew anything about Jesus. There is a reason we are told not to be unequally yoked. (2 Corinthians 6:14)
I won't share the man's name, but I remember him tearing my mother's heart out. I recall how devastated she was by him and wondered why she chose him over Chris, the nice man we all liked. When I was a teenager, my mother had the nerve to ask me why I chose bad boys, the pot calling the kettle black. Sadly, we are drawn to what we are familiar with, which I would learn in therapy years later.
My mother met her third husband at the Baptist church where I was baptized. Trust me when I say the third time was not the charm. It will take a book to share about the men my mother married and their issues. No matter what craziness was going on in our lives, Mom continued to take us to church.
We all loved the Cathedral of Faith in San Jose, California. After the shame-and-guilt-mongering and boring Baptist churches we'd attended, it was a breath of fresh air. I have nothing against the Baptist church; I think many have become more spiritual and less religious. We loved that the worship music included drums, guitars, and horns. I had a crush on the trumpet player when I was twelve. The Cathedral was a Spirit-filled church, the kind I am always drawn to.
It cannot be understated how much confusion is caused when we subject our kids to the "do as I say, not as I do" principle. While the church was instilling the importance of staying abstinent and waiting for marriage to engage in sex, my mother's boyfriend was spending the night.
He did become stepfather number four, but after sneaking out my window to run around with my best friend and stopping under my mother's window to ensure she wasn't awake, I knew mom did not wait until they shared vows to make the relationship a physical one. I remember being so distraught by the incident that I crawled back into my window, buried my face in my pillow, and cried for hours.
With all the unclear messages I received and the dysfunction I experienced, it's not a wonder that I became a rebellious teenager. The molestations I was subjected to, one by a doctor when I was four and one by my step-uncle when I was six, left scars that led to promiscuity. I don't know why this happens, but the odds are that it will have been well-documented.
My young, messed-up mind led me down some scary trails. I'll include the link to the story I wrote about almost being trafficked to Mexico at the end of this post. When I was 14, in frustration, my mother took me to juvenile hall, where I lived for four months, waiting for a foster home. My foster parents took me to church, too, but the screwed-up life they led only added to my warped view of "church people."
Mom sent me to camp with the Teen Challenge organization during those tumultuous times. I went to the camp because I was forced to, not because I wanted to. I recall the counselor being sweet and doing his best to get me to choose a better path. I don't remember how often I opened my Bible, but the fact that I wound up pregnant 18 months later speaks volumes.
I had three negative pregnancy tests by Planned Parenthood before discovering I was 16 weeks pregnant. They were fully prepared to send me to a hospital 50 miles away to perform a long-term abortion. I'm sure it was God who kept me from finding out that I was pregnant until I was so far along. If I had found out earlier, I would very likely have done something I would have regretted my entire life. My son is now 46, and I can't imagine my life without him. I will also share the link to my pregnancy story at the end of this one.
As always, in adversity, I turned back to my Christian roots, leaned on God, and got through a trying time. I had my son dedicated to Christ at the Cathedral of Faith Church when he was six months old. A year later, I was no longer going to church and was in a relationship with a narcissist who mentally abused me and left me, breaking my heart.
I spent three decades trying to make it on my own and only giving God the time of day when I was in crisis. I went to church for a little while after I found out I had a hereditary heart condition when I was 20 years old. I received healing, and once I was better, it was back to business as usual—one foot planted heavily in the world and the other dangling in the kingdom.
I dusted off my Bible on occasion, talked to God once in a while, and even got married in a church. It wasn't until my marriage was falling apart and my husband asked me for a divorce that I had my true and final come-to-Jesus meeting. God saved my husband's life and our marriage. That amazing story gave me my memoir Born Again in a Biker Bar.
With only a tenth-grade education, I wrote, self-published, and sold thousands of copies of our story. My husband and I have been together for over 35 years. We sold the bar in 2018. In 2021, we sold our home, vehicles, and most of our belongings and left California in our motorhome. We crossed the country five times before settling into our current home in Smithville, Texas.
We now have a permanent site in the Roving Volunteers in Christ's Service Village. It's a place where volunteers retire or put down roots and continue to work on projects throughout the year. We belong to the latter group. We are so blessed that we pinch ourselves to ensure it's real. We are living a fantastic life, making a difference in the world in our retirement, and spreading God's love across the country.
If you had told the petrified six-year-old hiding behind the bed in Sacramento, California, the terrified 14-year-old in juvenile hall, the frightened 16-year-old pregnant girl, or the 43-year-old woman facing a painful divorce while she carried the weight of the world while running a world-famous biker bar that she would be living this life, she would have scoffed. But God!!
I am living proof that God will never leave or forsake you (Hebrews 13:5-6) and will work everything out for your good (Romans 8:28). He doesn't expect you to be perfect before turning to Him. He will forgive you for everything you've ever done and give you the peace that surpasses understanding. I hope my story has inspired you to share your Jesus story or, even better, step into your own.
I’ve been writing down my stories for a long time.
Here’s the story I wrote on Medium about my juvenile hall experience.
My Mother Wanted Me Locked Up!
This story tells why going to juvenile hall probably saved my life.
My Close Call with Trafficking- The Sound of Freedom Was an Eye-opener!
Caution: I wrote my Planned Parenthood and pregnancy story after watching the movie Unplanned. I would like to see every PP office closed because of my experience, belief in what the Bible says, and everything this movie revealed. I wrote this in 2019; the abortion statistics and numbers reflect that year.
I shared the friend links to these stories so people who aren’t Medium members can read them. I would love to hear your thoughts about them here.