Thoughtful

How Jesus Rescued Me

                My parents met and married in Bible College. They had both been sent there by their parents in an effort to bring them closer to God and instead they found each other. Early on in their marriage they pastored a small church in Oregon, but by the time I was born that was all a distant memory and they were well on their way to divorce. I was two when they finally split up and then I lived with my mom and later, when she remarried, with her and my stepdad. They all drank a lot, partied a lot and fought a lot.

                My grandparents on both sides were faithful Christians and while I only saw my dad’s parents once in a while as they were missionaries, my mom’s parents took me to church each week. I learned all the flannel board stories and sang “Jesus Loves Me” as loud as I could because I believed it. Church was a safe place for me and as chaotic as my home life was, I longed to be there.

                Growing up, church continued to play that role in my life: moral compass, safe place, fun place. I walked the isle and gave my heart to Jesus every chance I got. I desperately wanted to please Him and prayed daily that my parents would live differently. I was active in my youth group and had collected a litany of Bible knowledge that earned me the title “mature Christian”. Others were told to look to me as an example. I was no kind of example. Outside the church walls I was living a life that looked a lot more like my parents than my grandparents.

                I drank a lot in high school and started being sexually active at the age of fourteen. I gave myself away to anyone who showed an interest and though I avoided it for a long time, I ended up pregnant by the time I was 19. And then again at 21. By the time I was 22 I had two children out of wedlock with two different men. As far as living recklessly, I was just getting started.

                When my boys were small I worked hard to keep their home life different from what I had experienced. I worked two jobs and was constantly overwhelmed by the responsibilities of taking care of two small children and managing a home on my own. It was a farce, but I felt that if I could keep my partying separate from them and keep our house looking orderly then I was successful as a mom. As much as I thought about how disappointed God was with my life, I still was not ready to turn to Him. Instead, I turned to drugs.

                I was introduced to methamphetamine when the boys were very small. I instantly learned that I could work all day, eat very little resulting in weight loss, spend time with the boys at night, and once they were in bed I could stay up all night and clean the house. I felt like I had found the solution. Meth is relatively cheap so even on my fixed budget I could afford it. Besides, I was eating much less and therefore spending less on food. Life went on that way for several months and then the addiction began to take over. Although I used for longer, there was a period of two years that I used meth every single day.

                My life was spinning out of control. My mother was threatening to take my kids from me and I was terrified. As much as I knew I was unfit for them I didn’t think she was much better. I wanted out of the mess, but I couldn’t see a way. I needed help and didn’t know where to turn.

                My youngest son’s grandmother, Maria, reached out to me. God put a love for me in her heart and she offered to help. I gave up the meth and distanced myself from those I had been using with. I moved out of the house I was renting from my mom and moved in with Maria while we looked for an apartment. I felt completely helpless and had no idea what the future would hold for me and my children.

              

                One night, in Maria’s house, I was by myself in the bedroom writing in my journal. Everyone in the house was asleep. It was quiet and for the first time in months I allowed myself to think. As I wrote, the pieces of my story, God’s story, began to fit together. All the Scripture I had memorized as a child, the songs and the memories flooded my mind. Suddenly I realized what the Gospel was. I thought to myself, “This, what Maria is doing for me, is like what Jesus did for me.  Someone who owes me nothing is giving me a new life, not because I deserve it, but, because they want to.” I knew then that Jesus had freed me from the drugs and the life I was leaving behind. He had given me a new start and was working to give me a life worth living.

                I found a church and got involved. I went back to school and worked hard to get on my feet.  I felt the grace of God in my life in a way I had never felt it before. He had forgiven me and was making me whole. I still stumbled and had to learn to lean on Him in every way, but as I did, I began to know what it meant to “know” Jesus. He had become real in my life.

                That was 13 years ago. Life has dealt me some blows since then and I‘ve had to keep learning to live in the presence of Christ through those hard times. It hasn’t always been easy. Meeting Jesus wasn’t a happily ever after for me, but He did perform a miracle in my life that I go back to when times are rough. His faithfulness to me now is no less than it was then, that quiet night in Maria’s house when Jesus came to rescue me. And He continues to recue me. From myself, from the idols I am prone to erecting in my life, and from complacency. He’s proven that He loves me too much to give me over to anything less than His plan for me. He’s put love and faith in my heart so that I might be able to share His Gospel with others, so they might be rescued too.

               For more on me visit www.thecrazyblot.blogspot.com 

Kimberly Tavernier