Andrea

Carol:

For the past couple of years I have been getting to know some amazing ladies! Ladies who have experienced terrible abuse, but have come through with grace. They are not shouting "ME TOO" (which they have every right to!) but "LOOK WHAT MY GOD DID!"

Bethany:

It's been about 2 years exactly since my life completely and totally changed.

Anger and fear used to be emotions that ruled my whole life. And I was terrified that someone would notice and call me out.

God is funny though, and he changes our Stony hearts into hearts of flesh. All red and beating, we become living, breathing, and redeemed.
And that's something I've enjoyed about the past two years. I was so dead in my sin and now I've been raised to life through the power of the Holy Spirit.

And being raised from the dead is never boring. :)

What's the purpose of all of this?

To put it simply,

It's time to have a voice. To be fiercely and unapologetically in love with Jesus. To not hide behind the things of the past. If our God moves mountains he definitely breaks chains. Let's take hold of who we are in Christ :)

We will be talking about all sorts of things. We will do this through testimonials and stories. We will also be having little mini devotionals as well.
            Thank you all and have a blessed day!

Andrea --
            Three years ago I was in a crack house in the worst part of town. I was being pimped out by a severely abusive boyfriend and was generally afraid for my life. I weighed 70 pounds and my teeth were falling out. I was not doing well. I grew up in the church, but when my mom died I was put in foster care and I was molested by a foster brother. I was 12 and he was 18, about ready to go to seminary. I had just gotten braces. The next morning, we went to church as if nothing had happened, my foster parents getting pats on the back and high fives congratulating them on their amazing son. I tried not to vomit as they told me how lucky I was to have been rescued by such amazing people.
            I ran away when I was 17.
            I became a prostitute. For a man who told me that he could help me. A man who claimed to love me. A man who said he had a job for me. A man who sold me to pay for our rent. A man who broke me. And a man who profited because I was young, pretty and innocent.
            I sold my body till I was 20 years old. Night after night and day after day, I would walk up and down the main street, my hand out like I was desperately wanting to be called on in class. But instead of a teacher answering a question, they were men intent on only one thing. Men from all walks of life. Men who claimed to know Jesus. Men who had wives. Men who had children. Men who had daughters. Men who, I am sure, made themselves feel better by convincing themselves that I wanted to be there. That I was asking for it. That since this was my LIFESTYLE that I wasn't a victim. What those men never stopped to ask is “WHY?” They never asked my age or why I wasn't in school. They just took the last remaining hope I had left.
            But then one night… three years ago, I changed.
            I walked my normal route and I was approached by a van. I braced myself for what I was sure would be yet another creepy encounter, looking for my pimp over my shoulder. This tiny elderly woman got out and wanted to tell me about Jesus. And I kinda wanted to smack her in the face. What the fuc* does she know about me? Or the shi* I have been through? Why the fuc* should I listen to her?
            But I stayed silent, my church background kicking in and I heard my momma’s voice telling me to respect my elders. But I felt the struggle inside like some caged tiger about ready to get loose. She smiled, straightened her bun and looked me over. “Honey, please come with us,” and with promises of a warm bed and a warm meal I climbed into the van, nervous and pretty sure he is still going to expect money out of this old lady.
            We got to the mission and we walked in, I was tripping out and looking over my shoulder. She just responded with a smile and a nod. Like, somehow she was talking to someone different than me and my filth. She sat me down and handed me a heaping plate of food. And I'm not talking prison food either, no unidentified “brown loaf” here. This plate had real meatloaf (the Grandma kind) and mac and cheese and mashed potatoes. Like this. This was FOOD.
            You best believe that I ate. And she just sat quietly and listened, as I told her everything that had happened since my momma died. Every single thing came spilling out. And when I was done eating, she smiled and finally started talking. She told me that Jesus was still there. And that He still was loving me. And that He loved me no matter what. Even with the ugly that I had been through. She led me back through the plan of salvation. And she waited while I poured my heart out to the Father, weeping and screaming. And then she held me while I sobbed, she held me while my heart of stone was replaced with one of flesh.
            That woman, whose name is Irene, is one of the best people I have ever met. Not because of what she did. But because she was willing to be used by the Holy Spirit. Three years ago I, too, changed. I became a new creation. And now I am speaking out and speaking up. I am declaring that shame and stigma be no more. I am a new person, a new creature and I am a daughter of the Most High God.
            Three years ago I was transformed.