A Childhood Rooted in Jesus

I’ve known Jesus since I was a little girl, saying my prayers at night and attending mass each Sunday.   

At some point, that routine shifted and deepened, as my mother became part of a prayer group in her 30s. Although I didn’t fully understand what that meant at the time, I saw Jesus becoming a more integral part of our family routine. We had Bible story time after dinner, said prayers at mealtimes and bedtime, and listened to Christian music in the house. My first concert was to see Carman, and I even remember going to see Billy Graham preach.

We weren’t very outwardly expressive Christians, but rather I'd considered us a step beyond the typical Catholic family that goes to church on Sundays. 

I also remember a couple of family "vacations" to the Community of Jesus on the Cape—though, truthfully, I feel more scarred than saved from those experiences. Sundays mornings weren’t always peaceful either, as my brother often started arguments about having to go to church. Sometimes my older brother David convinced my mom to hold mass in his bedroom instead. He played the priest, and we made the communion hosts out of Wonder Bread. My favorite part was crawling under the makeshift altar—a nightstand draped with a towel—so I could ring the bell at just the right moment during “communion.”

I cherish these sweet, quirky memories, and while I didn’t realize it then, these experiences were building a spiritual foundation that I would come to rely on in the future.

When Everything Changed

When I was in 8th grade everything changed.  At age 17,  David took his own life, and our family was shattered.

Rather than coming together, we each retreated into isolation—into survival mode. I remember curling up in my closet, crying quietly so no one would hear. I didn’t want to add to anyone’s burden. My parents did their best, brought us to counseling, and I have nothing but respect and compassion for them. I still can’t imagine the heartbreak of losing a child yet still needing to be strong for three others. 

What stands out to me now is that we, as a family, didn’t turn to Jesus for comfort when we needed Him the most. I only turned to Him with anger and blame. Despite all those years of faith-filled routines, it all seemed to disappear in an instant. 

Off Trail, Full Speed Ahead

High school was a blur of highs and lows. I was involved in sports, active in the community, and passed my classes (for the most part)—but honestly, I was just numbing the pain with busyness, alcohol, and questionable relationships. I was living a double life; on the outside, I was functioning, smiling, performing... but on the inside, I was hurting and carrying my pain alone.

But by all appearances, things were going well. I graduated college with honors, started teaching at 22 and continued to earned several degrees. I fell in an out of love, made good and bad decisions and reaped the benefits and carried the guilt and shame accordingly. I filled my life with live music, travel, and hiking. I was successful and seemed to be living the good life. 

Sounds great, right?

But the truth is, it was all surface-level—all of this world. I was constantly moving, striving for the next thing, looking for the next distraction… but I was never looking up. Never looking to God.

And yet, through it all, He was looking after me.

Even when I didn’t acknowledge Him, even when I didn’t pray or pursue Him, He kept placing people in my path, what I now call "Divine Encounters"—each one gently pointing me back to Him.

Divine Encounters

I think my first encounter was in 1992. I was a college freshman traveling alone for the first time abroad. Next to me on the train, God seated two Christians who were traveling around sharing their faith. A few years later, I met Melody in class, and she invited me to her “church,” which turned out to be just her, her roommate, and a pastor and his wife in their home.  Later still, I met John while hiking the Appalachian Trail in CT, and he invited me to his church. Through him, I was introduced to a church community and met Rose—a woman who would come to my house and patiently teach me how to study the Bible and live as a disciple. But still I didn't commit and was still focused on things of this world.

In 2004, there was Craig, a pastor from Indiana whom I first encountered sitting around a campfire in Maine and learned he was finishing hiking and ministering on the Appalachian Trail.  When I saw him near the summit of Mt. Katahdin the following day, something inside me urged me to stop and ask him for his contact information because I had some questions about God that I hoped he could answer.  It's been 20 years, and he is still answering my questions.

Over and over again I kept having these type of encounters, these glimpses of a Christian life and it was becoming clear to me that I was still on God's radar. 

Eventually, in 2016, another seemingly random encounter led me to Valley Community Baptist Church where I formed quality relationships, started to read the Bible and realized that although I had grown up learning about God, I never built a true, living relationship with Him. In 2018 I was baptized. 

A New Path

Since then, I’ve noticed how God has been changing me from the inside out. My heart has softened. My thinking has changed. My perspective has shifted. My eyes are now open to see how God is working in my life.  

I’m more patient, more understanding, more compassionate more honest. I no longer carry guilt and shame for my past—I’ve forgiven myself, because I know God has forgiven me.

I’ve also made many lifestyle changes—not out of obligation or sacrifice, but out of a genuine desire to obey and please God--the One who never gave up on me. 

Of course I still hurt and struggle, but it's different now because I know I am not alone. I can turn to Jesus for peace and strength.  He is always there, and always has been--in my childhood prayers, in my closet tears, on the trails, on the mountaintops...everywhere.

A Story Still Unfolding

In writing this testimony, what I’ve come to realize is that my faith journey isn’t defined by one obvious turning point. Rather, it’s a long, winding story—with grief, growth, detours, and grace—but with a beautiful ending: I am saved, and I am a child of God.

Each person along my journey planted seeds that eventually took root within me and bloomed. I wonder if they realize the impact they have made on my life. And now, I try to live in a way that plants those same seeds in others. I believe even the smallest acts—kindness, faith, presence—can be a light to others and help someone find their way home.