The story that I’m about to share is lengthy and quite personal. A couple of months ago, I began the process of sharing this testimony with you in parts. Unfortunately, fear and rejection took hold of me, and I pulled parts 1 and 2 from our blog page. Where was my deep fawning fear coming from? After spending time praying about this, the Lord lovingly brought me to three scriptures that brought clarity and peace. The first verse is found in 1 Timothy 1:7. Maybe you’re familiar with it. “For God did not give us a spirit of timidity or cowardice or fear, but [He has given us a spirit] of power and of love and of sound judgment and personal discipline [abilities that result in a calm, well-balanced mind and self-control]. I was quickly reminded that the fear I was experiencing from sharing my story was certainly not coming from God. John 10:10 clearly states, “The thief’s purpose is to steal and kill and destroy. My purpose is to give them a rich and satisfying life.” While spending time in God’s Word, I began to realize that it was the enemy who wanted to steal my testimony, and he was using fear as his tactic. You see, the main mission of Hole in the Roof Ministries is to share Jesus’ love and healing with transparency. With this commission before us, Paul and I openly share our testimonies in order to bring compassion and healing to others. Should I be shocked that Satan would drop a glop of fear into my mind? Finally, Revelation 12:11 says (this is important), “And they overcame and conquered him because of the blood of the Lamb and because of the word of their testimony, for they did not love their life and renounce their faith even when faced with death.” – Amplified. In order to overcome Satan and his cronies, this verse clearly states that they were (are) crushed by the blood of the Lamb AND the word of their testimony. Satan can’t get rid of the blood of Jesus, but he can most certainly work hard to “steal, kill, and destroy” your testimony. You see, our testimony concerning the faithfulness of Jesus Christ in our lives was never meant to be kept private. On the contrary, we should boldly live our faith out loud regardless of what others may say about us or to us! With these truths tucked into my heart . . . let’s fearlessly march on with the story!
*Note* – some names have been changed for privacy reasons
PART 1
It’s hard to believe! A few months ago, the Mehlville High School class of 1983 celebrated its 40th class reunion. Now, I must admit I did not attend. Seeing the photos of fellow classmates posted on our class Facebook page was interesting. I recognized many of the names and faces in attendance, but there were many I did not remember. To my credit, my graduating class was quite large. It was impossible to know everyone.
As I gazed at the posted pictures, I was immediately transported back to a very challenging time of my life. For most seniors in high school, senior year was the most exciting time of their school career. For me, it was anything but exciting. Oh, don’t get me wrong, upon finishing my junior year, I was thrilled to be entering my senior year of high school. In the summer of ‘82, I packed my bags, left home, and again headed off to Windermere Baptist Assembly at the Lake of the Ozarks to serve as the campground lifeguard. I was excited to once again meet up with some of my Christian friends, including my now husband, Paul. I guess I would be amiss also to mention that my long-distance boyfriend (at the time) Pat was also returning to the campground to serve on staff as a boat dock attendant. The opportunity to work at Windermere for one summer was a gift from God, but to be given the chance to serve on staff for a second year was life-changing. It was a wonderful summer filled with hard work and lots of fun. But before we knew it, the season was over, and we all found ourselves returning to our regular lives. Some fellow staffers were returning to college, while others were returning to high school. I was thrilled to embark upon my senior year of high school as I considered all the future possibilities ahead of me.
I arrived back home about two weeks before the start of classes. As a high school marching band member, football field practices usually started about three weeks before school started. At the end of my junior year, I talked with the band director about my summer plans. I informed him that I would miss the first week of marching band practice due to my long-distance employment opportunity. He was supportive and encouraged me to have a great summer. Little did I know that during my summer away, the school district fired that band director and brought somebody new in to fill his shoes. When I finally arrived for marching band practice, I was shocked to find out that my beloved band director was gone. In his place, I was met with a much different person who had no idea why my absence occurred. I introduced myself to him, and he quickly ushered me to where he wanted me to be in the band formation. I was given the music we would play, and that was about it. As we would all get into formation, the music would begin, and everyone would march according to a precise plan. Problems immediately began because I did not know the precise marching plan. On a more individual basis, what was MY precise marching plan? As we all started marching, I tried desperately to figure out what I was supposed to be doing, but I found myself marching in the opposite direction of where everyone else was going. Suddenly, the new band director yelled “STOP” through his megaphone. Then he proceeded to loudly address ME so that everyone could hear. “It’s too bad, Ms. Brown, that you didn’t find it important enough to show up for the first week of marching band practice. As a senior band member, I expected more from you. Your continued mistakes are causing everyone to have to start over. Get it together or get out!” I was so embarrassed. Clearly, he wasn’t too fond of me. I wanted to please him, but it was so hard to learn everything that quickly. I needed some time to learn the music and marching movements for the half-time football shows. As we all got back into the beginning formation, he directed the music to begin again. I really tried hard to follow the lead of other band members around me, but once again, I made a mistake. And once again, I heard, “STOP!” the director boomed over the megaphone. By this time, I was humiliated and crying. I knew that this rigid and graceless man (Mr. K) was going to start yelling at me again. As he began to barrage me with insults through his megaphone, I became so emotionally overwhelmed that I hurled my beloved shiny flute across the football field. Being stared at by everyone, I momentarily stood in a trance-like state, only to run off the field into the band room. I was done. While retrieving my purse from my locker, band members walked into the band room from the field. Some of them just politely ignored me, while others, who had been long-time friends of mine, showed comfort and compassion to me. Many of them encouraged me not to quit, attempting to convince me that the new director was really nice. Believe me, I was having a hard time believing that story. A close friend of mine had retrieved my flute from the field and handed it to me. She hugged me as I cried. I then placed my flute into its case. Before I could escape the room, the band director walked in and ordered me into his office. As I reluctantly entered his office, he told me that he was highly disappointed in me. I tried explaining to him that I had been employed at a Christian camp for the summer in Lake of the Ozarks and had just arrived home. Sadly, he did not want to listen. The man had no grace to offer me, just insults and threats. Despite my love for music and the band, I abruptly announced that I was quitting. Honestly, I couldn’t believe that my mouth blurted that out. I just couldn’t take it anymore. He looked me square in the eyes and said, “Good!” I walked out of his office, grabbed all my things, and tearfully walked out of the band room. You see, I wasn’t just quitting the band, but I was basically leaving behind my base of high school friends I had acquired over the last three years. I went to the counselor’s office and dropped band. Following my exit, my friends still invited me to all the band get-togethers and parties, but after some time passed, the invitations eventually stopped coming. This is how my senior year of high school began. Certainly, it was not the start I was hoping for.
As I thought about my future plans beyond high school, I entertained a number of ideas through the years. In my early teen years, I felt God was calling me to serve Him in full-time ministry. I have vivid memories as a young girl setting up my stuffed animals on my bed and handing each of them a Bible (my mom’s old collection of Reader’s Digests) while I “preached” to them out of my Bible. This may have seemed like a sign for my future, but the only real opportunities females had available then was full-time missionary work. As a pre-teen, I remember reading Ann Kiemel Anderson’s book, “I’m Out to Change My World”. She was bold and inspiring, but the thought of leaving the United States and living in another country absolutely terrified me. So, I quickly dismissed the idea that God would be able to use me, a female, in ministry. I also had given thought to becoming a dental hygienist. I cannot recall why that was so appealing, but I do remember contemplating it at some point. But my greatest desire, which seriously captured my heart, was to become a medical doctor. I had a great desire to help people, loved science, and felt it would be a tangible opportunity to share my faith.
Because of my interest in becoming a doctor, I knew biology classes were vital. In my senior year, I decided to take a year-long physiology course. My first quarter in Physiology went well. I had a B average in the class. It was during the second quarter that I began to have problems. We began to study muscles and tendons. Our learning subjects were rats. The instructor used skinned rats to show where the various muscles were and how they were connected to bones. It was all very fascinating, but fascination wasn’t enough to pass the class. Unfortunately, my world caved in when the class was presented with our final exam for the semester. The exam simply started with multiple dissecting trays with skinned rats. Each of the rats had numbered flags attached to toothpicks sticking in various muscles and tendons. The students were to walk around the various lab tables with a numbered piece of paper and write down the name of the muscle/tendon with the corresponding number on the flag. Despite my long nights of studying, I failed dreadfully. Yes, I had certainly studied using the mimeograph pages we were given, but gazing at the mimeographed blurry purple illustrations and then seeing the real thing just didn’t transfer for me. I was so frustrated and felt like a huge failure. It appeared that everyone around me was writing down the answers with ease, but not me. The exam was on a Thursday, and the results were expected back the next day. As I entered the classroom the next day, the dreaded results were handed to me: an F. Yep, I failed the final exam for the semester. This was the first failing grade I had ever received in my 13 years of public education. Tears welled up in my big brown eyes, and I tried to hide my pain privately. When class was over, the teacher asked to talk to me. I think he could see that I was devastated. Unable to hold back my emotions, I broke down and told him I had truly studied hard but couldn’t retain all the information. He told me that he believed me, but he then offered me a deal. He told me that he was concerned about my survival in the upcoming second semester because the information he would be teaching was going to get more intense. He told me he didn’t want me to end the first semester with a D, so he offered me an extra credit assignment that would raise my semester grade to a C. He went on to tell me that it might be in my best interest to drop the second semester of the Physiology class. After giving it some thought, I agreed that I would drop the second half of the class. I was ashamed and felt totally defeated. My inability to master the physiology class made me seriously doubt my ability to become a doctor. My confidence was crushed. Little by little, I was losing my way, and my vision for the future was becoming more and more dim. It seemed like all my friends had a solid plan for their post-high school life. I was struggling. To add insult to injury, I had not done well on my SAT or ACT tests. Some parts of the tests, like language, I did well on. But my overall score was nothing to write home about, which lowered my confidence even more. The direction of my life had become very uncertain, and I felt lost.
The only highlight of my senior year was participating in a work/study program through my high school. This meant that I would spend some of my time at school taking classes, and the balance of my time would be spent at a paid job. Because my job would be considered classwork, my boss was required to submit grades throughout the school year. Before my senior year, I started working at a local YMCA near my home. I was 16 years old when I started there. I was employed as a lifeguard and a swimming instructor. I loved the job. I enjoyed interacting with children as well as the adults. Swimming had (and still is) always been a positive anchor in my life. In high school, I was a swimmer and a springboard diver for the school team. Water has always served as a place of comfort and a place of refuge for me. It is a quiet environment to listen and talk with God. Don’t get me wrong, I have also loved it as a place of competition, but the quietness that the water offers me surpasses everything else. Before leaving for my summer employment at Windermere, my YMCA boss, Mark, had discussed my new teaching opportunities upon returning for my new YMCA work/study program in the Fall. In addition to lifeguarding, he asked me to create, plan and teach a preschool gym and swim program as well as a T.O.W. (Terrified of Water) class for adults. I was honored to be chosen to start these programs and excited about the opportunity. I was (and still am) overjoyed to be working with adults specifically. Unlike many children, the adults who were learning to swim were doing it because they wanted to, not because they were being forced to. There is no greater joy than to see an adult learn to conquer their fear of the water. I did perform other jobs as needed, but I focused on teaching and performing my best.
Proverbs 4:23 says, “Guard your heart above all else, for it determines the course of your life.” As Christians, these are powerful words to live by. The word “guard” in the Merriam-Webster dictionary defines the verb as “to protect from danger, especially by watchful attention: make secure: to stand at the entrance of as if on guard or as a barrier: to tend to carefully: to preserve and protect.” The verse goes on to say how we should guard our hearts – above all else or diligently! I really like how H.B. Charles, Jr. explains this, “Keeping your heart is an ongoing responsibility. It is not like setting an alarm and trusting your house is safe as you go about your day. It is like posting an armed security guard at the door to protect the house against intrusion or invasion. You must keep your heart with all vigilance. Do whatever it takes to guard your heart.”
In the late fall of 1982, I failed to guard my heart. Oh, it wasn’t a purposeful fail, but rather, I was neglectful, a bit naive, and downright duped. Have you ever believed that you were doing the right thing and realized way down the road you were not? Well, that is what happened to me.
