“When my father and my mother forsake me, then the LORD will take me up.” Psalm 27:10
I was born, Kimberly Marie Crain in Houston, Texas on June 30, 1972. I was sexually abused by my dad from about age one or two (or as early as I can remember) until around my 14th birthday, shortly after I gave my heart to the Lord Jesus Christ.
My family was not a Christian family, and the first time I remember going to church was at age six when the pastor and his wife from a church in our town (Central, Texas) started coming to pick us up (my mom, older sister, younger brother, and I) for Sunday School. Over the course of a few months, they would come almost every Sunday to take us to church. That is where I learned my first scripture.
My sister had a memory verse which she repeated over and over so many times that I learned it by heart. It was Revelation 3:20, “Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come into him, and will sup with him, and he with me.”
While living there, at the ages of five and six, I was also being molested on a regular basis by an elderly neighbor man who was trusted by most in our neighborhood. This was a man trusted so much that parents would allow him to take us neighborhood kids on frequent trips to the local city dump to retrieve other people’s rejects and bring them to his house to turn into treasures…wagons, bicycles, toys, go-carts, you name it! One evening, after thunderstorms knocked out our electricity, my dad handed me a paper sack and told me I should go next door and ask him for a bag of electricity. I refused, so he told my sister to go – and she did! She returned with an empty sack because he was playing poker with some other men and she did not want to disturb their game.
The secrecy I lived with was enormous! I would go to this man’s house because he showed me attention, which I starved for – and perhaps also, what went on there was not as bad as what I had already experienced. I always left his house with a treasure of some sort (loose change, candy, or a trinket)…and I always left with a load of guilt!
At one point after some of his grandchildren accused him of sexual abuse, my mom asked my sister and I if he’d touched us…I denied it, because I was afraid and ashamed.
I didn’t want my mom to be disappointed in me, yet deep inside, I truly wanted to just tell somebody…and I had tried to do just that once when I was about 5 years old. I was at a relative’s home – a person I felt truly loved me – and while she held me as a mother would a daughter whom she loved, I struggled to get the words out as I cried…but they were a jumbled mess and she did not understand.
To be free of the tremendous pain and guilt would have been wonderful. At my young age, I had already acquired plenty of sinful habits.
I often would escape my pain by pretending to be another person – Kelly. When I was Kelly I was happy, smart, and pretty! Often, I would escape into a fantasy world where I was a caring mother who loved and cared for all her babies. Once, I found a baby doll who was apparently thrown away. She was dirty and unclothed. I took her home and cleaned her the best I could, and clothed her…. I loved her because she was rejected and I showed her special attention. My mom hated seeing me with that doll because she was dirty. But I loved her – she was my baby! One day, to my horror, I saw my baby in the front yard in the burn pile – put there by my mother. She felt my baby was a health risk because she was too dirty. But my heart went out to her as I saw her in that fire seemingly looking at me as if to ask for help.
Shortly after that, just before my 8th birthday, we moved to the town of Huntington, Texas. We didn’t attend church, but that scripture I learned was a seed planted in my heart which was instrumental in my salvation.
I can remember as a child, around 10 years old, God talking to me and asking me to serve him. But I kept saying no to him. Daily, over the period of about 3 years, JESUS knocked on my heart’s door…and I continued to turn Him away. He was so kind and patient, and loving.
Once, when I was about ten years old, I attended a local church. The Sunday School teacher asked us if there were anyone there who wasn’t “saved”…well, whatever “saved” was, I KNEW I wasn’t! So I raised my hand, and she (very sincerely) prayed with me…yet I had no idea what it meant, nor did I feel one bit different!
Later in the main service, she stood and with tears in her eyes, told the whole congregation how that one of her Sunday School students had gotten “saved.” I felt flush and sank down a bit in my seat thinking to myself, “Lady…whatever you do, please don’t mention my name!” I was so embarrassed. Yet, the Lord lovingly and continually called to me and I’d tell Him, “No! Just wait till I get out of school, and then I will serve you. I don’t want to lose my friends.”
Up until my early teen years, I don’t recall ever knowing that certain holidays were in honor of JESUS CHRIST – the Son of God. I did not know that Christmas was about JESUS’ birth, and I did not know that Easter was about HIS resurrection. Sadly, the only thing I remember being taught about God was when my maternal grandmother told me that a certain race of people could not go to Heaven because they were not like us and their blood was not the same color as ours…in my heart, I knew this could not be true!
One thing my mom taught us when I was about six years old that stuck with me was the habit of praying the little child’s prayer, “Now I lay me down to sleep…” It was something I did out of habit even though I didn’t understand what I was praying. I had very little knowledge of God, yet I knew that He was real because He talked to me, and my heart knew Him.
I was very extremely shy and didn’t have friends for the most part for a very long time. While in school, I’d walk with my head down so as not to make eye contact with anyone. And at lunch and recess, I sat alone on the sidewalk with my head down or stood against the wall, facing the wall, and blocked out everything and everyone around me until it was time to return to class. In class I excelled, making straight A’s for the most part. I loved the school work, but not the school part.
When I was in the 6th grade, there was a group of popular girls who began asking me to “hang around” with them. I was so shy that when the group’s leader would ask me to walk around with them, I didn’t even answer her….. I thought, surely they aren’t talking to me, a nobody. But after a few weeks, I began hanging around with them and became best friends with the most popular member of the group. We did everything together and it was wonderful to finally have a friend!
She and her family attended church regularly and she would often inform me of my need to be in church….. my response, “Why should I? …it doesn’t do you any good!” To which, she would leave me alone about the subject. We were like sisters, and had plenty in common…she often suffered beatings at the hands of her mother for some over-exaggerated cause while her younger sister was treated like a little angel.
She and her family lived less than a half mile from me. If I was at her house when my dad passed by on his way home from work he would be furious…shaking his fist at me and yelling out , “Get home right now!” I spent as much time as possible at my friend’s home. But it wasn’t to last…she had grown up all her life in Huntington, and during 7th grade, she and her family moved to Alaska!
I received very harsh discipline when I did not please my dad. Most of the discipline I received took place in the hallway with either a belt or his hand…lashes, upon lashes, upon lashes. I never understood the reason for the lashing – he would always be ranting about something I had done, but it went in one ear and out the other because somewhere around the 20th lash, I went into survival mode until it was over!
I appeared as the “unloved” child in the family, as my sister received plenty of attention, and our brother received almost NO attention at all. But those were only the outward appearances, meant to put wedges between us children.
Publicly, and in front of company my sister was showered attention and hugs – she was so pretty and talented and had the gift of making people laugh. I admired her! I wanted so much to be like her, if only to win the attention of my dad!
This served to feed the conflict going on in my mind…How could it be true about these pictures that flood my mind when she (my sister) and dad clearly love each other and get along so well? So, I constantly pushed the pictures out of my mind and went on living life as a normal person. I knew something was going on, but I lived in daily denial as a way to cope. I wanted so desperately to feel loved, yet I pushed away the One who wanted to shower His love on me.
Finally, at the age of 13 in an Assembly of God church in our town (the same one where I had attended that time when I was ten), I felt the love of God so strong that I could no longer say NO to him! On January 12, 1986 I was saved and filled with the Holy Spirit! I’d never felt so loved before! God instantly removed all the hatred I had in my heart toward my dad, and gave me a burden for his salvation that I still carry to this day.
Some things God does instantly, but other things for some reason take longer, or come by process…such as emotional healing.
Growing up, my life was filled with fears of all kinds. Loud noises and dark rooms made me afraid. But my worst fear was the fear of bathrooms, which was so terrifying that if I awoke in the middle of the night needing to go to the bathroom, it would throw me into a horrible nightmare where I’d shoot straight up out of the bed and run through the house screaming for fear of someone getting me.
I would black out sometime between the frantic running and my mom catching hold of me. During some of these episodes I took refuge under my bed…. I don’t remember how I got out. Most of the time, I would come to sitting on the commode with my mom holding a wet rag on my forehead. She eventually figured out that I should use the restroom before I went to bed so as not to wake up during the night.
The nightmares slowly diminished, yet the fears stayed with me. Any time I went into a bathroom, I had to check the shower stall, the linen closets, and even the medicine cabinets…several times…to make sure there wasn’t someone hiding in them, but still I was afraid and felt I was being watched, or someone was in there.
Taking baths and showers was a fearful task…I was always checking to make sure someone hadn’t stepped into the room while my eyes were closed and was constantly afraid that someone would attack me from behind.
I became paranoid to the point that anytime I was alone – especially in a bathroom – I thought people were watching me and I had no privacy. I do remember as a child (about two years old) while I was still potty-training, needing to go to the potty. I ran down the hall in our mobile home in Tyler, Texas to the bathroom, and just as I sat down, my dad jumped out from the linen closet to scare me…I had an accident on the floor.
Then there were the flashbacks. I lived a double-life. Most of the time, I was Kim Crain…a normal girl with a normal family, and no conscious knowledge of the abuse. Then in the evening or whenever an abusive situation occurred, I’d endure it/space out, until it was over and then block it out, mostly…except for when the pictures of the abuse popped into my mind and I would tell myself, “NO, that’s not true! That’s not happening to me!” Especially disturbing to me were the flashbacks of my dad, exposed, teaching my sister and I oral sex. I was three years old and my sister was six…our little brother was just born.
I was saved at the age of 13 1/2. The abuse stopped after I gave my life to Christ, except for a quite a few mostly futile attempts by my dad. At one point, after the abuse had seemingly stopped for a period of time, I gave in to the urge to do as I had before and I walked up to my dad in hopes of receiving a hug and as before, he grabbed me and held on to me to do as he had before. I was repulsed by his words!
He would not let me go, all the while saying how much he loved me and wished he could hold me in his arms forever (he was speaking to me as a man would speak to his wife)…but the LORD made a way of escape.
When I was 14 years old, I confided in an older friend in my church about the abuse. It was extremely difficult to gather the courage to tell her…there had been a mental battle going on inside me and I was in denial for a long time. I had spent alot of time in her home with her family. I’d walk over a mile to their house because it was safe.
Sometimes…alot of times, when things were especially difficult at home, I would determine I would walk to my friend’s house and tell her what was happening…often walking to their house late in the night and then, losing courage before I knocked on their door.
Sometimes I would stand at the edge of their yard late in the night and watch – wishing I could go inside, yet had not the strength to do so. Usually it was too late and their lights were out, indicating everyone had gone to bed. So crying, I’d turn around and walk back home.
Most of the time, when I went there, I would go to sleep on their living room couch out of mental exhaustion more than physical. She and her husband knew something was up with me…I was extremely underweight, almost never ate, and in the beginning I would mainly come over to their house and fall asleep. They often would request me to spend the night at their home after church services…which I was very thankful for.
The night I told my secret, I had been invited to spend the night at their home. My friend and I (she had become like a mother and big sister all in one person) were playing cards as we often did. My insides were churning and I was in deep thought.
She made a statement, “You sure are quiet, Kimberly.” I forced a smile but could not form a reply. A little farther into our game, she asked me, “Is there something bothering you?” Oh, how my heart hurt as a sharp pain rushed through me at the sound of her question – and I became really nauseous! I only replied, “I’m not feeling well, I think I need to go to bed.” And with that I quickly left the table and went to bed. As she passed by my bed she said, “Good night….. see you in the morning.” I replied, “Goodnight.” “I really wish you would talk to me,” she said.
My desperate words came like an involuntary reaction… “I wish I could,” …the tears trying to escape the corners of my eyes. With that, she rushed over to my side… “But you can tell me, Kim…. is there something going on at home?” “I can’t tell…” was my reply. “Is someone hurting you? You can tell me… ” My weak reply was the same, “I can’t tell, I can’t tell, I can’t…” My body began to shake and my breathing quickened as I fought against the flashing pictures in my mind. “Kim, is there someone hurting you?” she asked. I was losing strength to fight and all I could do was whisper, “….yes.” “Who? Is it…” She began naming several people, and I answered to the affirmative when she mentioned my dad…a weak, ” Yes.”
After I confided in her about the abuse, the next thing I knew I was taken (during school) by CPS and put into a foster home, which at my request, was my friend’s home in whom I had confided because I wanted to be able to still attend church and quite honestly, I was afraid to go into the home of a stranger and risk another home-like situation.
Also, I was required to attend weekly counseling so they could tell me how much I hated my dad (and try to convince me that deep down, I really hated my mom…I just didn’t realize it yet.) I just kept telling them that I gave my heart to JESUS and He took all the hatred away that I had toward my dad, but I never hated my mom. She made plenty of mistakes, and there were times when I needed to feel safe and comforted and didn’t get that from her…but somehow, I knew she loved us kids.
My mom had grown up with physical abuse at the hands of her mother and oldest sister, and she did the best with what she knew. Often, when she was upset at us kids for some misbehavior, she would yell hurtful words…”I wish you were never born!” I knew she didn’t mean to say those words, because she would always run to her bedroom, shut the door, and weep uncontrollably. The guilt would finally get the best of me and I would always go in an apologize for my wrongs and she too would apologize, and things between us were smoothed over.
While in foster care, and by way of notes from my dad delivered to me by my sister at school, I learned that he wanted me to come back home and for us to be a family again (like we ever were a family). In the notes he said he was going to church and that he loved me and wanted me to come home so we could go to church as a family. So, I talked it over with one of the counselors at DHS (who was a Christian) and I decided to drop the claims against my dad. I was able to go back home, but my dad never went to church after that. I never saw my dad set foot into a church service.
Within a few months, he left us and my parents divorced. I was glad and relieved to have him out of the house. But my little brother was only 11 and he never had a real father/son relationship with our dad (he was verbally and emotionally abusive towards my brother and neglected him for the most part) …yet, the thing I remember most is the pain my brother went through wanting his dad. He’d get on his bicycle and ride across town looking for our dad. But he didn’t give my brother the time of day except to come over occasionally to show off his new clothes and new boots that he could afford since he wasn’t supporting a family anymore. Meanwhile, my mom struggled to buy school supplies and clothing for him.
My mom ended up going back to school to get her GED, and then received training to become a nurse’s aid. At this time, we mainly lived off of AFDC and food stamps. Soon, she took a job working at a nursing home to support us. I earned money by babysitting, and a couple of other odd jobs.
When I was 16, I would get a ride with someone or walk to a local plant where fishing lures were assembled by hand. I would take home boxes of supplies to make fishing lures and made an average of 7 cents for each finished item. I gave to my church, bought for my own needs if there were any, and gave the rest to my mom. We had a little money…enough to put food on the table, but we couldn’t afford to buy food for our cats, dogs, chickens, rabbits, birds…we tried to give them away but no one wanted them and sadly, they all died of starvation.
We didn’t have a legal vehicle. We had a blue station wagon that my brother and some of his older friends worked on and got it running. My mom never drove and I was never really taught. I had to drop out of Driver’s Ed because of lack of money. My brother was driving by the age of about 13. The police in our little town would see us in our illegal car and with our under aged driver and wave at us! They knew our situation and we were never pulled over by them.
Although my parents were divorced, my dad would always somehow sweet-talk his way back into the home, and he would spend a few weeks at a time in the home with us and leave, and back and forth.
It may sound terrible that my mom would allow him to come and go like that, but I don’t know what her state of emotions were at that time and I never hated her for it. Yes, I did wonder how she could stand to see him – let alone allow him to touch her, knowing what he did. But deep down I had hopes that he would apologize to all of us and give his heart to Jesus and we’d be a real family.
My mom knew I was telling the truth. She later confided in me that she almost left my dad after my brother was born and she caught him with my sister. She packed us kids up and was about to leave him, but he pleaded with her and said it would never happen again. And she believed him. She kept that incident to herself all those years.
My mom said she always wondered why I seemed to hate my dad. I wanted to love him. I wanted him to love me…but neither of us knew what love was supposed to be. My dad and his siblings also had grown up neglected, physically and sexually abused, and pushed from foster home to foster home to children’s homes.
My relationship with my dad was love/hate. On a daily basis, I would walk up to my dad (as he stared at the TV), reach out for a hug and say, “I love you, daddy.” His response was always either…shrugged shoulders and “I love me too” (not even eye contact) or, instead of a hug, he’d grab me and do as he pleased. So there’s where the guilt came in. It must’ve been my fault! And even after the secret was out, my dad’s response was that “she liked it.”
Sometimes I’d go to bed crying, and would’ve cried myself to sleep, except my sister (as if she knew without me telling her) would make me laugh by tickling me or making up silly games and songs. She’d say, “I love to hear you laugh!” She’d make me laugh, until our dad would get on to us for playing when we should’ve been sleeping.
My sister had nightmares too, and oddly enough, alot of the time we’d both have nightmares on the same night. Sometimes we would both be standing in the dark outside our parents’ bedroom door, crying for momma. I can vividly remember the intense fear I felt. Part of me knew it was my father I was afraid of, yet that part of me was “numbed” as I stood outside my parents’ bedroom door crying for momma. She wasn’t allowed to come to us to comfort us on those nights.
Rarely, if dad was good and asleep, she’d sneak us in, turn over on her side toward the edge of the bed, and put us in the bed beside her with covers over us or she would let us lie down on the floor next to her side of the bed until we calmed down. She usually would make sure we were back in our beds before dad woke up, but if we fell asleep there and dad found out, we’d get woke up by a hard pinch and was made to go back to our room. This was no ordinary “pinch.” This was a -grab a hunk of flesh, squeeze, and twist- kind of pinch that lasted from the bed to the door!
By the age of 16, life for me was mainly focused on surviving emotionally. I wasn’t doing well in school…I only attended school about once a week. My grades went from all A’s to failing. When I did go to school I was usually late. The kids in school would laugh at me and ask me…”Hey Kim, how’s your dad?” “Where’ve you been…with your dad?” “…NO!” So I quit school in the 11th grade.
I later found out that my mom’s oldest sister bragged about paying my cousin (who was like my sister/best friend) to go to school and spread rumors about my dad and I. My aunts were angry at me for befriending a girl (who was also sexually abused). My friend had gone to school one day with intentions of killing herself. She went around asking kids for some of their prescription drugs, until she had enough to overdose on.
My cousin gave her some of her asthma pills. My friend took them along with some other pills and ended up being rushed to the hospital to have her stomach pumped. Later over the phone (in a calm manner) I told my cousin that she should never give her medicines to another person to take. That was all it took…the whole family turned against me, told me that I better not be friends with that girl anymore, and the rumors were started. I began getting threats from members of my family, but God protected me…to the point that one of my older cousins, after having threatened me physically, called me on the phone a few days later to apologize because she could not sleep for three nights!
When I was 17 years old, my dad was out of the home for good. My mom had a restraining order against him for his stalking behaviors. She didn’t want him around anymore, especially after she had re-married him…and then found out that he was also married to another woman. He went to jail for bigamy. He didn’t stay in for long before his brothers bailed him out.
I finally learned to drive at age 18. One evening, I just got into the car, prayed, backed the car out, and drove like I had known all along — taught by my Father, God! One day, while my mom was at work, my dad came over and sat in his car in front of our house.
Although he was not allowed to set a foot on our property because of the restraining order, there was nothing stopping him from driving up and sitting in front of the house in his vehicle…we lived on a narrow, dead-end, dirt road. This day, he was very drunk. I don’t remember alot of what he said, but as he was about to leave I asked him to hand me the keys to his car – he did! I did not want him to drive being so intoxicated and get into an accident, and die and go to Hell. He let me into the driver’s seat and I drove him down winding back roads hopefully giving him time to sober.
During this time, my dad began crying and mumbling words too jumbled to understand. But after awhile, I heard him say, “Kim, look at me!” I didn’t want to look at him. “….look in my eyes, Kim.” And when I did, he made a confession the best way he knew how….”I know I haven’t been a good daddy to you kids. I did some bad things to you and your sister, and I am sorry!” I broke in, “Dad! I forgive you…and God will forgive you too…if you’ll only ask him!” He said, “I know…but I can’t forgive myself. Maybe, someday…” “Don’t wait too long, dad – I want to see you in Heaven!” He replied again, “…maybe someday, I will.”
After that life was somewhat normal. I stayed in church, served God, and began praying for a husband. I never really dated anyone up till I was 19 years old. I didn’t have a legal car (or a driver’s license for that matter). The only place I ever went was church.
People would ask me, “When are you gonna start dating?” “When are you gonna get married?” But I was determined not to date a non-Christian…and they had to be “husband-material” before I would even consider dating them. Up to that point, I hadn’t met anyone meeting those standards.
While talking on the phone with an older lady in my church one day, she gave me some advice ….”Pray specifically when you ask God for a husband, then leave it in his hands, and go on serving the Lord. Don’t worry about what people say or think about you not being married or dating someone.” So that’s what I did. I asked God for a husband who loved Him (God) first, me second, loved kids (and wanted plenty of them)…and since I never went anywhere, He’d have to bring him right to my door!
Less than a year later, I met Kevin at a church I was visiting (and he was only visiting) a couple towns away …WOW! After having talked with him very briefly after the service I told him where I attended church. A few months later he contacted me through my pastor’s wife, and I just knew he was the one GOD had for me. Our first “date” was a watch-night service at my church on New Year’s Eve, 1991. He proposed to me on my 20th birthday …”Will you be the mother of my Carrie Michelle?” “YES!” He’d wanted a little girl for a long time since he saw a man in a restaurant with his little girl, and as the man turned to give his daughter an ice cream cone, she hugged him and said, “I love you, daddy!” How ironic…and so much like my Heavenly Father! He had her name picked out before she was born and before he found me, his wife.
We were married Saturday, October 3, 1992. Carrie Michelle was born October 10, 1993. Then came Christen Marie (March 18, 1995), Mark Evin – named after daddy …..you’ll find “Kevin” hidden in his name (December 22, 1996), Clarissa Miranda (July 8, 1999), and Matthew Jordan (June 18, 2002) …five blessings of God in eight years!
Now, to take it back a little, the memories of abuse had their effects on my married life. I’ve come a long way with God’s help and strength. I face obstacles almost daily, but God is good and gracious and kind. To put it plainly, I couldn’t even kiss my husband without shuddering in fear and couldn’t really understand why. Over time God has revealed to me it was in connection to the memories of oral sex…I was dirty…I might contaminate him…the thought of it sickened me!
God has done a lot of healing in my life and as more things (in His time) come to the light, He is always with me to see me through each stage of healing. While talking to a friend recently about how my dad and “uncle” (friend of the family) used to give us cans of beer to drink when I was five, six, and seven years old…and about their adoptive teenage son’s loud rock music…a wave of panic and emotions came like a flood and I began remembering bits of things I didn’t remember before. The Lord only allowed me a glimpse, and as soon as I remembered, it left me. These things happen from time to time, yet the Holy Spirit is always there for strength and comfort.
On December 4, 2001, while I was carrying Matthew, I went to visit a good friend in West Virginia. That evening during normal conversation with my friend Rita telling her a humorous story that happened when I was a little girl living in Tyler, Texas, I began to feel afraid…like I was a little girl again. I felt like I went into a time warp and couldn’t even finish my sentence. It only lasted a few minutes and I told Rita, “I hate it when that happens!” “What?” she asked. “…lose my train of thought,” I said. Jokingly, she replied, “You’re standing on it (your train of thought).”
I still felt out of sorts for the rest of the evening, and when we were all about to say our good-nights, I felt the overwhelming need to be hugged. So I asked Rita for a hug (I felt silly). She did, and I felt safe. And in that safety I was able to face the memories of my past. I began to cry and tremble. The emotions were so overwhelming. I had never been able to face them before. As Rita was hugging me still, she began to pray in the Holy Spirit. After a while I began to pray in the Spirit also. During this time, God took me from one point to another in my childhood. I didn’t see many pictures, although I felt the feelings and intense emotions of them (maybe I wasn’t ready). It was like God was showing me, letting me revisit the dark rooms of my past where the abuse took place. What I did see was comforting to me…while revisiting one of these rooms, I saw light in the corner…and in that light was JESUS! He was there! How could that be?…that while I was a child being sexually abused, JESUS was there, and He knew, He saw, and it grieved Him! This may sound strange, but I know that we are all born into a world of sin. And wicked men and women do terrible things. But God knew my address! And He preserved me until the day of my salvation…and for that I am so thankful!
If Satan had his way, I’d have died as a child. I had wanted to die so many times as a child. Several times at the ages of five and six, I tried to suffocate myself by going to sleep in my brother’s toy box with the lid shut, or on my bed with a pillow on my face. And indeed, several times after my salvation, messengers of Satan were sent to try to take my life.
At the time I was carrying Matthew, I had found a lump and had been having abnormal pain. A few weeks later in December, 2001 while still visiting in Rita’s home, she and I and another friend of hers went to the church next door to her home to have a prayer meeting. Rita and her friend prayed for my healing and the birth of the baby.
And afterward, Rita was telling us…”I just kept hearing the words in my spirit, ‘I speak life to the birth! …..life to the birth!’ ” And when I heard those words, the Spirit of God fell on me gloriously! While the LORD ministered to me, I heard these words in my spirit, “the Water and the Blood” …immediately after God spoke this to me, Rita began reading scripture out of John chapter 15 and verses 1 through 5 and verse 16, and chapter 16, verses 27 and 28…”I am the true vine, and my Father is the husbandman. Every branch in me that beareth not fruit he taketh away: and every branch that beareth fruit, he purgeth it, that it may bring forth more fruit. Now ye are clean through the word which I have spoken unto you. Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself, except it abide in the vine; no more can ye, except ye abide in me. I am the vine, and ye are the branches. He that abideth in me, and I in him, the same bringeth forth much fruit: for without me ye can do nothing. Ye have not chosen me, but I have chosen you, and ordained you, that ye should go and bring forth fruit, and that your fruit should remain; that whatsoever ye shall ask of the Father in my name, he may give it you. For the Father himself loveth you, because ye have loved me, and have believed that I came out from God. I came forth from the Father, and am come into the world….” He revealed to me that those words ‘life to the birth’ had a two-fold meaning, for my physical healing and the baby’s birth…but also, for my emotional healing – this began the birth process of my emotional healing! That was Saturday, December 8, 2001.
God preserved me through my childhood and saved me, and delivered me, and blessed me with a wonderful husband who loves the LORD and 5 beautiful children! I would have never known the joys of salvation, of being a wife and a mother, had it not been for GOD’s mercy and preservation. God is good! To God be the glory!
It is my prayer, in the name of JESUS CHRIST the Son of God, that all who read or hear this testimony will know that …no matter your situation, or your past -God knows your address! And he has preserved you until now to hear his message…that he loves you immensely and wants you to be free from your pain.