What an amazing few weeks it’s been!
Since I was last hit by the blogging bug I’ve gotten over that nasty,
nasty cold, caught up with some family and awesome friends over reading week,
had an incredible weekend of bonding and prayer with the Bangladesh team,
visited my childhood church, and yes, I even went to school a couple of times
in there, too.
While I could talk
at length about any one of these items, one in particular really made my heart
overflow with joy…
Rewind 10 years: I’m 10 years old (but not any shorter than I
am right now), mature for my age and well into the dreaded teenage angst—a complete
misfit at school, since being a nerdy girl in a hockey town was the farthest
thing from cool—lost, and unable to find myself, and with no support, or so I thought…
For a number of
reasons, a large one being the lack of youth group activities, our family
uprooted from the Anglican church we had been attending, and settled in at the
closest establishment to our house: Keswick Presbyterian Church. I wasn’t a big fan at first—everything was
different from what I was used to, but once I started to warm up to things and
found my niche playing violin with the worship team, things were pretty good.
I went to church,
but I would not by any stretch of the imagination call myself a Christian. I was holding on to a lot of anger, and became
quite a rebellious teenager. Every adult
I ever came in contact with had nothing bad to say about me, other than I didn’t
smile. I really had nothing to smile
about as far as I was concerned. It
seems so illogical now, but it was my reality for almost 10 years. I said some things I shouldn’t have and did
some things I’m really not proud of to numb the pain of being nobody. God had other people to be concerned with—He didn’t
need me.
In my first year of
university, I tried really hard to fit in with the party crowd at first. These people seemed like they were really
living the life from a distance, but up close, their lives were so empty and
unfulfilling—I knew this wasn’t me. I
spent a lot of time alone, contemplating life, and death, and everything in
between. I had freed myself from the
clutches of the church and organized religion, but was that what I had really
wanted all along? In second year I was
crushed by a devastating mental illness that severely impaired my ability to
function. I was the lowest I’d ever been. Somehow, after countless panic attacks, medications,
self-inflicted injuries, therapies, and trips to the hospital, I made it out
alive.
To me, this wasn’t
a coincidence—you don’t just have no regard for your own health or well-being
for three years and come that close to death that many times and choose life of
your own accord. After some endearing
conversations over coffee with some kindred spirits, it became apparent to me:
God does need me, and He loves me, and He wants me to live.
The magnitude of
what God has done in my life over the past six months is nothing short of a
miracle (see previous blog posts for details). Last Sunday I had the pleasure of returning to
KesPres to share my testimony, and more about the trip to Bangladesh
To those at KPC and
other places who have prayed for me and supported me through the dark places:
thank you, from the bottom of my heart, and may God bless you all very richly
for what you have done through Him in my life.
Love always,
Helenz
