sen-sa-tion-al (of an event, a person, or a piece of information) causing great public interest and excitement (informal) very good indeed; very impressive or attractive.
I never thought of my testimony as “sensational”. Heck, up until five years ago, I didn’t even think I had a testimony. My story of accepting Christ was a boring one; one you would expect from the girl next door.
I was introduced to God by my Christian parents. I had a good childhood; I was loved, sheltered, and surrounded mostly by other Believers who encouraged me in my walk with God. I don’t have a point of conversion, but rather a slow sprouting, growing, and maturing.
In Kindergarten I listened to a cassette tape about the Crucifiction. Tears poured down my cheeks as I sat in my room alone and cried aloud, “Don’t do it, Jesus! Don’t do it! I was baptized at eight and again at twelve. In high school, I never did drugs, had to ask a classmate what Jack Daniels was, and the raciest music I listened to was Alanis Morrissette. I was married at nineteen and by twenty-two I was a mother.
And that’s when it happened.
There was a knock at the door and two choices stood on the doorstep. One was a slick character named Perfectionism and one was Perfection Himself. I loved God too much to let Him see me at my worse, at this awkward attempt at motherhood, so I stepped aside as Perfectionism sauntered in, I told God, “I’ll be right back,” and I shut the door. But when has God ever been impeded by a closed door? God was not hindered. Rather He waited until Perfectionism had me by the throat and I was gasping, “I’ll try harder!” It was then, that Perfection kicked down my door and assaulted me with His love and acceptance and He opened my eyes to the Truth.
The Truth was I hadn’t been addicted to drugs and alcohol when I was a teenager, but I had been addicted to lying and attention from the opposite sex. Alanis Morrissette’s cursing wasn’t the raciest thing I listened to as I would often get lost in melodies from “Jesus Christ Superstar”. That little girl who had cried at the retelling of the Passion hadn’t been fully aware that it was my own sin that led Jesus to walk that path in the first place
I had known Jesus Christ all my life, but I hadn’t known myself, my own brokeness. And God, who never needed my permission, or recognition, finally broke me. And He rebuilt me. And He continues to rebuild me.
The Faithful One never stops pursuing the faithless. He saves us from substance abuse, wickedness, addictions of every kind, ignorance, and rebellion. He breaks us and rebuilds us. And that, friends, should always, always, be seen as sensational.
This story was inspired by Victory Ludwig when she encouraged the young women at the “I Want God” retreat. You have a sensational testimony. Share it with someone today!