On the final night of my Christmas vacation from college in 1990, I met my future husband, Hilton, at a nightclub. We talked at length that evening, and when I returned to school, he joined me there.

I was flunking out that semester, so when he returned home, I went with him. He was attending school on an athletic scholarship but later was dismissed for fighting.

Back at home, Hilton began selling drugs and fell into a deep depression. Within a few months, I became pregnant.

Though he had a job, he still sold drugs on the side. He wasn’t around much. But he did show up for the birth of our daughter, whom he loved and promised to care for.

Soon after, we began living together. Hilton would stay out at night, selling drugs and drinking. His behavior led to violent physical confrontations.

When I threatened to leave, he apologized and promised never to hit me again. But the physical and emotional abuse didn’t stop.

My family was unaware of the violence, so when I became pregnant again, they insisted that we get married. Because Hilton wanted to do the right thing, he gave in to family pressure, and we were married. Then things got worse.

I started seeking spiritual help–consulting mediums and psychics. I didn’t know Jesus.

One Sunday morning, my husband said, “I’m going to church.” I couldn’t join him, but he told me later he had gotten saved.

Shortly after, I gave my life to the Lord also. We didn’t change much at first because we lacked a strong biblical foundation.

One night after an argument, my husband went out. I stepped into the shower and began sobbing from deep inside.

“Lord, I’m sorry,” I said. As the water washed over me I sensed the Holy Spirit cleansing me of all the confusion and mending my broken heart.

We began attending a Spirit-filled church. The first night we were there, my husband was baptized in the Holy Spirit and instantly set free from of drinking and drugs. We were both delivered from many things.

Today we have two more little girls and are happily married and active in our church. God has given my husband his own business, provided an opportunity for me to sing for Him and restored to us an 11-year-old son my husband never knew. He was faithful even when we weren’t.

My ancestral roots run straight down into the Mississippi mud. My great-grandfather, seven generations removed, was the first Protestant circuit-rider in the Mississippi territory, giving me a rich Christian heritage intermingled with a traditional Southern mind-set.

Unfortunately, my Christian heritage did not tip the scales when weighed against the embedded racial views of the Deep South. My family never spoke with hatred against black people, but they certainly felt that blacks needed to “stay in their place.”

When I was growing up, I was told that segregation was the way God meant it to be. It took many years for God to set me free.

He began by bringing a black sister in the Lord named Teresa into my life. We were walking through a similar trial at one time, and we bonded very quickly as we shared the deep emotions of our hearts and souls with each other.

This relationship opened my eyes to see that the source of racism was truly Satan himself. But patterns of thinking, instilled from childhood, die a hard death, and I could not change by my own strength.

I attended a retreat held at my church that was sponsored by a black Christian women’s group. I volunteered, thinking I was there to be a helper, but while I was in the presence of these awesome, anointed women of God, the Lord reminded me of the Bible story of Joseph.

After being sold into slavery, Joseph learned complete dependence on the Lord, and the day came when the brother who sold him came to him in need of bread during a famine in the land.

Likewise, I reasoned, due to years of oppression and slavery, African Americans who have learned to depend on the Lord have been given spiritual bread that the white Christian community needs. This was a powerful revelation to me that left only a few strands of the web of deceit within me intact.

In April 2000 I attended the Charisma Women’s Conference. I was not asking the Lord about racial issues at the time, nor was I even thinking about them.

During one of the breakout sessions, I had an enjoyable conversation with a sister in the Lord who was sitting next to me. When I rejoined my friends, who went to a different session, I proceeded to tell them about the woman I’d met and some of the things she said about the conference.

Several hours later it struck me that I had told my friends the entire story of my encounter without mentioning the fact that the sister was black. I had been delivered!

It wasn’t because of a prayer or a speech or by anything I could point to directly. My deliverance came by an impartation of the Spirit of God. A river of unity flowed unrestrained throughout that entire weekend and flooded us with His presence.

For years, my husband, Jerry, and I traveled as evangelists for the Church of God in Christ (COGIC). I’ve been blessed beyond measure, and I’ve seen God perform many miracles.

For 40 years I carried around a tumor in my abdomen. Although my doctors tried to persuade me to have surgery to remove it, I was praying and hoping that the Lord would dissolve it from my body. But God decided to heal me in His own way and His own time, for His glory.

On April 10, 2001, I was in great pain. I went into the hospital the next day, and the doctors scheduled me for surgery.

The operation, which was expected to last much longer, took only 2-1/2 hours. During the procedure, doctors removed from my body the very large benign tumor.

Miraculously, the growth was totally detached from any surrounding organs. To the doctors’ amazement, it practically fell out on its own.

Prior to surgery, I weighed 175 pounds, but upon removal of the tumor my weight dropped to 100 pounds.

What a great miracle! I thank God for my deliverance.

This testimony first appeared in News From COGIC to COGIC. Glenda Goodson contributed to this story.

When I was pregnant with my second child, I developed complications and was confined to bed. During that time, while watching a TV special on autism, I thought, Lord, I could never handle anything like that.

Later on, our son John was born. He was apparently healthy, but as he grew something seemed wrong. At 2-1/2 years old, he was diagnosed with infantile autism.

The doctors offered us no hope that John would recover. They said we should institutionalize him.

I was angry with God and couldn’t understand why this had happened. Both my husband and I were serving the Lord.

My husband, who was just out of seminary, was in full-time evangelism. Christian friends thought I should stop all ministry involvements and devote myself to raising our son.

We questioned: Is this how we are rewarded for our faithfulness?

The pain was unbearable. We were serving God passionately; it just didn’t seem fair.

And what about Daniel, our other son, who had prayed for a little brother to play with? Was this the work of a good God?

While I was still angry, God slowly began to reveal His immeasurable love to us and to our son. I began to understand that just as I watched John but was unable to rescue him from his personal prison, our heavenly Father had watched His own Son suffer for the greater purpose of saving mankind. God watched and allowed Christ to suffer for the higher purpose.

Then I began to experience the goodness of God–the fellowship of His sufferings–from His heart to my heart. I was able to understand unconditional love. I knew in that season of our lives that as much as I loved my son, God loved him even more; and God was totally trustworthy.

As I repented before the Lord, I was able to release my son into the Father’s hands. God gave the grace for it all.

My relationship with the Lord was restored. He continued to use me in ministry while our son improved.

Years ago I asked the Lord, “Why?” His response was simply, “For My glory.”

Today John lives a normal life. This year he graduates with an associate’s degree in business. He’s looking forward to owning his own business someday. And I believe he will–to the glory of God.

Some years ago I was impressed by the Lord to read Psalm 91 several times. I took great comfort in this passage and was moved to tell others about God’s promises of safety.

I always utter a prayer when I get into my car, asking God to protect me and everyone on the road. Many times God has heard my prayers and delivered me in times of trouble.

One day, after praying for protection, I had traveled only a few miles when suddenly a deer jumped out of the woods right in my path. A second deer was right behind him.

The first deer cleared the hood of my car. The second one bumped his head on the side of the car and then turned back into the woods. I barely saw the first one, but in my rearview mirror, I distinctly saw the second one shake his head and turn back.

God protected me from disaster. For this I praise Him, and I imagine the deer are grateful too. When I examined my car, I saw there was not even a scratch on it. Praise God, for His mercies endure forever!

Throughout my life, God has been merciful to me. I am thankful for the loving Christian home into which I was born 38 years ago.

My mother prayed over everything, and our family attended church each week. It was a wonderful childhood.

But while in college, I was introduced to marijuana and cocaine. I’d nearly finished my nursing program at Georgia State University, but I left school so I could work to support my drug habit.

I became involved with Rickey, who was a cocaine dealer. I didn’t like him at all, really. But he could get me all the cocaine I needed–for free. The cocaine helped to keep me awake on my night job at a large bank.

In 1986, I married Rickey, who was also a cocaine user. I thought I could change him. After all, I reasoned, I had a good life so far.

I thought I loved him, but really I felt sorry for him. His father died when he was a child. I felt he wouldn’t make it without me.

A year later, I was pregnant with our daughter. By now I really did love him. But he was in deep trouble and began stealing from me to pay for his drugs.

Rickey also started slapping me around and once held a gun on me and told me I was going to die. He was completely taken over by a spirit of lust, and he’d been involved in several adulterous relationships.

By 1991, I had grown very tired. With Christmas approaching, I surrendered my life to God. Instantly Jesus saved me and delivered me from cocaine addiction.

I was told later by three different doctors that I would not be able to have any more children because of the infections my spouse had given me through his unfaithfulness. After hearing this, I became bitter toward everybody.

In February 1994, Rickey was arrested and sentenced to a year in prison. While incarcerated, he turned to the Lord and received a call to the ministry.

I was still embittered, but I decided to be faithful to God. As an act of obedience, in 1996, I planted a vegetable garden and buried my bitterness, anger and hatred in the ground.

God healed our marriage, and on January 25, 1999, I gave birth to our son. Before his release from prison, my husband founded Christian Deliverance Outreach Ministry, which is the church we now pastor together.

During an eight-month period, multiple blows of grief battered my family. The first was related to our daughter, Shela.

My husband and I had adopted Shela when she was four months old. For all of her 19 years, she battled a neuromuscular disease that crippled her body and threatened her life.

Shela never weighed more than 55 pounds and was unable to walk, crawl or dress herself. Yet, despite her disability, she was a committed Christian who had graduated from high school with honors and successfully completed her freshman year in college.

One day we admitted Shela to the hospital with a viral infection. Following the insertion of a breathing tube, her heart stopped. After resuscitation attempts failed, she was declared dead.

A memorial celebration focused on Shela’s courage, the lessons she taught us, and the promise of her eternal life and healing. Grief took its toll, but I was beginning to believe survival was possible.

Then a few months later, I received a call to the bedside of the father who had abandoned my mother and me when I was a little girl. I shared with him that in his absence I had come to know God as my “everlasting Father” and that He gave His Son as our Savior.

In spite of my sharing, Dad died one week later without having given his life to the Lord or expressing regret over abandoning us. Now, while trying to care for my family, I was confronted with an incredible two-way grief.

Soon after, my 93-year-old grandmother passed away. These deaths left me with two small estates to settle, all the accompanying paperwork and three wrenching losses to grieve.

I clung to all I knew of who God is–a sovereign, loving, just and faithful Creator who tells me that He has a perfect plan for my life, even though I struggled to see the purpose in what I was experiencing.

I’d read somewhere that a grieving person should simply “do the next thing.” I took that advice. I also waited on God for healing and tried to release the loss I felt little by little, with His help.

I learned that I could trust God to fulfill His Word to those who weep: Weeping is for a night (a short season), and then joy comes in the morning!

During my daughter’s sophomore year in college, we received a bill from a previous semester for $850. At the time, I didn’t have the money to pay it.

One day when I was at my office, I asked God what I should do concerning the balance. He told me to call the school and ask to make payment arrangements.

When I contacted the school, a woman in the finance office told me they didn’t accept payment arrangements, but she would see what could be done. Then she returned to the phone, bewildered, and said that someone (she didn’t know who) had paid the balance!

1. My daughter was also made a resident assistant. This meant she would receive free housing, meals and telephone service. And because of her 3.8 grade-point average, she received an additional scholarship and grant.

In the end, instead of my having to pay, my daughter received a refund. Glory to God; He already had it worked out!

Since that time, God has continued to provide for my daughter’s schooling, just as He had promised many years ago to do. His faithfulness has been crucial for me because her earthly father left home when she was very young. She is currently a senior in college and has received additional scholarships and, recently, another refund. I have had to pay nothing.

Through this situation with my daughter, I’ve learned that with the grace of God, there is nothing you can’t do. And there is nothing God won’t do for us, if we believe.

Times of crisis don’t usually evoke cherished memories. However, it is just such a time in my life that calls up my fondest memory.

While I was growing up, my family went to church sporadically and believed in God. I believed that He existed, but other than that I never thought very much about Him.

Then in my late 20s a series of events drove me to a crisis point. My mom died suddenly, and 14 months later, I married and began a new life 900 miles away from family, friends and everything familiar to me.

When I became pregnant with my first child, the thrill was tempered with fear. Problems with the pregnancy confined me to bed for several weeks. As I prayed for the safety of my child, I found myself deeply desiring to know this God to whom I was praying.

Until then, I had avoided reading the Bible because I’d been deceived into believing I could never understand it. A precious Christian friend encouraged me to buy an easy-to-understand translation and dig in.

I devoured the Psalms as ravenously as a starving person would a sumptuous meal. A picture of God began to emerge from them that was very different from the one I’d created myself, and oh, so much better!

When I read through the New Testament, I began to understand my desperate need for Jesus. Right there in my bed, I asked Him to come in and take over my life.

Later I realized that the crisis in my pregnancy was a gift in disguise. Not only was I blessed with a perfect baby boy, but also I was born again to eternal life.

When I was a little girl, I watched my dad get drunk and physically abuse my mom. One day He went so far as to bring another woman into our home.

At 4 years old, I was molested by a baby-sitter, and at 5, by a family member. The molestation continued until I was 12.

At first, I didn’t tell anyone because the abuser said my mom would be angry with me and would not believe me. When I finally spoke up, that is exactly what happened.

In high school, I spent every moment either at school or working, just to get away from the turmoil in my home life. Then at 17, I became a Christian.

My mother made it difficult for me to live the Christian life. Eventually, I returned to my old ways.

I began preparing to attend college in Europe. I wanted to get as far away as I could, but I discovered I was pregnant at 18, and I was kicked out of my home.

I moved in with my boyfriend and cried every night for a year. This was not what I had planned!

When we were old enough, my boyfriend and I were married. We had many differences, but I made a commitment to him.

My husband liked to drink and smoke. His drinking led to cocaine use and adultery. I tried everything to get him to stop using drugs, but nothing worked.

One day I called out to Jesus to help me.

My husband became very sick, and I ran to God. That day I found Him all over again. He comforted me and loved me as though I’d never left Him.

Two years later my husband was diagnosed with a terminal illness and given two to six months to live. But before he died, he became the kind of man I’d prayed for him to become.

Now I’m running a day-care center and working with abused women. I have also begun speaking and writing books.

The Lord has turned my misery into a ministry to others. He’s using me in ways I never imagined He would. *