When I was five, my father came to pick me up for the weekend. I cried to go back home to my mother. Hours later, I learned he had been shot and killed. From that day on, guilt and anger settled in my heart. I felt responsible, though I was not.

By eleven, that longing for love made me vulnerable. An older man I was taught to trust—my “uncle”—noticed. I mistook his attention for love. One day, when no one else was around, he abused me. Fear silenced me. Shame sealed my lips. That was the day my voice was stolen.

The secret haunted me for years, deepening grief, bitterness, and fear. I questioned God. I hated myself. I felt abandoned, worthless, trapped.

One night, I opened the Bible and read Psalm 34:18: “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” For the first time, I poured out my heart to God. Slowly, He restored my joy, peace, and identity. I learned that my worth—and my future—was never defined by trauma, but by being His beloved child.

Like seed scattered in the parable Jesus taught, my life fell on many kinds of soil. I was the oldest of five, raised in a single‑parent home marked by hardship. I loved my mother deeply and honor the sacrifices she made, but I grew up longing—for a father, for stability, for the pain to stop. That longing became fertile ground for the enemy to sow lies.

I searched for love everywhere except God. Men became idols, substitutes for healing I refused to wait on. I feared being alone, settled for less than I deserved, and ignored every red flag because I wanted to feel seen, wanted, complete. What I called love was often nothing more than brokenness clinging to brokenness.

Though I was academically gifted and full of promise, I repeatedly chose others over myself. I delayed my future, silenced my wisdom, and partnered with a spirit of lack that told me I was missing something—when in truth, I was missing God at the center.

As an adult, unresolved pain manifested physically. I pushed my body beyond its limits to provide, ignoring warning signs until pain demanded attention. What began as treatment turned into dependence. Pills became my counterfeit savior—numbing pain, quieting despair, and slowly consuming my life. Before I realized it, I was addicted, depressed, and drowning.

At my lowest point, believing my life had no value, I attempted to end it all. Yet even there—at rock bottom—God intervened. When I woke, broken but alive, I heard His whisper: “I have a purpose for you.”

Though I did not believe it at the time, that moment marked the beginning of my rescue. God did what addiction, relationships, achievement, and self‑effort never could—He saved my life. And in His mercy, He reminded me that when wisdom is lacking, destruction follows—but when grace enters, restoration begins.

I’ve been through some things, y’all. There were times I prayed, cried, begged God to show me my purpose…yet I still tried to do everything my way. Red flag after red flag. I thought independence was strength, but really, I was missing God in the center of it all.

I chased love in all the wrong places. I ignored the warnings, I ignored God, and I paid for it—heartache, addiction, despair. I lost my mother, my marriage fell apart, I nearly lost my life. I held my grandchild in my arms…and she was gone. And I thought, God, You’ve forsaken me.

But He hadn’t. One day, I walked into church. A man told me, “God brought you here to save your life so you can help save others.” I didn’t understand it, but I believed it. I prayed. I stayed. I listened.

God showed me the truth: the enemy tried to destroy me—but God. He gave me healing, hope, and a purpose bigger than my pain.

 What was meant to break me became my testimony. I lived. I healed. I escaped—but God.

I’ve learned that every believer is called to give—not just with their hands, but with their hearts. God isn’t counting the amount; He’s watching the motive. Real giving comes from trust, not expectation. We fear giving too much, but God multiplies every seed sown. When we surrender to Him, He blesses far beyond what we could imagine.

Abundant life isn’t about ease or comfort. It’s about contentment, patience, and trusting that what’s meant for you will come in its time. Too often, we wreck ourselves—not by what we do, but how we do it. We chase people, possessions, and plans instead of letting God’s plan unfold. But true fulfillment lives in Him.

I know what it feels like to be broken, empty, and desperate for love. I lost my innocence as a child, searched for love in all the wrong places, and depended on people to fill the holes God made me to fill. I hit rock bottom more times than I can count—addiction, heartbreak, grief, and despair. But even in the darkest moments, God never stopped speaking. He whispered, He nudged, He saved me from myself.

The dirt meant to bury me, God used it to water my growth. Faith without obedience is dead—but faith with action produces overflow. God will do His part. We must do ours. He will give more than enough and save us from ourselves along the way.

I had to learn to love myself, to govern my heart, to embrace my worth. Relationships are ministries; life is a garden—you plant first, then build. God can take the broken, the wounded, the lost, and make something beautiful. If He did it for me, He can do it for anyone.

Seek Him. Trust Him. Obey Him. And get some understanding—because your story is still being written, and the Author is faithful.

My life once felt like a barren garden. I poured out my love, my energy, my very soul into everyone else, but nothing grew. Trauma, grief, and loss weighed heavily on me—my mother gone too soon, my granddaughter taken by SIDS, wounds from my own childhood. I was broken, exhausted, and even once tried to take my own life because I believed I had no purpose.

But God…He wasn’t done with me. Slowly, He showed me the truth: I had been tending everyone else’s garden while neglecting my own. I had ignored my own needs, my own healing, my own heart. I had tried to save others while leaving myself in ruins.

It was time to prune the dead branches—the shame, the pain, the expectations that weren’t mine—and to water myself with faith, hope, and love. Step by step, I began to grow. I discovered the power of my story, the strength in my voice, and the purpose in my pain. My struggles were not in vain; God was shaping me to help others, to bring light to those still lost in the shadows.

Healing meant learning to love myself, to set boundaries, and to care for my mind, body, and spirit. I found joy again in writing, reading, and quiet reflection—things I thought I’d lost forever. I realized that the dirt that tried to bury me had instead become the fertilizer for my growth.

I finally understood the assignment. The assignment was for me. My healing, my faith, my courage—this is what allows me to help others rise. And now, my life, once barren, is full and fruitful. My story is proof that even in our darkest seasons, God is working, transforming, and preparing us for a greater purpose.

Nothing changes unless we change. Heal yourself. Love yourself. Trust God. And watch Him turn your brokenness into a testimony that can light the way for others.

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