Testimony

I grew up in a Black Baptist church on the Eastside of Detroit, with little to no youth ministry. I knew I believed that a God existed, but I couldn’t tell you why, and no one around me was all that interested in sharing their reasonings either. I figured there was nothing more to the Christian faith, apart from simple theism, and I was okay with that for a while. That is, until someone very close to me attempted suicide. I was in 8th grade, and I was terrified.

After visiting him in the hospital, I couldn’t speak much. All I could think about was how this person I love dearly identified as an atheist. Normally, when someone passes away, the people around me find some sort of comfort in knowing that the deceased person is in a much better place, and ‘we will see them again.’ However, if this suicide attempt was successful, according to everything I’d heard, heaven wouldn’t be an option in this case, and I would never see my best friend again. After this, I became quite scared of life’s potential meaning (or lack thereof). It was then and there that I began to pray every night for God to reveal Himself to me.

Amidst the overwhelming confusion surrounding purpose of existence, I was able to find some joy in my main extracurricular activity—Mosaic Youth Theatre of Detroit. I was an actor in this internationally acclaimed youth program for seven years, where I had my Off-Broadway debut, sang on tour with Josh Groban, performed at Carnegie Mellon, saw many Broadway shows, and so much more. Because of all the fun I was having, I decided that I should major in theatre. My mom begged me to consider majoring in music, because I’d been singing and writing songs all of my life, but I had quit pursuing a singing career during my freshman year of high school. I’d experienced a slew of terrible, embarrassing auditions where my voice would quake and crack from nerves. I came home crying all of the time, angry that I didn’t sound as good as other singers. In Detroit, everyone is a musician, so it is ridiculously easy to compare oneself to others. I knew, however, that I was pretty okay at acting, and there was no way I was going to school for anything non-arts related, so it seemed like the right choice.

After many college auditions, I ended up at The University of Michigan with a full tuition scholarship, making me the only Black girl in my theatre class. I was also the biggest girl in my class, and I knew that wasn’t going to fly, because the camera was bound to add ten pounds. A week before move-in day, I turned vegan cold-turkey (no pun intended) in order to lose weight fast. I had no idea what rude awakening I would face.

I was miserable in my acting program. I woke up every morning at 6am to go to the gym, I was a binge eater, and when I’d feel guilty about that, I’d deprive myself of food, only drinking water for one-to-two days out of the week. Over and over again, I’d hear something along the lines of “You are replaceable. If you’re not willing to do something, someone else will,” and “You’ll hear 1,000 no’s before you get one yes,” and “They’re only your friend because they might need you in the future. The industry is all about connections.” I fell into the detrimental trap of seeking validation from my professors, future casting directors, my peers, and anyone else I could find. I was looking for purpose and security in all the wrong places. I wrote in my journal that I’d never felt “so used and useless in my life.”

A definitive moment for me was attempting a three-day water fast after believing I’d ate too many cashews. On the third day, I went to the gym for my morning workout, but I felt more weak than I ever had. I went back to my dorm and ate grapes on my bed, sobbing silently while my roommate was still asleep. That was the first time I remember bringing my agony to the God I’d heard about all of my life, but never truly pursued for myself. I told Him the secrets I was scared to utter to anyone else, like how I hated myself, and hated my life. I told God I wasn’t going to commit suicide because I knew it would wound my mother deeply, but “I just wish someone else would do it for me. If heaven is so great, and if You love me so much, why can’t I just go there now?”

Sophomore year of college, I spent more time in my bed than anywhere else. I didn’t see a point in waking up everyday. When I had housemates, I went from crying in my room every night to crying in my car, because the walls were too thin. I became irritable with my closest friends, and felt an overwhelming amount of despondency. I eventually moved back in with my parents and took classes online during the second semester of that school year. One day, in the middle of a depressive episode, my mom, listening intently and holding back tears in her eyes, asked calmly and desperately “When did you start feeling worthless?” I couldn’t answer her. I was too busy trying to figure out why she cared so much. Isn’t everybody depressed? Don’t we live in a broken world or something like that?

I would soon come to realize that my view of Christianity was fracturedly built in order to support my self-hatred. (Isn’t that just like our enemy to twist scripture, something beautiful and life-giving, into fuel for one’s agony?) It was God’s love and empathy, shown through my mom’s love, that put me in a questioning spiral. I thought, if my Mom loves me enough to cry over my sorrow, and God taught her how to love, how much more does He love me? We started looking for therapists the next morning.

I eventually decided that it might be best for my sanity to switch majors. I had already begun a Creative Writing minor, so I figured being an English major would be a smooth transition. Before making it official, I applied and agreed to go to a writing intensive called the New England Literature Program. I was to go to the middle of the woods and read and write poetry with 40 other students I’d never met, along with 13 teachers and professors. No technology was allowed, and I was there for 40 days. It was the most pressing and transformative experience.

Being away from my family, friends, culture, and everything familiar to me forced me to turn to the only semi-constant thing in my life—God. Even though my pursuit of Him was not consistent, His pursuit of me never ceased. When all I wanted to do was leave the woods and go back to Detroit, I turned to The Lord and was met with an undeniable, otherworldly comfort . “There’s fruit here. Draw close,” I kept being reminded. The first time I really dove into the “temptation of Jesus” chapters in The Bible was when I, too, was in the “wilderness” for 40 days. I’d never felt so seen and known in my life.

When I felt like I wanted to cry (which was often), I’d look over the lake, stare at the clouds, and sing whatever song The Lord gave me. Before I knew it, The Lord had restored my love for singing, which I never thought would happen. Once I started praying that God would equip me to sing about, to, and for Him, everything changed. Before a personal relationship with God, I was singing for my own glory, and it made me miserable. Now, I’m using all that I have for His glory, and His glory alone. There is no note I can sing that could impress or disgust Him, because above everything, He wants my surrender. He wants a relationship with me, not the gifts He gave me. Knowing this has made worship the most freeing and life-giving experience. There’s nothing I love to do more.

Additionally, for the first time, The Bible became exciting to read. I love talking about the one true God who gave me something to live for, and I genuinely want to tell the world about Him. I’ve found myself smiling at The Word and becoming passionate about biblical literacy. Purpose had found me, God had met me, and my relationship with Jesus became the most important thing in my life. Soonafter coming back home, I decided to stay in my Acting major, so that I could share this new-found hope with the people in my program who were skeptical about God. A lot of my peers shared the same emotional struggles I faced, and I want everyone to know there is a Hope beyond hope.

Despite the joy I have found in Jesus, I still wake up every morning to the sound of my lips uttering a prayer, and the rattling of 50 MG antidepressant pills shortly after. Most people don’t expect that I’ve been diagnosed and battled with depression when they meet me. Additionally, the church–especially the Black church– is very taboo-orientated when it comes to therapy and/or medication regarding mental health. This caused a huge barrier between me and God, because I knew He’d placed worship ministry on my heart, but I was confused as to how to navigate those spaces with honesty. I’m nowhere near perfect, and I began to feel shame about the very thing that brought me to Jesus’ feet. “This is where You met me, Lord, but I’m still struggling. Why haven’t I been healed yet? Why am I still taking these pills? How am I supposed to lead worship like this?” The Lord very calmly and patiently told me to lead from territory. With honesty, I’m asked to guide people toward Him in worship.

Our situations and lives will never be perfect, but that leaves room for the perfect God to move, and for His imperfect people to surrender. I was struck by the passage in John 11 where Jesus is met by Martha and Mary exclaiming “Lord, he whom you love is ill,” referring to their brother, Lazarus. Jesus replies, “This illness does not lead to death. It is for the glory of God, so that the Son of God may be glorified through it.” Whenever I struggle or am tempted to pity myself, I remember that my experience and my testimony is for His glory, and I delight in reflecting on how much He has brought me through.

(Note: I want to dispel some myths about the combination of medication and Jesus. Medication doesn’t fix everything, but if it were not for the medication, I, personally, would not have the energy or motivation to pursue God. Medication can reorient chemical imbalances in one’s brain, and that is a miracle in and of itself, but it does not lead to joy beyond circumstances. Jesus does. Medication does not give me purpose and life abundantly. Jesus does. Medication does not provide fruits of the Spirit. Jesus does. And medication does not change the fact that life is pointless without God.

Medication did not save my life. Medication is an aid to uncloud my brain so that I may fix my gaze on the One who does save. And the truth is, pill or no pill, trials will come. I’m still gonna have a bad day, a bad month, or a bad year from time to time. And when those moments come, I thank God my pill is only a preventative measure, and not where my hope lies.)

Chasing after Jesus is a difficult journey, but it is full of an immeasurable amount of beauty. It has restored my hope in humanity, relationships, creation, and so much more. Most importantly, my relationship with Jesus allows me to keep my head up about the fact that I need help. I need a Savior. And it’s OKAY to need.

Today, I’m happy to say I love my life. It’s not perfect, but I’m beyond grateful for it. I’ve found so much joy I did not know was possible in Jesus. Loving Him is the best decision I’ve ever made, and having a clear mind to actually receive His love has been life changing. I finally know what it feels like to experience the joy of The Lord, and to be a new creation. God saw my cry and did not turn His face from me. And the only thing that makes me special, worth the chase, and worth being flogged and dying for is the fact that I am His.

I’m so glad God never gives up on His children. Our triune God is the greatest Comforter, Empathizer, Grief Partner, Grace-Lavisher, and Peace-Provider this world will ever know. And above all of that, He loves you and me beyond measure. Come and see.