Samantha's testimony "How Jesus Christ Saved Me From Sexual Abuse And Depression" on 7/28/2013, 9:19pm...
My name is Samantha. I am currently 14 years old. This is my testimony on how Jesus Christ saved me.
I grew up in an abusive home. When I was a few months old, my mother took me and my brothers from my father. We moved to California, where she met my step-father. He was an abusive drunk. He used to get drunk, come home, and beat my mother and my oldest brother. His name is Vincent.
I remember once I walked down the stairs of my home into the living room. My mother was on the couch, my step-father straddling her waist. He held a pillow over her face, trying to smother her. Thankfully, my mother survived.
When I was four years old, my first younger sister was born. My mother named her GL. Fortunately, Vincent was nice to her.
Two years later, my last younger sister was born. Vincent HATED her from her birth. It was because she looked like my mother.
A few months after she was born, I was told I would die within a few weeks if I didn't have my tonsils removed. Fortunately, the procedure went successful, up until I coughed up chunks of blood, and was given a 50% chance of death. Of course, I lived through it.
When I was eight, my mother divorced Vincent, moving to Texas with us. I met my father for the first time in my life. Everything went well for the first six months.
Then, we moved to Dallas, Texas. This is where my life started to spiral downward...
The first time my father ****d me, I was confused. I mean, I was ten years old, yet I'm sure this isn't supposed to happen. The ***ual abuse continued for seven months. I was too afraid to tell anyone, so I just let it happen.
One summer, we went to visit family in Vegas. My mother and father stayed for a month before going back with my one brother and my two sisters. My oldest brother stayed with me at my grandmother's apartment.
The summer went great, due to the fact I could finally relax without the abuse. It was in the middle of July when my father came to drive us back to Dallas.
I was scared when we pulled into a hotel for the night. My father told me to sleep in the same bed as him, and I agreed, only because I didn't want to alert my brother. I fell asleep around midnight.
I was woken by uncomfortable pain in my lower body. My father was ***ually abusing me again. I tried to get out of the bed, but his arm trapped me. I stayed quiet, though the pain kept getting worse. Finally, he stopped and I ran to the bathroom.
When I came out, I slept on the floor until he woke me, telling me to get back in the bed. He claimed he was 'asleep' and he won't do it again. Unfortunately, he lied.
My father kept up the abuse a few weeks after returning to Dallas. I remember sitting on the floor against the wall in my bedroom, crying because of the loneliness I felt because of the abuse.
I stole a knife from the kitchen, with the intent of cutting myself. I had heard that it helped with emotional pain. So, my first cut was done on my left forearm.
I begun to get addicted to the pain of the blade, and I began using my razor in the shower. Every shower I took was a new cut. I cut almost every day, sometimes twice. With every cut, the abuse got worse.
One day, when I was the age of twelve, I wrote my first suicidal note. I was going to take my life that night. I had two knifes under my bed, so it would be easy.
That night, regret and fear exploded in my heart. I was afraid of dying, afraid of what people would think. So, I didn't kill myself. My cuts began to grow apart, and more time was in between each one.
I was now in puberty, and my body was maturing. My father often dragged me on walks, talking about how he 'never gets enough ***ual attention' from my mother. He told me that if I even wanted him to take my virginity, to just ask.
Though my cutting had become less frequent, the abuse continued. Again and again, I wrote suicidal notes. Each time, I had a strong emotion of the fear of dying.
Despite everything going on, I once called out to God. I said, alone in my bedroom, "If You are real, God, let me do this, or that". I started making fun of God, taunting him even. I started stealing, lying, and lusting. I wrote stories of homo***uals, and I supported them. I almost became one myself, when my best friend asked me to date her. I began to look at woman in ways I shouldn't, and I began to daydream about ***.
Then, one day, I just snapped. I sat in my bedroom, holding a pair of scissors. I carved into my right thigh "UNLOVED", and I enjoyed the pain. I cut a lot more, and people began to ask about my scars. My family didn't even notice them.
In eighth grade, in August, I told a girl named Lisette my story. She, thankfully, went to the school counselors. I was called down on a friday morning, and I told them everything. They asked about my scars, and I told them. They called my mother, and she came.
At first, she didn't believe me, but, when she saw the scars on my arm, she started crying.
The CPS case took four months to complete. In November, my mother told me about her friend and said we were moving. My brother's moved into their best friend's house.
In December, my mother, my sisters, and I moved to Louisiana on the day my father took his life to avoid a life sentence in jail.
My mother's friend is a Pentecostal man with a caring soul. He took us in. He made us go to church, and my mother and sisters immediately stuck with it.
I rebelled after the third time, saying I don't even believe in God.
One night, while everyone else was at church, I started thinking about my past. This was in late January. I got up from the computer, going to the kitchen. I grabbed a knife and held it to my arm.
Before the cut was made, a huge amount of fear filled me, and I put away the knife. I felt guilty of even trying to cut myself, and I felt guilty of leaving church. Saddened, I made a promise to return.
I carried out the promise, and, for three months, I sat with my mother on a pew. I didn't sing when they sung. I didn't clap when they clapped. I didn't stand when they stood. I was there, but, yet, I wasn't.
One church service, I watched a young boy receive the Holy Ghost. The sight was beautiful, and I longed to be him.
I was soon baptized in Jesus name, and my sins were washed away.
In May, I began to clap and sing, but I still wouldn't pray aloud, or even stand, though I felt the need to.
In early June, my friend invited me to go with her mom, her sister and brother, and her to church camp. I felt the need to go, so I agreed. The next day, Monday, we left.
Tuesday at church camp, I repented for my sins. I began to cry out to God, pleading for forgiveness. Wednesday at church camp, I received the Holy Ghost for the first time. Thursday at church camp, I sat for about three hours in the Holy Ghost.
Now, in late July, I have no more fear of death. I accept my past, and I know I cannot change it. I haven't cut myself in six months, and no thoughts of suicide has p***ed my mind for over three months. I am growing in the Spirit, and It is healing me. Last night, I was worried about Judgement Day, when the sinners stand before the Lord and He punishes them. God spoke to me and told me "What for". I translated this to mean- 'What have you got to worry about?'. God has saved me, and He has changed my life.
My faith is affecting my family, and they are being saved as well. My mother and oldest brother received the Holy Ghost. My sisters are so close to, but they still need to push past that history of sin that Adam and Eve placed on our shoulders.
I have learned from all of this, is that what has happened in the past cannot be changed. When you receive the Holy Ghost, with the evidence of speaking in Tongues, God has forgotten your past. Unfortunately, Satan will use our pasts to try and control our future.
I pray that whoever took the time to read this will be encouraged. I have been through a lot, and I'm only 14. But, I made it past the pain, right into the arms of Jesus Christ, my God and Lord of all. I pray that you will find hope in the hurt, and happiness in the sorrow. I pray that Jesus will touch your heart as He has touched mine. In Jesus' name, Amen.