Power of Testimony

We know that testimonies can be powerful. Scripture tells us to declare how much God has done for us. Most of us have been deeply moved by testimonies, but have you ever listened to someone’s testimony and felt critical or jealous?

A critical heart would think, “I could present this in a better way” or “My story is more powerful than this”, while a jealous heart might think, “My testimony isn’t that powerful; I might as well never share it because it won’t measure up.”

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Living a Healthy Life

I think sometimes we approach working out the same way we approach grace and Christianity. Too often, the main reason we reach out to God is because we think we messed up somehow. “Oh, I sinned again. I need to pray.”

It’s similar with working out – we do it because we want to fix something. “Oh, I messed up my diet again. I need to work out.”

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Flawed Definitions

The words sound empty and hollow, even to me.
I’m on autopilot, saying the things I know would get me an A in an English course,
but mean nothing to the one I’m talking to.
I say sorry for the millionth time,
and for the millionth time we both know I would do it again.
Maybe even tonight.
Repeat. Repent. Repeat. Repent.
Please, God, break this shell. Get through to me.
Forbid me. Punish me.
Fix me.

I was going through an old journal, and found this entry I wrote about prayer when I was in high school. I was struggling with an addiction at the time and felt like repentance was losing its meaning. I would apologize, agonize, and then fall into the same temptation again. The problem was that I had a flawed definition of repentance and I was trying to break an addiction by myself.

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God’s Promises

When I graduated from college, I was in a relationship with someone I greatly cared for. He had stood by me as a friend and boyfriend for three years as I tried to work my way through a sudden loss of stability. My parents had divorced, my childhood home was being sold, my church had split down the middle and the sense of displacement was staggering at times. However, the boy I loved didn’t believe in the God I was longing for. He would go to church with me and he would sit quietly while I prayed, but he didn’t know how to help me find the peace I was searching for.

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By His Stripes

When I was 18, I was in a car accident, flipping my car across an interstate. I walked away unhurt, but I began to suffer from frequent, debilitating migraines. In the years since, I’ve tried everything I could find to help them, but I always ended up in tears and in bed. Sleep was the only way to get rid of them, even though it often interfered with work and my social life. Sometimes they would last for days rather than hours. I would cry and pray and lay in bed with my fists pressed into my eyes trying to stop the pain.

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