Hey there! Welcome to my little corner of the world.
My name is Natalie and I am a Bible-believing Christian, wife to a kind-hearted gentleman, mother to eleven children, home educator, beekeeper, homesteader, writer, and life-long learner.
I am a Midwest girl who enjoys doing life with the people I love most.
Of the many hats I wear, you may be surprised to know that I never set out to have a large family. Looking back at what God has done, I am grateful I never planned not to.
God has given me a very patient husband and precious children to share this life with. To be able to say with a zealous heart that I would choose this life again in a heartbeat, even in my most difficult moments, is a complete understatement.
My vigor for life has stirred up a love for having depth in my relationships that stand on Biblically rooted, sound doctrine. My story has given me opportunities to point other women toward a Sovereign and Merciful God found on the pages of scripture.
And even though my children are my primary mission field right now, I have the deepest desire to help other women be released from any bondage they may carry, take up their identity in Christ, and walk in true freedom carrying their torch high.
I find much delight in encouraging you to be a keeper of your home where you are able to build an atmosphere of harmony and peace, emphasizing having obtainable expectations of yourself and of your family, understanding what it looks like to daily disciple your children, and finding joy in the simple things of this life.
Most certainly, it has been my greatest joy to live this very full life God has so graciously given. And even though life has never been easy for me, I know now that the difficult seasons I have walked through was mercifully allowed because those circumstances were used to shape, and mold who I am today.
After more than 4 decades of keeping quiet, with much encouragement from Jason, and a handful of my dearest friends, I reluctantly and prayerfully have stepped forward to share a small portion of my story.
I decided to surrender how I felt about exposing deep hurts, and allowed the wisdom of others to be my counsel through this process. I am choosing to share just a few of the most painful experiences and vulnerable portions of my life.
Breaking silence has been healing for me and I have found freedom in Truth.
Sharing the hard is never easy. There were a lot of fears I had when speaking about the past life God has brought me out of. But I have seen the fruit that follows when I have come to be honest with the world about the harder issues of my life.
I have prayed to be given the courage to withstand, and as I keep my eyes on the Lord for His approval in all that I do and say, I ask those that do not know me well to extend grace as you read. See, this isn’t really my story. It belongs to God. The One who created me knew exactly what my life would hold when I did not. Jesus had his hands on my redemption story from the very beginning, and that is because, somehow, through my testimony, I would give Him the honor and glory He deserves.
I have learned that when you walk through fire, you either walk away stronger, or you continue to live in a place of despair. You get to choose.
So with all of that said, I hope I come across as gracious, moving forward, but greatly burdened for those whom have had similar dysfunctional relationships or circumstances.
I hope you can get comfortable and stay a while. I am so happy you came.
If you were born into a Christ-honoring family, that is because God is good.
If you avoided the trappings of sexual sin, that is because God is your protector.
If you heard the gospel at a young age and responded to it, that is because God was drawing you.
If you grew up in a home where your needs were met, that is because God is faithful.
But that is not my story, and God still reigns.
I was born into a Catholic family in rural Missouri where coal mining and farming were the way of life. My great-grand parents have deep roots in the heart of Croatia on my father’s side. And my great grandfather’s family’s roots, on my mother’s side, came across the Cumberland Gap to settle on a small farm just down the road from one another. Ultimately, this is where my parents met. I grew up encircled by both sides of my extended family, and my grandparents lived until I was well into my 30s. I have always found it fascinating that I had so many grandparents and great-grandparents living, and I loved asking them stories of the past. Being a firstborn, I took note of things that I learned, not only from them, but about myself as well.
coal mines and railroad station in my hometown
From the moment I was born, there were so many unhealthy patterns that were taking place on all at once. A lot of instability, conflict, addictions, abuse, and neglect are a few words that come to mind, and it definitely took its toll on a very young me. At a tender age, I had already been showing signs of trauma. My mother was detached and affection was a foreign concept in our family. I never once heard her say she loved me. My father was a wounded man from the beginning and the only time I heard him say he loved me, he was drunk. I was 24.
Our community was very small. No one asked questions and most turned a blind eye. Few knew what was going on behind closed doors, and even then, they only caught a small glimpse of my reality from time to time.
Some saw the evidence of abuse, such as bruises, a welt, or just a brokenness within us. The little that was said and the intimidation to keep quiet about home-life were the ingredients I had to never ask anyone for help. Any signs of sadness or worry was quickly corrected because mother valued what others thought.
It is important to note those details because, like any child, I trusted her when she trained us on how to “put on a good face” for others. I was a compliant child (in her words) and my personality provided a perfect environment for her to teach me to hide truths.
When there were real tears streaming down our face after any physical altercation, my dad would sarcastically say with authority, “Ahh, yea. You kids have it pretty bad don’cha.” making it known that the oppression we experienced was normal.
I was an adult before I understood why we were never allowed to talk about our home life.
By the time I was four and five years old, I was playing ball on the boy’s baseball team. I was taught to play hard, throw accurately, steal bases, and giving it everything I had to be the best I could in whatever game I was playing. Perfection was heavily ingrained.
It was important to my dad that I became a tomboy, and out of fear of showing him any signs of weakness, I conformed to who he wanted me to be.
From the time I could barely spell my name, I had a view of men as unpredictable, inconsistent, conditional, intimidating, and anytime they “touched” me, it hurt. I had a messed up framework of men as dangerous and unsafe to be around. And my view of women were cold, unloving, and emotionally distant.
When I was not playing ball, I was being dressed up like a doll to highlight my mother’s abilities. I learned what was important to each parent and tried living up to those expectations.
My parents and grandparents told me often that I had been an easy child to raise. I tried to never be a cause to any problem, as they had my loyalty and compliance. I took my grandfather very serious when he would tell us to keep our nose clean. It was not only a sense of duty to family, but that the highest standard was a must if you wanted to please them.
It was an intense life. It was also exhausting.
The power and influence that Satan’s grip had on my family was incredibly strong.
As my parents became my first bullies, condemnation started to take root in my heart, and any joy that I once had, would soon be snuffed out.
Family-life became my greatest source of pain.
Because my dad was raised in a works-based culture, little to no grace was ever extended. As a result, he developed many addictions and often lashed out in anger. At a young age, my mother embraced the world’s view of the feminine role, and as a result, she became distracted and cold toward her children while climbing the career ladder.
As I was forming friendships along the way, I was making decisions in those relationships based on my experiences at home. I had my mother over emphasizing my outward appearance and created a feminist box for me to fit in. My dad fought her on me wearing dresses, perming my hair (pony tails were his preference) and makeup would not be an option in hopes that I would reject all future male advances.
I was caught between trying to please two polar opposites. I was constantly seeking the approval of both parents, but their acceptance of me was based on my performance and accepting their ideologies. No matter what I did, it was never good enough.
I was insulated from the world and so confused. The uncertainty of life was brought on by two people teaching me separate views of culture that did not come from the creator.
I didn’t understand how chaotic my life was because it was all I was exposed to. My fingernails were chewed to the quick, and my hair was brittle and falling out.
There wasn’t anything I felt safe enough to talk about because there were so many secrets in our home, and a lot of continued hurt. I was used to burying my feelings out of fear of not knowing what would happen to us. And anytime I would try to bring those events up with my mother to make sense of the chaos we were living in, they were quickly dismissed and redefined as normal.
Because of the brainwashing, I had not figured out for myself how to formulate my own thoughts, nor communicate them. This left me with a huge amount of guilt and shame after believing that I was “no good.” It was very overwhelming to think I could ever confide in someone because of the shame-based culture I was raised in. For the first time, I tried running away the summer before I turned 12. I learned never to try that again.
Because of the highly controlled and abusive environment we lived in, I found myself needing to escape more and more as I reached my teenage and young adult years. The fears of not surviving on the outside kept me conformed to the toxicity inside the home.
Even into adulthood, my mother would condescendingly say, “Where are you going to go Natalie; who would you run to?” as a constant reminder that I had no one.
Fear is paralyzing. And enduring abuse leads to self-condemnation, having extreme anxiety, emotional scars, and so much more that is left unsaid.
All that was left was a constant pain in my chest. And in my despair, I became a very hopeless, lonely child.
Consequently, I started having more health complications and had battled several ulcers that the school nurse was kindly trying to help me with. I was under an extreme amount of stress because of the critical voices that dominated my life. With my health tanking, and events that surrounded my childhood, it set the course for future failure.
As my senior year of high school rolled around, one particular week I found myself at a total loss of how to move forward. I decided to not go to school that Friday because I had another pair of black eyes generously given to me by my father. What was I going to tell them? How was I going to hide this one? I was embarrassed and humiliated. And I was tired. I was weary from having to cover and hide all the time. The bible uses a better word – exasperated.
I remember the very moment I gave up in my heart that I was going to be okay. Emotionally, I was crippled by my mother, utterly voiceless to have any say in what happens to me, my dad’s drunkeness was becoming too much for me to bear anymore, and after a 2-year relationship I found myself being abandoned by a boy who left me pregnant to raise a baby all on my own.
I felt like I was going to die. Everyone that I was told to put my faith and trust in had abandoned their responsibilities. Again, just like mother said, the reality of having no one was evident.
The specific events surrounding that year is what forced me to identify who was honest and who was not. I questioned what real Truth was? I didn’t want my mother’s version, not my father’s version either, but real, authentic Truth. Truth that wasn’t hypocritical. And Truth that was consistent and reliable.
I remember looking up after a really good cry, and wondering if God had left me. I had such hopelessness and had nothing left to give. I begged Him anyway. I begged God to ease the pain. My spirt was crushed on so many levels and I felt like my heart was being ripped out of my chest. I pleaded with Him not to allow me to experience any more hurt. I couldn’t endure one more person not loving me and buried my head in the shame I caused.
What seemed like the 330th time, I said aloud that I believed He was from a virgin birth, He died and rose again on the third day, and that He sits at the right hand of the Father. I recited my rosary prayers. (phrases from the Apostles’ Creed and some other liturgical readings that I had memorized from mass, but I had no idea what any of this really meant).
I asked Him to protect me from evil, as I have always felt both a light and dark presence around me from a very young age. And because I wanted to be a girl that lived in a Truth-based reality, I poured out my confusion to Him. I didn’t know what it meant to be a Christian, or who to ask. I had always loved God the best way I knew how, but I had never saw this lived out by anyone in my life.
I had always been willing to sacrifice everything for the sake of having peace, but I found myself submitting to the flesh when life became too unbearable to face. I didn’t know what sin was. I only knew certain behavior was “bad.” Sin vocabulary was not a part of my family’s vernacular, so it kept me in a state of accepting my family’s cycle of abuse, and me not submitting to the proper authority of God.
I really believed Christianity were people who made no mistakes, lit candles, said their Hail Mary’s, and fed the poor like Mother Theresa. I thought Christians were people that had happy parents, could say no to bad things, and yes to the good. I didn’t realize that Christians were people that had been taken hold of by God, given a renewed mind, had a heart change, were to be set apart, and to be able to say no to sin because of the power of Christ that rest upon them.
I didn’t have anyone that I could talk to that would treat me as an image bearer instead of throwing moral issues at me from my past mistakes. My life started to get harder and in His kindness, allowed my life to get more difficult. In God‘s goodness, He continued to not let me forget that we weren’t meant to be at peace with everyone. (This is clear in Matthew 10:34-36.) And life got to a point that it became so difficult to face living inside that dynamic that I constantly was looking for the right answers.
There is something about the doctrine of suffering that shows us that sin is not satisfying. Being with people who are wrong for you, toxic, lovers of themselves, the selfishness that I saw in the adults around me, and all of what 2 Timothy 3 says was being reveled to me that I found myself begging for the opposite. God never allowed me to have comfort in these relationships because He was asking something different from me.
During this vulnerable time of unraveling, an older man came into my life through a mutual friend. This person would eventually promise me safety within their family away from the abuse happening in my home. The evidence on my body told a pretty ugly story, and this individual said substantiating statements for me to feel safe. He assured me that neither of my parents would be able to hurt me and I had a safe haven with their family.
For the first time I witnessed another family’s comings and goings outside of my own family dynamics. The time away from my parents’ constant fighting and chaos gave me breathing room, and I started to think for myself.
I found myself on the floor one evening when all was silent. I was left with myself to think, which always ends up with me soaked in tears. I cried out to God with sadness in a lack of a relationship with my mother in particular. And it occurred to me that I needed a Bible.
The only Bible that I was aware of was a large Catholic Bible that sat on a coffee table during my childhood. I didn’t know where to go to buy one, because up until this point, I didn’t shop on my own unless my mother took me. I didn’t think of the library, as the only library door I had ever walked through was in public school. It is an understatement when I say that I had lived a pretty isolated and highly controlled life.
But I knew myself enough to understand that nothing about my life proved that I was submitting to the reason I was created. I was convinced there was a good reason, despite how my parents viewed me. And my lack of confidence in God seeing me through this nightmare led me to confusion and much despair. No one had been trustworthy in my life, therefore, I had a wrong view of God as well? Still, I was convinced that I needed a Bible to read and understand it for myself instead of being told what to believe.
The following Sunday I was in a non-denominational church and the sermon was on David’s trials. I “heard” that our difficulties we experienced in childhood was an obvious absence of God. It was the first time I allowed myself to admit in my heart that we had been abused. As I would hear the Word preached, I would constantly self-examine my own heart, choices I made, and how to move forward. That Sunday was significant for me and my perspective on how families are to treat one another.
I was still not in complete understanding of how to navigate healthy boundaries with others, and because of my strong ties towards my family, it became difficult to navigate normal adult life living with significant trauma. Even as a young woman, I wasn’t ready to admit those hurts and bottled things up pretty tightly towards anyone that started to ask questions. My dad’s word replayed in my ear like a broken record, “Yea, you kids have it real bad.”
My loyalty to them ran deep. Managing my emotions was all I could do moment by moment… a little each day was all I could do.
Fast forward about a year later, I had my own little one-bedroom apartment. I was babysitting to pay the bills and this enabled me to be a stay-at-home-mom. I lived very simply, had no phone, no car.
A married woman started to pick me up every Sunday for church that I often babysat for in return. I was going to Bible study every Tuesday with all married women. Solid teachings and interpreting it through the eyes of scripture lit my fire. I was desperately searching for Truth to stand on and I was finding it on the pages of Scripture! Praise God for those women that took the time to help me navigate what living like a Christian looked like.
During that time, I had heard about a small, Christian bookstore from some of the ladies in my Bible Study. The weather was decent, so I packed up the stroller and walked uptown.
I remember the first time I walked in. Her name was Roberta. She was a kind, gentle soul. She and her husband sold a large number of books, tapes, and Bibles. They also had a loft area upstairs where they kept some children’s toys, that included a little handmade Noah’s Ark set. We formed a sweet friendship, and I looked forward to seeing her every week.
I decided to save up enough money to buy the cheapest Bible they sold. The day came. I walked in and excitedly said, “I am ready to buy a Bible, but I need to be able to read it. I don’t want an Old English Bible.” (comically, this is the version I read today) Roberta laughed and handed me a version that she thought I would like.
I trusted that. I paid her. We chatted for a bit, and I strolled home.
My life was fairly simple and quiet by then. I was extremely motivated to live a disciplined life, and wanted the fruit to be evident. I had cut out most of the drama and chaos just simply by living on my own, and being intentional in building up my home the best way I knew how. I purposed to make the time to read, apply truths, and pray about my future.
For the next several days, I found myself in the Old Testament, and eventually I ended up in the book of Psalms, right where David’s trial were. I couldn’t get enough of what I was reading.
To my surprise, the more I read the Bible, the more my past life hurt. The less I understood why this life had to be so painful, the more I was drawn to read the Bible. The more ups and downs I was still having with my parents, the more I felt compelled to turn to the scriptures for answers.
Not only did the scriptures condemn the abuse we experienced and my choices that followed, but also the sins that were passed onto me. As devastating and disgusted with sin as I was, I found those same scriptures offering me hope.
And as I kept studying, my eyes were being opened to how much I had been manipulated. I was just riddled with anxiousness, guilt, and deep wounds that I didn’t know what to do with. The scales were being lifted off my eyes to see things I never saw or understood before. And I finally started to have the words to vocalize my hurts to a God that could bear them.
The more I was lured into my parent’s presence or conversation, the quicker I saw God giving me a way of escape. When my spirit was weary, hymns became my salve. When chaos came knocking at my door, the more I desired to seek Jesus. God was dealing with my heart in a way I didn’t fully understand, but I was absorbing His Truth like a sponge.
I was still struggling to conceptualize how to apply God’s Word because it was completely foreign to me. When you grow up in a home where no one takes responsibility, apologizes, repents, forgives, or utter the words “I love you,” you can not possibly understand how that process works. With a lack of exposure to any of these concepts, and because my relationship with my parents were so toxic, little of God’s attributes make any sense. These people were all I knew. They were my life and all I had.
So I held on, pushed through, and persevered through the mud. I pulled up my boot straps every day and God began to use my brokenness to heal parts of my heart I never knew existed. I started to see the people that were supposed to love and care for me, were really the ones that were the most deceptive and hurtful. I started recognizing where those self-condemning patterns came from. I learned to replace those lies I once believed with the Truth of scripture. A true healing began to take place.
Being a victim of abuse, we believe the abuse we endure is normal. I finally saw that this was not of God’s nature to be lording over or being ones slave. I wasn’t a puppet to be mastered!
Drinking the poison is the language we speak and it is all we know. You can just imagine the freedom I was starting to grasp.
This is the part in the story where I express much gratitude for my husband. He has been paramount in my walk and daily healing. His guidance has been a huge source of strength for me in many different areas. But as in all testimonies, my story needs to always land on God’s. I need to make sure you know that I give every piece of my story to God’s glory. He is why I write. He is why I share. And He is the only reason why I am able to heal.
I’ve done nothing in my own strength. Jason was only a vessel that was willing to be used by God. We sort-of jokingly say that I became his best client because my story was so challenging. I can’t explain to you how often key concepts that I learned broke so many chains. When I learned that children strongly identify with the same gender parent, I was blown away. It took me a few days to sit on that one. This was key for me because it explained why I longed for a connection and approval from my mother for so many years having nothing in return.
When I realized that the relationship with her was never going to be what it was designed for, it was like a slow, painful death. I had to learn to swallow the reality of letting go of someone I never really had to begin with. And I grieved a long time over her lack of care in my childhood, concern for my life today, and I struggled to let go of the idea of never having a mother. I cried countless nights over the fact that she was never going to call to just check in, never drop by for coffee, never to embrace me with a hug, and never to express her love towards my little family. It was wounding on so many levels; I can’t even describe the pain.
God continued to say, “I loved you first.” 1 John 4:19
I knew enough about myself that I was hesitant to believe that and aware enough to stop with the unbelief! I knew I was coming before a righteous God and I was like filthy rags. And I didn’t feel like what I had to offer him was enough to be loved.
I knew what I had wasn’t enough because His death on the cross was still a mystery to me. But the daily unpacking I did with Jesus, I didn’t know then what I was doing was repenting and living by faith one day at a time… like everyday, repenting, more apologies, and crying out to God. I had so much self-condemnation is was really terrible the kinds of things I was led to believe about myself.
Looking back, I was being sanctified daily because I was broken by my sin. I saw it for what it was. I realized that my sin broke God’s heart and that He had a plan for redemption. I needed His redemption. I stopped clamming up, stopped turning inward, stopped doing good works, and turned my face to the hope that lies with Christ instead. He was my only hope.
As the years continued, and my relationship with both my parents awkwardly continued, the struggle was real when the afflictions exceeded my understanding of why God would allow that kind of torment in my life. Most days, just the mention of my mother’s name felt like salt being poured into a wound, much like Paul’s thorn.
As I forged ahead growing our family, and consistently bathing myself in scripture, Jesus drew me near during that lonely season of life. I found that when my burden felt too heavy, His burden is light and His yoke easy.
God speaks with such Supreme Authority in all things that when situations came up that Jason and I were forced to deal within my unbelieving family, I found that Christ met me there. He gave both of us the right words. He gave me a way of escape. He is a God of order and not chaos.
In the Gospels, I saw Jesus being rejected by his own people, and betrayed by the closest to Him. He was abused and left for dead. I identified with that.
In intense moments with my parents, I saw Jesus teaching me how to spot the confusion I faced in those family dynamics, and recognized that it was more toxic than it was healthy. I was learning about spiritual warfare and the armor I needed to protect myself, and my children. I started to have confidence in my responses towards the accusations thrown.
Jesus said that Satan is the father of all lies, and I witnessed how he thrived on creating dissension. I read how he tempted Jesus during His 40 days in the desert. And even though Satan bruised His heel, Christ had the final say and crushed his head.
It was as if His words leaped off the pages, deposited Truth in my heart, and became a salve to my soul. I finally had absolute Truth I could stand on and had a faith that would not be shaken easily. I had answers on how to handle this and I had clear direction.
Even though I was deeply hurt and emotionally fragile during that period of my life, I knew I was going to be okay. (Psalm 91 became my rhema). I trusted what I was learning, and He truly became the Father that I had always needed.
Then came my pivotal, jaw-dropping moment. In all the growing and learning I had been doing during those years, I was still greatly burdened by my mother’s lack of love towards me. It was the one thing I could not shake. I was grieved by her purposeful distance, and I prayed that God would change it.
I wanted so desperately to be loved and accepted by her, and I thought growing closer to God would help remedy this. I thought, “Maybe if I was finally the right person she wanted me to be, she would love me?”
As I was wrestling with some serious spiritual warfare, the unsettling torments of “Get over it. You are unlovable. You’ll never be good enough.” In His perfect stillness, God deposited this truism into my heart.
“Natalie, do you think you would ever pursue me as fervently as you pursue after your mother’s approval?”
My heart sunk because I knew I was trying to balance God’s desires and my mother’s wishes. Both were polar opposites. But worse, I had unknowingly placed an emphasis on a relationship with my mother over a relationship with Christ. In Exodus 20 where it spoke of our God being a jealous God, it is clear that He shares His status with no one. Talk about bawling my eyes out.
I had no idea how badly I had yearned for her affection, to be a part of my life, and it consumed my thoughts every single day. I had made her an idol.
There it was. My stumbling block. This is why God allowed a wound to keep festering.
Matthew 6:24 says, “No man can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, and love the other; or else he will hold to the one, and despise the other. Ye cannot serve God and mammon.”
God wanted to be front and center and this was a monumental moment in my walk with Christ. The proof of my salvation wasn’t the absence of being tempted to honor my mother’s wishes (which were endless). The proof of my salvation was the awareness that I now had the power to obey Him, not her.
Big difference!
Ephesians 4:22-24 says, “That ye put off concerning the former conversation the old man, which is corrupt according to the deceitful lusts; And be renewed in the spirit of your mind; And that ye put on the new man, which after God is created in righteousness and true holiness.”
God was allowing the pruning process to take place. He was allowing purpose in the pain. He was shedding me of anything I was putting above Him. I found letting go of her so incredibly agonizing at times, but I also found freedom in surrendering to a righteous and just God.
I can not put into words how grateful I am for His perfectly timed revelations when I needed Him most. As hard as that felt, decisions become easy when God’s Truth is evident.
I am sure that most of you don’t have a crazy story like mine, but I encourage you to tell yours. I have a daughter that was saved at a very young age and I am grateful that she has a desire to serve Christ so young. But I have friends that were saved in adulthood like I was.
We all come to Christ through different avenues and circumstances. You don’t have to have tragedy or walk through a lot of sin before you realize you need saving. In fact, I would highly recommend teaching your children the gospel message at an early age so they can spot lies, to avoid the devil’s trappings, and having to live with the consequences from wrong choices. It doesn’t matter how you came to faith, young or old. God can use a 6 year old’s testimony to glorify His name like he can a 65 year old’s.
If you are scared to come forward and tell your story because of how you will be viewed, you need to realize that no one’s opinion is authoritative except for God’s. If they reject you, Jesus accepts His children.
Who are “they” anyway?
If there’s shame and guilt, Christ took that to the cross. You’re free from that condemnation. If “they” continue to remind you of who you really are, you remind them you may not be where you want to be today, but praise the Lord you’re saved from who you used to be.
What God has done for you allows you to be aware of Satan’s lies and discern his wicked schemes. The devil uses people and accusations to distract us.
We will find His grace in the midst of our hardest of days. We will find that His mercies are new every morning. And we will find forgiveness when we least deserve it.
This is where we rest.
We all need to preach on our life story and how God brought us out. Don’t allow the fears you have determine who you follow. Jesus had His hands on your redemptive testimony from the beginning of time for the sole purpose to bring Him glory. It isn’t our story anyway. It’s His. It’s to be given away freely so that others can see Who He is, and what He’s done for all mankind.
God doesn’t necessarily want to use what we do now as much as He wants to use the things He saved us from. So when Jesus wipes the slate clean, sits at the Right Hand, chose to die in my place, and continues to be faithful to this very day, I choose Him over any fear of telling my story.
He truly is the treasure of my heart, and nothing and no one can ever take His love away.
When my husband asked me to share with you, my hope is that it helps you see that a God of Truth does not waver, nor vacillate in His redemptive qualities.
I know that was a really long read, but for those that have wounds that run deep, you get it. You can’t sum up your testimony into a short, neat 10 minute part of your life. There is a long road ahead to heal and my love for people is what motivates me to share.
I get asked a lot if I wished hardship hadn’t taken place or if I yearned for a different life growing up. I want to speak directly to the wounded and broken people of this world, so here is my answer.
I do think it can be dangerous to play the what-if game because there could be an ungrateful spirit in that question. I have many things I am thankful for and as we grow as Christians, the trials that inevitably come, I choose to see those as distractions from the enemy.
Life is a process for us all, and God is using times of testing for our sanctification. You have to believe that. Being given a mountain is only preparing us for something else that Christ will ultimately get the credit for anyway, so I do not become anxious because I know my needs will be taken care of.
You wouldn’t have heard me say that 30 years ago. But I am not the same Natalie because my perspective has changed so much. There’s wisdom in learning to live with a balanced view.
You know what? Someday it will be clear why God allowed such grievances, atrocities, slander, and for me to walk through a very difficult childhood. But as my perspective has changed to a gospel centered one, I stand grateful for the things He has saved me from. He has given me the courage to be bold in my faith, and most of all, His protection over my life from destructive relationships.
My back story is an unchangeable. Yours is too. But know He is sufficient.
“And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses for Christ’s sake: for when I am weak, then am I strong.”
2 Corinthians 12:9-10
For more candid details of my journey from heartbreak, to healing and redemption you can visit Natalie’s Notes.
