| Thus should one regard us: as servants of Christ and stewards of the mysteries of God. -I Corinthians 4:1 |
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My Testimony
Disclaimer
The page you are about to read is in no way intended to draw sympathy, pity, or
compassion from you, the reader. I have not written these words to draw
attention to myself, or so that others might think there is something
extraordinary about me.
The following page is written with one goal in mind: that your relationship with
Christ Jesus be either strengthened or begun. I do not care whether you
remember my name or even my story, so long as this page helps convey to you
the great love that God the Father has for you displayed through Jesus, his Son,
and manifested to us through the Holy Spirit. I pray that you feel His
unconditional love you as you read these words and that the Spirit opens your
eyes and enlightens your heart to see the activity of God throughout your life.
May God bless you with his Peace and Joy!
My Testimony
To truly tell my story, I must start with my childhood, for that is where it begins.
I lived with my Father and Mother, along with my younger brother, David, until
I was eight years old. David and I spent most of our time over at our Great-Aunt
Marie's house or at the neighbor's house playing with their children.
Unfortunately, our childhood was not like that of most children. You see, my
Mother had a brain tumor and consequently was bed ridden for much of my
childhood. I do remember several times that Mom was able to walk, but I have
more memories of her in bed. My Father, in order to care for us, stayed at home
and did not work. This was necessary in order to care for David and myself, but
most importantly, to care for Mom.
On 20 February 1986, my brother and I awoke as usual. We readied ourselves for
school and just needed Dad to cook us breakfast before we got on the bus and
went to school. Oddly though, Dad was not up yet. Typically when we awoke,
Dad was already in the kitchen listening to the radio and fixing breakfast. This
morning, though, he was not. Neither David nor myself thought much of this and
went to wake him up; he had fallen asleep on the couch the night before. But he
would not wake up. We then woke Mom and she, too, tried to rouse him; but she
failed as well. Out of desperation, we called Aunt Marie, who arrived shortly
there after, but she could not wake Dad either. We finally called the ambulance.
Once the ambulance arrived, we were told to stay outside. If I remember the
morning correctly, it was snowing lightly but was not chilly outside. By this time,
the neighbors had come over and joined us as we waited outside for what
seemed like an eternity. Finally, the paramedic stepped outside. He said not a
word, but I can still see the look on his face as he sadly shook his head, "No, he
did not make it," at me. The look on his face said it all. As soon as he stepped
through the door, I knew, and I cried my heart out. I could do nothing but cry
for the next two or three days.
I am not quite sure how I survived that experience, but I did. David and I moved
in with Dad's sister Mary, her husband Bob, and their four children. Let me tell
you, it was a houseful, especially when you count the dogs, cat, hamsters, and
bird. Mom was placed in a nursing home and we visited her every week after
Mass. As time progressed, she grew steadily worse. On 18 January 1988, I was
building yet another bigger and better Lego castle with my cousins. The
telephone rang and we thought nothing of it. Aunt Mary then told me the news:
the nursing home just called; Mom passed away.
I could not believe it! Here I was, just eight and ten years old, and God had taken
the two most special people in my life; the two people who loved me the most. I
did not really understand what was going on and how God could have allowed
this to happen. I had done nothing wrong. I did not deserve this. Day after day, I
would ask God, "Why? Why me?" I also asked countless times for him to return
them to me. I remember praying many times "star light, star bright, first star I see
tonight. I wish I may, I wish I might, have this wish I wish tonight." Each time I
thought those words, I asked for my Mom and Dad to be returned to me. I told
no one of this wish. And yet, even though I told no one my wish, it never
happened.
Growing up without my parents was very difficult, and their deaths impacted my
life very profoundly. All of my personality and characteristics can be traced back
to their deaths. Do not get me wrong, my Aunt and Uncle were both very good
to me. I could not have asked for better. But they could never take the place of
my parents, and they realized that and did not try to.
As I grew older, several more of my family members also passed away. As the
years went by, I began to pray and talk with God. I slowly began to realize that
through these deaths, God was revealing His great love to me in a very ironic
way. I began to spend time in the presence of God and to feel His love in a very
real way. It was in my great sadness and pain that I went to Him, and there that I
experienced His love. This experience was felt very profoundly on my first Teens
Encounter Christ weekend, TEC 162. I felt His love more deeply during that
weekend than ever before. I was finally able to let out a great amount of the pain
and hurt that I had kept bottled up inside for ten long years. With this release
came a great sense of peace.
After TEC, though, my life was still far from ordinary, whatever that might be.
On 16 August 1996 I came home from work at K B Toys for the last time before I
was to enter Quincy University as a freshman. I came home with a horrible
headache and went to bed fully expecting it to be gone when I awoke. However,
the headache was not gone in the morning; rather it was worse.
I went to work at The Quincy Herald-Whig anyway, though. As the morning
progressed, the headache did not go away and I began to get an upset stomach, a
sore throat, and a bit of a fever. I ended up going home early and went to bed.
This continued for several days before I went to see a doctor. The doctor simply
told me I had the flu. After a week or two I was still getting progressively worse.
As the days wore on, the fever, headache, and sore throat continued, all in full
force, and I developed a rash up and down my body. My knees swelled so much
that I could be barely move my legs on account of the intense pain. It began to
take me twenty minutes just to sit up on the couch, much less to walk anywhere.
After three or four weeks of being in and out of the hospital with no results or
even a diagnosis, I went to the Mayo Clinic in hopes of discovering what had
befallen me.
But before I left for Mayo, word reached me at my house that people all over the
city were praying for me. I began getting flowers and cards with prayers from
the people I loved: from family, co-workers, my church, TEC, etc. I even began
receiving cards and phone calls from people I did not know. Most of the churches
in the city were praying for my recovery - for a person many of them did not
even know. But they prayed all the same!
The doctors at Mayo simply took one brief look at me and diagnosed me with
Still's Disease, a rare form of juvenile arthritis. After consulting my charts, they
were certain of this and prescribed some medicine and sent me on my way.
I was, yet again, furious at God! How could He let this happen to me? I did not
need this! I was doing what He had called me to do and He still let this happen
to me! Why?! First my parents were taken from me and then my very movement!
Not many doctors had even heard of this condition!
After about three weeks of severe pain, the medicine had finally built up in my
system enough that it began to take effect. Ever so slowly I could move again,
but there were still lapses when the arthritis would take over again. And still,
people were praying for me.
When finally I had grown tired of being angry at God, I picked up my cross and
walked humbly back to the arms of the Father, like the Prodigal Son. I picked up
our broken relationship and crawled back to Him, hoping to feel His love again.
He welcomed me back just as though I had never left. His peace I again felt in my
life. And still people were praying. And now I was praying, too.
Over the next year and half, my arthritis fluctuated. Some days were good, some
days were bad. But throughout all of this, I reflected on the pain and suffering
Jesus endured for each one of us, and realized that my sufferings were not even
worthy to compare. This intense suffering drew me even closer to the crucified
Christ than I had been before.
The arthritis still affects me these many years later, but only with a swollen finger
or two, an occasional knee, nothing too major or debilitating. But it is still a great
blessing. It helps remind me to always rely on God's great love and to spend time
in His presence.
Pick up your sufferings and your relationship with God and humbly return to
Him. He loves you and wants to spend time with you. Will you allow Him to be
with you?
The page you are about to read is in no way intended to draw sympathy, pity, or
compassion from you, the reader. I have not written these words to draw
attention to myself, or so that others might think there is something
extraordinary about me.
The following page is written with one goal in mind: that your relationship with
Christ Jesus be either strengthened or begun. I do not care whether you
remember my name or even my story, so long as this page helps convey to you
the great love that God the Father has for you displayed through Jesus, his Son,
and manifested to us through the Holy Spirit. I pray that you feel His
unconditional love you as you read these words and that the Spirit opens your
eyes and enlightens your heart to see the activity of God throughout your life.
May God bless you with his Peace and Joy!
My Testimony
To truly tell my story, I must start with my childhood, for that is where it begins.
I lived with my Father and Mother, along with my younger brother, David, until
I was eight years old. David and I spent most of our time over at our Great-Aunt
Marie's house or at the neighbor's house playing with their children.
Unfortunately, our childhood was not like that of most children. You see, my
Mother had a brain tumor and consequently was bed ridden for much of my
childhood. I do remember several times that Mom was able to walk, but I have
more memories of her in bed. My Father, in order to care for us, stayed at home
and did not work. This was necessary in order to care for David and myself, but
most importantly, to care for Mom.
On 20 February 1986, my brother and I awoke as usual. We readied ourselves for
school and just needed Dad to cook us breakfast before we got on the bus and
went to school. Oddly though, Dad was not up yet. Typically when we awoke,
Dad was already in the kitchen listening to the radio and fixing breakfast. This
morning, though, he was not. Neither David nor myself thought much of this and
went to wake him up; he had fallen asleep on the couch the night before. But he
would not wake up. We then woke Mom and she, too, tried to rouse him; but she
failed as well. Out of desperation, we called Aunt Marie, who arrived shortly
there after, but she could not wake Dad either. We finally called the ambulance.
Once the ambulance arrived, we were told to stay outside. If I remember the
morning correctly, it was snowing lightly but was not chilly outside. By this time,
the neighbors had come over and joined us as we waited outside for what
seemed like an eternity. Finally, the paramedic stepped outside. He said not a
word, but I can still see the look on his face as he sadly shook his head, "No, he
did not make it," at me. The look on his face said it all. As soon as he stepped
through the door, I knew, and I cried my heart out. I could do nothing but cry
for the next two or three days.
I am not quite sure how I survived that experience, but I did. David and I moved
in with Dad's sister Mary, her husband Bob, and their four children. Let me tell
you, it was a houseful, especially when you count the dogs, cat, hamsters, and
bird. Mom was placed in a nursing home and we visited her every week after
Mass. As time progressed, she grew steadily worse. On 18 January 1988, I was
building yet another bigger and better Lego castle with my cousins. The
telephone rang and we thought nothing of it. Aunt Mary then told me the news:
the nursing home just called; Mom passed away.
I could not believe it! Here I was, just eight and ten years old, and God had taken
the two most special people in my life; the two people who loved me the most. I
did not really understand what was going on and how God could have allowed
this to happen. I had done nothing wrong. I did not deserve this. Day after day, I
would ask God, "Why? Why me?" I also asked countless times for him to return
them to me. I remember praying many times "star light, star bright, first star I see
tonight. I wish I may, I wish I might, have this wish I wish tonight." Each time I
thought those words, I asked for my Mom and Dad to be returned to me. I told
no one of this wish. And yet, even though I told no one my wish, it never
happened.
Growing up without my parents was very difficult, and their deaths impacted my
life very profoundly. All of my personality and characteristics can be traced back
to their deaths. Do not get me wrong, my Aunt and Uncle were both very good
to me. I could not have asked for better. But they could never take the place of
my parents, and they realized that and did not try to.
As I grew older, several more of my family members also passed away. As the
years went by, I began to pray and talk with God. I slowly began to realize that
through these deaths, God was revealing His great love to me in a very ironic
way. I began to spend time in the presence of God and to feel His love in a very
real way. It was in my great sadness and pain that I went to Him, and there that I
experienced His love. This experience was felt very profoundly on my first Teens
Encounter Christ weekend, TEC 162. I felt His love more deeply during that
weekend than ever before. I was finally able to let out a great amount of the pain
and hurt that I had kept bottled up inside for ten long years. With this release
came a great sense of peace.
After TEC, though, my life was still far from ordinary, whatever that might be.
On 16 August 1996 I came home from work at K B Toys for the last time before I
was to enter Quincy University as a freshman. I came home with a horrible
headache and went to bed fully expecting it to be gone when I awoke. However,
the headache was not gone in the morning; rather it was worse.
I went to work at The Quincy Herald-Whig anyway, though. As the morning
progressed, the headache did not go away and I began to get an upset stomach, a
sore throat, and a bit of a fever. I ended up going home early and went to bed.
This continued for several days before I went to see a doctor. The doctor simply
told me I had the flu. After a week or two I was still getting progressively worse.
As the days wore on, the fever, headache, and sore throat continued, all in full
force, and I developed a rash up and down my body. My knees swelled so much
that I could be barely move my legs on account of the intense pain. It began to
take me twenty minutes just to sit up on the couch, much less to walk anywhere.
After three or four weeks of being in and out of the hospital with no results or
even a diagnosis, I went to the Mayo Clinic in hopes of discovering what had
befallen me.
But before I left for Mayo, word reached me at my house that people all over the
city were praying for me. I began getting flowers and cards with prayers from
the people I loved: from family, co-workers, my church, TEC, etc. I even began
receiving cards and phone calls from people I did not know. Most of the churches
in the city were praying for my recovery - for a person many of them did not
even know. But they prayed all the same!
The doctors at Mayo simply took one brief look at me and diagnosed me with
Still's Disease, a rare form of juvenile arthritis. After consulting my charts, they
were certain of this and prescribed some medicine and sent me on my way.
I was, yet again, furious at God! How could He let this happen to me? I did not
need this! I was doing what He had called me to do and He still let this happen
to me! Why?! First my parents were taken from me and then my very movement!
Not many doctors had even heard of this condition!
After about three weeks of severe pain, the medicine had finally built up in my
system enough that it began to take effect. Ever so slowly I could move again,
but there were still lapses when the arthritis would take over again. And still,
people were praying for me.
When finally I had grown tired of being angry at God, I picked up my cross and
walked humbly back to the arms of the Father, like the Prodigal Son. I picked up
our broken relationship and crawled back to Him, hoping to feel His love again.
He welcomed me back just as though I had never left. His peace I again felt in my
life. And still people were praying. And now I was praying, too.
Over the next year and half, my arthritis fluctuated. Some days were good, some
days were bad. But throughout all of this, I reflected on the pain and suffering
Jesus endured for each one of us, and realized that my sufferings were not even
worthy to compare. This intense suffering drew me even closer to the crucified
Christ than I had been before.
The arthritis still affects me these many years later, but only with a swollen finger
or two, an occasional knee, nothing too major or debilitating. But it is still a great
blessing. It helps remind me to always rely on God's great love and to spend time
in His presence.
Pick up your sufferings and your relationship with God and humbly return to
Him. He loves you and wants to spend time with you. Will you allow Him to be
with you?
| Servant and Steward |