Irony of the Testimony

The power of the testimony is that I can declare Jesus’ work in my life in a very tangible way.  Growing up, I was told no one can refute my testimony.  There was power in it.  Over the years, I have seen how God has moved in this way or another.  And as a believer in Jesus, I wanted to share these stories in the hope that people will come to know Jesus.  That’s why I write my blogs.  That’s why I’ll tell stories to “random” strangers and friends.  That’s why I got the tattoo on my wrist.     I wanted to share how Jesus got me through depression, self-harm, and past suicidal idealizations.  Oh, what amazing freedom!  That is…until moments come reminding me that I have a past that periodically haunts my present.  Looking at my wrist, I remember how God got me through.  But I also carry the shame that my reality sometimes rears an ugly monster in secret.     “Should I even have gotten this tattoo,” I ask myself.  Why say Jesus has freed me if I still find myself falling into depression?  Why say I have been delivered when I had those familiar thoughts of death in the moments I make a mistake?  Why even think I am capable of leading others to Christ if my journal carries scars from tempers as well as my head is marked by hidden bruises that I forced upon my cranium in a frustrated response to the world?  I look at my tattoo- a ministry tool - and see a hypocrite instead.  The irony of a testimony is the pressure to never fail again.  If freed from oppression, then I should never struggle with the old things ever again.  Or so I tell myself.     It’s not like it happens all the time.  It’s not like there hasn’t been any growth since I was a teenager.  It’s just that there are certain things that make me regress, and I didn’t know it was an issue until the violent outburst was uncovered.  And the paradox of all of this is, even after the moment, I’m still at a loss as to why I react in such a manner, and I don’t know how to change; how to react to stress appropriately.  It’s like an instinctive response to become rageful.     I always felt like I understood the likes of Peter and Elijah.  Perhaps, because even in their anger and depression, God still used them.  Maybe that’s the true irony of a testimony.  It’s never done just because a chapter has been written.  We aren’t fallen humans, who when saved, become perfect beings.  The old adage, “Only by the grace of God, I am what I am” is still relevant.  The more I walk with Jesus, the more I realize how much I need Him.  I fall and I fall hard.  But Jesus is still carrying me through.     This doesn’t relieve me of accountability for my heart or my actions.  I know I still need freedom beyond what has been gained.  What line is to be drawn concerning continuing to minister through my brokenness, and when is it time to step down to get deep heart wounds healed?  Honestly, I don’t know, because my mind is so wrapped up in perfectionism.  I inherently believe I should retract myself from God using me until I have no issues whatsoever.  Yet, even that mentality is rooted in works, not grace.  Even as I write, the pain of my secret being known scares the heck out of me.  Will I be condemned for what I confess?     I don’t want to play the victim, but I also know I can’t walk this alone.  I may need friends to walk with me through this.  Nevertheless, the hope I have is Jesus willing to keep walking with me even when I fall.  When my heart has become a wretched mess once again, He picks me up, cleans me, and carries me onward.  Even in this hypocritical state, I’m not done.  He won’t let me be done.  His grace day by day, moment by moment is at work in my life.  In my successes; in my failures.  When I gain the victory and when I lose it all.  In my strengths and while I’m weak, His grace is doing its work.  That’s the testimony.