He Saw Me

God saw me when I felt unseen, called me daughter when I believed I was worthless, and faithfully transformed generations of pain into healing, hope, and surrender to Him.

Have you ever looked at your life and wondered how you got here?

I was thinking about my testimony recently, and how much has changed over the years. Our lives really are testimonies. We grow, we heal, we mature, we experience loss and joy and redemption in layers. And through every season, whether we feel Him clearly or not, the Lord is present.

Our testimony isn’t just the moment we surrender to God. It’s every breath afterward, too.

So when I was asked to share my testimony, I struggled with what to include. Because how do you summarize the faithfulness of God in a few minutes?

I experienced abuse throughout my childhood, and because of the choices of my brother’s father, the word father never felt safe to me. I grew up carrying labels like worthless, unwanted, ugly, and lazy. From the outside, my life looked successful. I was a high achiever, involved in everything, always trying to earn acceptance, but inwardly, I felt deeply unseen.

At 13, I chose to be baptized and believed Jesus saved me, but I misunderstood God’s heart. I believed if I failed afterward, God would reject me. So when life became darker and more painful, feeling the weight of abandonment, I carried shame instead of running toward Him.

As a young adult, I entered an abusive relationship and eventually became pregnant with my daughter. Later, during a custody battle, I was manipulated and blackmailed into marriage out of fear of losing her. I truly believed I had no escape.

Years later, after my son was born, I reached the end of myself completely. One night, alone and hopeless, I cried out to God and surrendered everything. Not just asking Jesus to save me, but asking Him to become Lord of my life.

And in that moment, somehow, I knew He saw me.

Not as worthless.
Not as forgotten.
Not as too broken.

He saw me as His.

I became hungry for the Word of God. I read Scripture constantly. And though the abuse continued, the Lord was slowly transforming me from the inside out.

Eventually, after CPS became involved, my children and I ended up homeless in a domestic violence shelter. Those were survival moments. Fearful moments. I remember praying constantly and pushing my children on the swings at the shelter playground. Sometimes that was all the strength I had.

But God was faithful there too.

He provided shelter. Food. Work. Housing. Strength for each day. And over and over, He answered desperate prayers.

In time, I met and got to know my husband Josh, who is one of the kindest people I’ve ever known. He later adopted my two oldest children, and through him, the Lord also began healing my understanding of fatherhood.

For years, I called God “Abba,” because the word Father felt too painful. But through God’s faithfulness, and through seeing what a loving father looks like, I’m no longer afraid of that word.

The Lord didn’t just rescue me. He changed generations through that rescue.

All 5 of my children now have a safe, loving childhood. The cycle ended.

During the pandemic, we lost our daughter halfway through pregnancy. I can honestly say that was one of the deepest griefs I’ve ever experienced. But even there, in the silence and heartbreak, I kept hearing: “My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.”

I learned something important through all of this: God’s presence does not disappear in suffering.

Sometimes He heals instantly.
Sometimes He heals slowly.
But He is still faithful in both.

During another difficult season, I began painting watercolor simply to quiet my mind. Eventually, I brought a few paintings to a farmers market, and unexpectedly, people connected deeply with them. They shared stories. They cried. We prayed together.

That’s when I realized art wasn’t just something I enjoyed… It was part of my calling.

God took something I was told never to pursue and used it to bring comfort and hope to others.

Now I create art, a picture book, and tutorial videos, especially with hurting people in mind, women in shelters, children in trauma, exhausted mothers, and people who feel unseen. Because I know what it feels like to desperately need hope.

And most recently, the Lord has placed something new on my heart.

A podcast. Called At Forests Edge.

It’s for the women who feel unseen. The ones who think deeply, who love story and faith, who are drawn to myth and mystery and the sacred things that are hard to put into words. The ones who sit with big questions and ache for beauty in the middle of hard seasons.

I know those women because I am one.

At Forests Edge is a space to wander into wonder together, where faith meets story, where the ancient and the eternal speak into the everyday, and where women who have felt invisible are reminded that they were always, always seen.

I don’t know exactly where it will lead. But I’ve learned by now that when the Lord nudges, the faithful thing is to take the next step into the trees.

Even with all of this, somehow, the Lord has led us into another season I never could have imagined.

My husband recently stepped forward in faith toward the call on his life as a pastor, and if I’m honest, that has brought up a whole new layer of insecurity in me. There are still moments when I feel unqualified or not “good enough” to be a pastor’s wife.

Sometimes I still feel like the same frightened girl carrying old labels and wondering if she belongs anywhere at all.

But God keeps reminding me that His calling was never built on my perfection.

Only my surrender.

I don’t have all the answers. I’m still healing. Still growing. Still learning to walk in boldness instead of fear. But I have a deep desire to love people well and point them toward the Lord who rescued me.

And maybe that’s exactly the kind of people God uses most often:
people who know they need Him completely.

And if there is one thing I want you to leave with today, it’s this:

God sees you.

Not the polished version of you.
Not the version performing for acceptance.
The real you.

And He is not intimidated by your pain, your past, your fear, or your weakness.

The enemy wants us focused on ourselves… our shame, our inadequacy, our pride, our suffering. But freedom comes when we lift our eyes to Jesus instead.

Not comparing ourselves to others.
Not measuring testimonies against each other.
Just surrendering fully to Him.

Some testimonies are dramatic. Some are quiet. Some people are rescued from deep darkness, and some are lovingly kept from it. Both matter equally because the point of every testimony is Jesus.

The closer I grow to Him, the less I want my life to be about me at all.
I simply want my life to praise Him.

Because He took the labels the world gave me and replaced them with:
seen,
precious,
fearfully and wonderfully made,
daughter.

And truly… words cannot fully describe who He is.
He is beyond understanding, and yet He lovingly makes Himself known to us anyway.

Recently, a friend shared that our testimonies are like crystal glasses that are forged in fire until they can sing. And I think that’s a beautiful picture of what God does with our lives. He doesn’t waste the fire. He uses it to transform us into something that carries His sound.

And when a life has been shaped by Him like that… silence can’t contain it.

Even the rocks would cry out. 

God is good. He is faithful. And He is worthy to be praised, not only for what He has done, but simply for who He is.