“… for the accuser of our brethren, who accused them before our God day and night, has been cast down. And they overcame him by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony…” (Rev. 12:10-11)
Earlier this year, I listened to a message in which Chuck Pierce declared that 2015 would be “a year of your testimony exploding.” Scripture reveals the overcoming force inherent in our testimonies, so a prophetic word indicating that this is a season of power for these professions serves only to intensify their potential impact. Acting much like a magnifying glass, this declaration attracts and amplifies what God can do through testimony.
Everybody has a testimony—a story—which defines, shapes, moves or propels them. From a spiritual perspective, our stories might center on a salvation experience, a physical healing, an emotional breakthrough, or an encounter with the power of God. Mine is of the latter variety.
I was saved without fanfare as a young child—I don’t even remember the date. But as a wife and stay-at-home mom, some thirty years later, I was miserable. Outwardly, it appeared I had a comfortable life and lovely family, but inwardly, I was a mess.
By then I understood that youth was fleeting, that things did not bring happiness and—at least for me—being a Christian was not enough. I saw no personal victory and my prayers went unanswered. I had no peace; I had no joy.
Finally, having never really experienced the presence or power of God, I questioned if He even existed. I seriously contemplated suicide but didn’t take my life out of love for my family. I felt like an enormous failure, completely without hope.
My story hinges on the fact that I have three adopted children who each joined us when they were a few months old. But something seemed wrong with my middle child, our daughter. Or I should say, something seemed wrong with me. Ultimately, I decided I was to blame because everyone else seemed to get along with her except me.
I did try. And I did love her, of course. But it was so hard. By this point, she was almost thirteen years old, and it was Just. So. Hard. From the time she was a tiny baby, she rejected pretty much anything I said or did for her. She didn’t just seem to dislike me; she loathed me. She preferred to be at daycare, a friend’s house, school—anywhere except with me.
She told people things about me that weren’t true. She lied and stole, then told more lies about the lies she’d told. I had thought it would be easier. I had thought I would be kinder. It was not easy. I was not kind. I prayed and prayed and reached out for help in any way I knew how; nothing worked, and no one knew why. Even now, ten years later, it’s still hard to tell this part.
And then we heard of someone who might be able to come pray with us. It was suggested that our daughter might be influenced by the spiritual genetics of her birth parents. Of course they were referring to generational sin—something we had never heard of and would not have understood.
It could only have been God who caused me to agree to this type of ministry. This was way beyond my comfort zone, yet somehow I sensed the first glimmer of hope. The Lord revealed that an extremely strong generational curse of hatred from daughter to mother existed. Curses were broken, and we were set free.
Her behavior and demeanor towards me did a complete turnaround. Lying and stealing became things of the past, and the revulsion she previously displayed in my presence was gone. My heart’s cry to God for a “normal” daughter had been answered, and we now have an amazing relationship and appreciation for each other that I doubt we would have gained any other way.
This completely changed the course of my life. I was absolutely smitten by this God who had the power to restore hope and life. In short order, I became Spirit-filled, and later, ordained and launched into ministry. Because He gave me my life back, I am compelled to lay it down, choosing not to love my life to the death (Rev. 12:11b).
Recently, a photographer took our family portrait, and I had a large copy made for our home. After hanging it, I felt the Lord said He considered it a trophy in His trophy case.
I understood—it stands as a testament of His great love and healing power. Instead of a broken family, we are whole. Instead of being dead, I am alive. Even the family dog in the photo should have died, having been accidentally poisoned at one point.
But here we are. Alive. Restored. Passionate for God. No wonder Satan hates our testimonies!
Some Elements of Testimony
“Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all His benefits: who forgives all your iniquities, who heals all your diseases.” (Ps. 103:2-3)
- In the Old Testament, the word testimony comes from a word meaning “do again.” Hence, testimonies reveal what we can expect God to do again. Sharing our testimony encourages and imparts faith to others, and releases God’s power to perform similar acts or exploits.
- God is actually limited when we do not recount His acts of blessing and power. Psalm 78:40-42 reveal that Israel “provoked Him in the wilderness, and grieved Him in the desert… and limited the Holy One of Israel. They did not remember His power” (emphasis added).
- No one can argue the power of your testimony, and you don’t need to be a theologian to share it. I love the story in John 9 of the man born blind who was healed on the Sabbath. When called before the Pharisees to explain his healing, his response was both simple and profound—“One thing I know: that though I was blind, now I see.”
You do not need to understand God’s power—it is enough to “see” Him, believe, and worship (vs. 25, 37-38).
May the Lord bless you and cause your testimony to explode as you have opportunity to share it!