Author Katie James-Lawson

I need to tell you something, and I need to tell it honestly, because there was a time in my life where I did not believe God could ever love somebody like me.

I did not grow up knowing Jesus. I did not grow up with prayer covering my home or Scripture being spoken over my life. God was something distant to me. Something people talked about on Sundays but not something I truly knew. There were moments throughout my life where I thought maybe I could have a relationship with Him, but every time I started to reach toward God, something would happen that made me pull my hand back.

Then I got married.

He claimed to be a godly man. We went to church. We sat in pews. We lifted our hands when everybody else lifted theirs. On the outside it looked righteous. It looked holy.

But behind closed doors, it was hell.

For nine years I lived in abuse so deep that even now I struggle to find words big enough for it. Think of the worst thing you can imagine and double it. Every wound, every bruise, every manipulation, every fear-filled night came wrapped in religion. He used God like a weapon. Used Scripture like chains. Everything he did to me he justified by saying, “God told me,” or “This is God’s will,” until eventually I stopped seeing God as a Father and started seeing Him as a monster.

I did not know the voice of Jesus.
I only knew control.
I only knew fear.
I only knew survival.

And when I finally escaped that marriage, I did not run to God.
I ran from Him.

I sprinted into darkness with everything I had in me because I thought darkness was safer than a God who would allow me to suffer like that. I wanted nothing to do with Christianity. Nothing to do with church. Nothing to do with believers.

I jumped headfirst into witchcraft and swam in it for years.

That darkness became home to me because pain will make you feel safer in chains you recognize than freedom you do not understand.

Then I met the man who is now my husband. And one of the reasons I felt safe with him was because he was not a believer either. There was no pretending. No fake holiness. No manipulation hiding behind Bible verses.

But God…
Oh, God never stopped watching me.

Even when I was running.
Even when I was drowning.
Even when I was angry at Him.
Even when I was deep in darkness.
He never took His eyes off me.

One night, my husband was going through an incredibly hard time. The weight in our home felt unbearable. I remember sitting in a room with all of our children, and for the first time in over twelve years, something inside me finally broke open.

I fell to the floor and cried out to God.

Not polished prayers.
Not church prayers.
Not pretty prayers.

I mean ugly, broken, desperate prayers.

The kind where your face is wet with tears and your chest hurts and your words barely make sense.

For hours I sat on that floor crying and begging God to help me.

And then suddenly…

Peace.

Not ordinary peace.
Not emotional relief.

I mean supernatural peace.

In an instant my entire body became warm. It felt like someone wrapped their arms around me and held me while warmth poured through my body. The shaking stopped. The crying stopped. I could breathe again.

For the first time in over a decade, my mind became quiet.

Do you understand what I’m saying?

For years I had lived in fight or flight. My body had become a prison of fear and survival. I did not know how to rest. I did not know how to feel safe. But in one moment, God touched me, and every wall inside me became still.

Nobody can ever convince me God is not real because I felt Him.
I KNOW I felt Him.

And the next morning my husband walked up to me and said he was done drinking.

Done.

No program.
No forcing.
No slow process.

He laid it down.

And to this day he has not touched another drop.

That was the beginning.

I started seeing Jesus everywhere after that. In little things. In quiet moments. In the way our home felt different. In the way my heart felt softer. But I still had one foot in and one foot out. I was still afraid to fully surrender because I did not know if I could trust God completely.

Then a month later, someone I deeply looked up to was taken from this earth in a horrific way.

And something inside me shattered.

Life suddenly felt fragile. Eternity suddenly felt real. And I remember realizing that I could keep running from God, or I could finally fall into His arms.

That day I surrendered my life completely to Jesus Christ.

Not halfway.
Not casually.
Completely.

I went through my house and purged every dark thing. Every occult object. Every doorway I had opened to darkness. Gone.

I bought a Bible.
I started reading.
I started praying.
I started learning who Jesus really was instead of who broken people told me He was.

And if you ask my husband what happened to me, he will laugh and tell you,
“I went to bed one night with Wednesday Addams and woke up the next morning to Martha Stewart.”

And honestly?
He is not wrong.

Because Jesus changed EVERYTHING.

My wardrobe changed.
My language changed.
My heart changed.
My character changed.
The way I loved my husband changed.
The way I mothered my children changed.
The way I carried myself changed.

I suddenly wanted to pour into my home instead of escape it. I wanted peace instead of chaos. I wanted purity instead of darkness. I wanted God in every corner of my life.

But let me tell you something the church does not always say loudly enough:
when you leave darkness behind, hell notices.

The devil fought me hard.

Literally a week after surrendering my life to Christ, my car blew up while we were driving. Blew up. And I went nine months without a vehicle.

The attacks came.
The hardships came.
The testing came.

But hear me when I say this:

NOT ONE TIME DID I GO BACK.

Not once.

Because when Jesus pulls you out of a pit you thought would become your grave, you do not miss the chains anymore.

I had already seen what darkness does.
I had already lived empty.
I had already tried life without God.

And none of it compared to the peace of Jesus Christ.

Now everything I do is for Him.

Everything I say.
Everything I write.
Everything I build.
Every breath in my lungs.

It all belongs to Jesus.

Because He found me in the darkest place imaginable and He delivered me.

I was abused.
I was broken.
I was angry.
I was deceived.
I was buried in darkness.

And still…
He came for me.

That is the kind of Savior He is.

He is not afraid of your darkness.
He is not intimidated by your past.
He is not shocked by your pain.

He walks into graves and calls dead things back to life.

And if He could save me, He can save anybody.

I am living proof that Jesus Christ still heals.
Still delivers.
Still restores.
Still resurrects.

The enemy thought he had me.
But God had the final word.