A Personal Testimony

By Grace Mitchell

My name is Grace Mitchell. I moved to Ohio in 2018 to join my sister at Cedarville University in pursuit of a BA in Linguistics. My small hometown church in Neptune Beach, Florida, sent me off with high hopes of me joining the mission field as soon as I graduated. Everything in my life up until then was about missions. It had been for years. By age 20 I had gone on four different missions trips all around the world, some of which were weeks and even months long. “To live is Christ, to die is gain,” was my life’s maxim.

The problem, though, lay in the fact that the last part of that verse was more appealing than the first. See, clinical and chronic depression has followed me around like a dark, dreadful cloud for as long as I can remember. I didn’t want to live, but I figured if I did enough, if I gave it my all, then God would still be happy. I spent my entire childhood and young adulthood in church pretending I loved all of it, but I never even loved myself. How could God possibly love me if I hated the very life He gave me?

But on I pressed. I did everything I was “supposed to;” I was actively involved in a church while in college, I volunteered, I served, I made connections that would help me get to the field, everything. And it wasn’t enough.

My third year of college, I endured a series of traumas that ripped my world apart. A close family member passed away, and my sister and I had to care for her daughter while it happened. At the same time I was sinking into what I now know was an abusive relationship, and survived sexual assault by that man- a man I went to church with and served alongside. It all broke me, beyond what I believed I could repair, and in April of 2021 I attempted to take my own life. I begged God to forgive me, but when the next day came, I no longer cared if He did. I no longer cared about any of it.

How could I have done everything right, and be brought to the lowest point I could possibly imagine? Where was God when I needed Him the absolute most? How could He have abandoned me like that?

I didn’t want to think about it, it hurt too much, so I walked away. Away from Cedarville, away from church, away from it all. For two years I attempted to piece myself back together on my own. The only time I prayed was to cry and to yell at Him, the only time I talked about Him was out of anger. During that time, I did get better. I began to heal, I found confidence in myself, and I learned to like who I had become.

Something was still missing, though, and I knew what it was. I just didn’t want it. I reached out to a couple who had served in the youth ministry in my church in Florida and had recently moved to Indiana, and they invited me to stay the weekend. They listened to me, to everything I had endured, everything I was feeling, and didn’t tell me what I should do. They just listened, and through their receptive hearts and comforting home they provided a safe haven for my soul.

I knew there had to be more people out there like them, and slowly I began to hope that I could find them, that they would accept me, and that I could find meaning in my faith again. The only problem was that I worked weekends. I decided to dig around, though, and see if I could find a house church that met during the week. New Community Church popped up first, so I sent out a couple emails and decided that if I didn’t hear back, at least I tried. Maybe I’d try again later, maybe not.

Fortunately, I did hear back, from a Jay Jackson. He said his house church was meeting for dinner that Wednesday night and they would love to have me.

Wednesday came and timidly I approached the house, buried the urge to turn around and go right back home, and knocked. I was greeted by a dozen smiling faces, and over the course of this last year those smiling faces restored my belief in a loving and caring God. They loved practically, they cared unconditionally, and took me in just as I was. I allowed myself to be truly vulnerable to this small and faithful church for the first time in my life. Just a few months in to knowing them, it came about that I needed a major surgery, a scary one that would leave me completely helpless for weeks. Not one person in this group left me to fend for myself; I don’t think they would’ve let me if I tried. Every need was met above and beyond, just as I had seen them do for others.

My recovery was painful, but this time I knew beyond a doubt that I was not alone. And I will never be alone. I belong to the family of God, and that means no one gets left behind. I believe it now, that nothing can separate you from His love and He will never, ever let you go. There is no depth or darkness too heavy for God to carry. He welcomed me back home, and this Easter I was baptized into a new life filled with a confident assurance in Him, in His word, and in His purposes.

I may never know why everything that happened to me happened and I may never find complete healing on this side of Heaven. I do know, though, that it led me here to this church, where I was able to see the light again, and I pray when the time comes, I will have the strength and courage to pass on all this church has given me. And If my story helps even one person find hope that they, too, have not fallen too far, it will all have been worth it.