I am a Christian in every sense of the word. I belong to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, which might lead some readers to ponder if I can indeed be a Christian, but I assure you that I am. I was not always a member of the LDS faith, and in my youth, I bounced from Christian faith to Christian faith, trying to find the truth that God had for me.

My Childhood

I was not born to wealthy parents or extraordinary means. I was, instead, born to a mother who had suffered abuse at the hands of her former spouse. My mother had already had a child, my older brother, and she had already had him stripped away by the man that she had once loved. I was not of that man; honestly, I'm still not sure who my father is.

My mother was by no means a promiscuous woman; she had taken more abuse than any person should have to endure, and she was desperate for companionship. I believe that we are all desperate for this when it becomes hard for us to find, and no matter how good we might inherently be, none of us is above the lure of sin. My Mother was human, an imperfect mortal in an imperfect world, and to this day, I have a great deal of love for her.

A Step Father, Not a Father

About a year after my birth, she met a man who would forever change our lives. This man would become my stepfather and father to my younger sister. I don't remember him being a huge drinker, but he was violent to me and my mother nonetheless. As a toddler, it was not out of the norm for me to be beaten and kicked when he became angry. When my mother would intervene, he had no qualms about including her in his violence. I can remember being tossed across rooms, violently and relentlessly kicked, and smacked in the face.

My younger sister was born when I was two, and I have been told that this is when most of the violence began. He was never violent towards my sister, however. I was always the target of his aggression, and sometimes that was extended to my mother.

At the age of 4, I suffered sexual abuse at the hands of one of his friends who would babysit me and my sister from time to time. This abuse has triggered nightmares that have lasted even into my adulthood. I want to say that I have been completely healed of all of these pains, but I'm not sure that I will ever be able to say that in this life.

During my first year of elementary school, an incident had an even more enormous, lasting impact on my life. One evening, my stepfather became very angry with me after returning from school. I ran down the hall to escape him, and he came after me. I don't remember what caused this anger, but when I dream about it or remember it, he always carries something in his hand. A Large Wooden Paddle, a 2X4, or a bat, just something large and wooden.

I can see the anger in his eyes, sometimes as a red glow. I see him pull back to swing at me as if I were a ball hurdling at home plate in the ninth inning. I scrunch into a little ball and close my eyes, waiting for what will come. Instead, all I hear is a thud, and when I open my eyes, it is my mother who has stepped in the way to take the blow.

In an instant, he wiped away her college and most of her high school education. I don't remember everything that happened after that or how he managed to avoid prison time, but he remained free. My mother was later diagnosed as Pscitzophrenic with Bipolar Episodes. My uncle removed me from that home shortly after, and I went to live with him and my grandmother.

An Uncle, Not a Father

While no doubt living with them saved my life, it did nothing to repair the damage that had been incurred before getting there. My uncle was proud and had no idea how to parent a small child. I was never hugged, nor did I remember him telling me he loved me. He certainly fanned the flames of my interest in technology, but he was good at making it clear that he was my superior and that I would never be able to do what he did.

I believe he cared for me, and looking back, I realize he never really said that I would never be as good as him, but he certainly made me feel that way. When I would sing, he would tell me how bad I sounded and then show me that he sounded better. It was never as good as he could do if I wanted to play an instrument. I was never worth investing in by purchasing an instrument. In school, I was not as good as him if I did not score perfectly on my work. I can even remember spending hours memorizing spelling words, and if I got one wrong, I would have to write it 1000 times to ensure I did not screw up again.

I loved math and science and enjoyed studying technology, but I never enjoyed school. After being abused at home, it was easy for me to take abuse at school, and this made me a target for bullies. I would never fight back and often laughed at the bullies as my defense mechanism. In the fourth grade, I was often suspended for fighting, even though I never fought back. I guess that when the other students said I had hit them, and I said nothing in my defense, it meant that I was guilty.

I did have a friend in elementary school who would take my side. He was mentally slow but never judged me. Since his peers also put him down, we found solutions in each other's company. He was the bright side of an otherwise dismal experience until something in the fourth grade made me withdraw even more.

Some of the students started a rumor that I had said some sexually explicit things about a girl in our class, and this led to my being brought before the principal, who threatened to have me taken away by the police. After that, I no longer spoke to other children or tried to make friends. I remained in sight of teachers at all times so that I could never be accused of anything again.

In the fifth grade, it was decided that I was not fit to attend school with normal children, so I was sent to a school for social deviants and troublemakers. I returned to regular schools for junior high but was constantly engrossed in beatings that led to suspensions and failed years because of the number of suspensions. I was sixteen and in my last year of the eighth grade when I decided to pursue a GED and begin my college studies.

Religion and My Youth

My mother was not very stable for the rest of my childhood, and occasionally, I would go between living with her and living with my uncle. She must have tried every religion in the Christian spectrum, and I had the opportunity to learn from many as well. We tried catholicism, Jahovah's Witness, Pentecostal, Baptist, and many more.

I don't know when it happened, but at some point, I became very interested in avoiding hell. I remember trying to read the scriptures at a young age and having difficulty following what was being said. As I read, I used to look up the meaning of words in dictionaries, but even that left me bewildered at times. When I would ask a Sunday school teacher something complex, I was always told that all I needed to do was have faith and understand that some things are too complex for the human mind to understand. I never enjoyed receiving that answer.

By the time I attended junior high, I had developed a series of questions that I considered my litmus test of the truth of a religion. I had not, however, found a single teacher that could answer those questions.

In my adolescence, I made a few friends and attended several different churches. I finally found a youth group I could join and had friends in that group. It was the only place I enjoyed, but unfortunately, the leadership did not feel the same way about me. When I asked for help getting to Sunday services, I was told that I should consider a church closer to my home, and then they changed the age for their youth group, and I was out.

Let Him Ask of God

I was in a very dark place at the age of 12. I did not have any place that I felt I belonged in. I contemplated suicide but was always too scared of hell to go through with it. I remember praying one night that if God loved me, or if anyone did, then prove it. Give me a way out.

In May, I turned 13 and started summer school to get into the next grade. In one of my classes, a girl changed my life forever. The was fit for the popular crowd and had been warned that talking to me was social suicide, or at least I would assume that to be the case. Still, she approached me in one of our classes and invited me to attend youth services at the church.

I don't recall how long I thought about it before I went, but I do recall what I felt. All of the children my age immediately welcomed me. It felt like we had been friends for eternity, and it was terrific. So much so that I continued riding my bike each week 5 miles to attend. One of the benefits of having my mother was that I rarely had to explain where I was going or what I was doing.

Within a couple of months, I began attending Sunday Services. I remember being in one of my Sunday School classes and asking one of my questions for the first time. I asked, "If God created the world and everything in it, who created God?". I think this was a retort to whether I believed what was being taught. I liked being there but was also anxious to find a reason to leave before I was emotionally invested.

I did not receive that reason. Instead, I received an answer: "As we are, he once was, and as he is, we can become." I pondered that answer for a long time. I was stunned by the plainness of it and taken by the authority with which it had been spoken to me.

A Family

Later, as I prepared to leave the building and return home, I met someone who possibly had the most significant impact on my life. I called her mother today, but she was the girl's mother who had extended my first invitation. She asked where my parents were, and I did not have a good answer. The conversation ended with a mandatory ride home in her van, and from then on, I always had a ride to church events.

I began taking missionary lessons and eventually joined the church. I still wrestled with emotions and choices, and I even came close to taking my own life at one point. I went on to attend college and then became a student at the Clearfield Job Corps Center in Clearfield, Utah. I sold magazines door to door for a while and then wound up homeless in Salt Lake City. I slept for two weeks under a tree in Pioneer Park.

At this point, I had fallen from the Gospel and had difficulty. Even in that state, God was with me. He sent his angels to minister to me, opening doors I could have never seen. I was eventually led to attend church, primarily out of desperation for help that I did not believe I deserved. Still, God was there, and he saw me. He knew me.

My Testimony

I could speak for endless hours about the Grace of God and what it has done in my life, but suffice it to say that he loved me so much that he sent his son to die on the cross to redeem me. Not me, as one in a million, but as an individual. He knew me then as he knows me now, complete with all my mistakes and imperfections. His light extended to guide me back to his gospel, even in my dark holes.

He loved me so much that he offered to meet me where I was and carry me the rest of the way. He fought for me, even when I buried my head in the sand and refused to follow him. He single-handedly took the mess of my life and gave me purpose.

So, to that end, I testify that he is the everliving God and that Jesus Christ is his everliving son. I testify that Jesus was crucified for my sins, your sins, and the world's sins, not in an impersonal, counts-for-all sort of way. But in a personal way, having known us all kind of way, where he shared the pain of every sin from every man since Adam all in one moment.

He suffered pain and anguish in the garden as the guilt from all of us was transferred to his body, and then he carried that pain to the cross and then to the grave, where he buried it forever. Like most of my Latter-Day Saint friends, I focus more on the garden than the cross, but I think that we can all agree that the most important thing that Christ did was rise from the grave and secure eternal life for all of us.

Such love and devotion have never been recorded on this earth, and because of it, it is clear that our purpose is eternal. Our worth is not based on what we accomplish or how much money we have. It is based on who we are—Litteral Children of an Eternal God, our Heavenly Father. Nothing that we can ever do will ever change that.

We are indeed saved, and the only question remains is what we are saved for. What can we do to show our gratitude for this eternal saving?

I bear my testimony that the Gospel is true. Our savior died for our sins and was resurrected on the third day, securing eternal life for all of mankind. I bear my testimony that Christ is the center of the LDS Faith and that he plays an active role in all of our lives. He sets about creating plans and putting them in motion, far exceeding anything we can imagine for ourselves. I testify that he and our heavenly father care significantly about us.

Finally, I Testify that if you are living in conditions like those I mentioned in this article, God has a better plan for you. Even if you feel like you are not worth it, he is still there trying to guide you. His hand is forever reaching out and willing to pull us from our dark places. You are not alone, and most of all, you are loved.

I leave this with you in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.

The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints
Suicide Prevention and Ministering