I am amazed at the stories that we live and live through. Cristynn came to a Collide and felt a desire to share her story. She has been through so much and yet at every corner, there was a thread, a theme, a continual beckoning. In all the pain and confusion, she heard two words over and over again. Read her story and be encouraged by the same voice that spoke to her, speaking to you. -Willow
She was 6 years old when her mother said to her, “I don’t love you! I don’t know how to love you!“. The little girl ran to her room and sang, “Jesus loves me, this I know…“.
“Come home, my child. Come home!“
At 11, she hid behind the sofa as a man beat her mother. Rocking her dolly, the little girl cried out to Jesus, “please take me to heaven to be with you!“.
When she was 13, her mother’s boyfriend climbed into her bedroom window and fell upon her legs. She was so afraid that when she tried to cry out for help, no sound could be heard. The man called her mother’s name and she came. Leading him from the girl’s room, the woman looked at her and smiled. The girl felt no comfort, no peace. She laid there and cried as she breathed in the remaining fumes from the man’s alcohol-filled body. Lonely, so lonely.
“Come home“, whispered the voice of peace and comfort, “come home.“ She begged the voice to bring her home.
At 14, she lay on the cold bathroom floor, as a party raged on outside the door. Crying and covered in blood, she pleaded with God to bring her home. Her life had become too painful.
At 15, she stood before the judge. “Emancipation? What’s that?” She took the $300 “gift” from her mother and bought a bus ticket, a sheet of acid, a blanket and an apple. “Oh God! Protect me!”
The city streets were a cold and scary place. The cardboard box held no heat and her money from the drugs had run out. A man asked her to be his runner. She accepted. At 16 she was the youngest pimp the city had ever seen. She made it! She was off the streets that tried to claim her! “Lord, forgive me!”
“Oh My love, come home!“
A year later, she delivered her babies. One would die holding the others pinky, as she held them tightly under her gown. “Oh God! Oh God! Take me, Lord! Save her and take me! Not my baby, God! Please! Not my baby!”
A year later, at 18 years old, she was delivering another baby. A beautiful baby girl to add to her little family! The father told her, “that’s not my child!” She cried alone in the hospital room. “Lord, can you hear me? Help him to trust me!”
“Come home! Come home!“
She left the city with a blackened eye, no drivers’ license, $700 and two tiny children. She drove the U-Haul as far as her money would take her. New Orleans became her temporary home. But he found her and took her home. She was 21 years old and carrying another child. Soon, a boy was born! Hallelujah!
“I love you“, he said, “I’ll take care of you.” Biting. Hitting. Kicking.
Hair pulling. Slapping. Pinching. “Forgive me,” he begged.
Stitches. Plates and pins. Tortures beyond comprehension. “God! Jesus! Take me home to You! Just let me die!”
“Come home! Please hear Me and come home!“
She took her children and ran to the Bible belt. At last! Safety!
“Salvation is free!,” said the preacher at the little church on the corner. “Jesus? I need You!”
“Hallelujah! You’re home!“
Two years pass and a woman on the phone says ,”They found her body today. Your sister is dead.”
“God? Why? Why?”
“Leave me alone!”
Two years later and the SWAT team is removing him from her home. New names, new place and they are safe. She clings to the party life with her new friends to cover her pain.
The gun is at the door! “I want you all dead!”, He says. She takes her kids and runs! Canada bound!
Another new name, new numbers, new home. She is safe, secure, and supported!
“Come on by the church one day,” said the little southern preacher! She entered the church. She hears, “Hello!”, “How are you?“, “Welcome!” The alter opens and she takes back her First Love!
She is found! She is remembered! She is redeemed! She is forgiven! She is free! She is me!
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