Teena Myers

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I had become ambivalent about organized religion. The sweetest time in my Christian life had been the first six months before I walked into a church. If I had not had that time with God, the abusive treatment by church leaders would have destroyed my faith.

My personal devotions kept my faith in God strong. The Bible is filled with stories of people who wrap themselves in God to justify the evil they do. The Apostle Paul warned the Ephesian church, “I know that after my departure savage wolves will come in among you, not sparing the flock; and from among your own selves men will arise, speaking perverse things, to draw away the disciples after them (Acts 20:29—30 NAS95).” These wolves use human wisdom “full of bitter jealousy and selfish ambition,” which wound many (James 3:14—16 NAS95). My experience with wolves in sheep’s clothing strengthened me because it proved to me the accuracy of the Bible and the veracity of God’s claim that there is one God, and no one like him.

When my stepfather died, my mother returned to her house that had been occupied by various family members. Our next church was a practical decision. We found a church near her house so we could visit on Sunday afternoons to be sure she had everything she needed. Rory quickly found a place of ministry in our new church, but, as usual, there was no place for me.

God could have easily made a place for me in the church. Instead, he made a place for me to write, so I turned my attention to NOLA’s faith blog. The story of my sister’s long battle with drug abuse became my first entry on the faith blog.

 Even though Lori and I had attended the same church, she never found freedom from the addiction that destroyed her. In a drug-induced stupor, she sat in the bathtub, turned on the hot water, and passed out. My mother found her in a tub of scalding water with fifty percent of her body severely burned. After six months in a coma, an infection destroyed her vital organs. The death certificate said “renal failure.” My sister died as she had lived – in pain but not in vain.

When we were children, Lori walked to a Baptist church. She later told me that she did so for the cookies and juice. After our family moved to New Orleans, we were swept into the local drug culture.

When I converted to Christianity, Lori followed me to church. Our father did not understand our zeal for God and spat with disgust, “I’d rather have a daughter on drugs than involved in this Jesus stuff.” Lori fulfilled his desire and returned to the immediate gratification drugs offered. To our father’s distress, she did whatever she pleased until her unrestrained lifestyle resulted in her incarceration.

I thought God had given up on Lori, but I was wrong. Shortly after she was released from prison, she obtained a respectable job in a hospital. How could that happen without divine intervention? Lori mastered her craft and received letters of accolade from her employers. She gave birth to a beautiful daughter and lived to give her only child the best she could afford. She even returned to church.

God had not given up on Lori, but she had built her house on shifting sands. She served God as many immature Christians do – to obtain what they desire. Lori desired God to release the man whom she loved from a life sentence in prison. After ten years of believing for a miracle, Lori lost hope. She interpreted an unfulfilled desire as “God doesn’t love me” and abandoned the church.

I thought God gave up on her, but I was wrong. He spared her from drug overdoses and numerous automobile accidents. Death knocked at her door so many times, she acknowledged only God could be keeping her alive. Lori thought God repeatedly spared her life because he loved me. She couldn’t have been more wrong.

God returned her to a place of sanity, and a college hired her to be my husband’s secretary. How does someone with an eighth-grade education survive the scrutiny of PhDs without divine intervention?  I marveled at the depth of God’s love, but what had become clear to me, Lori could not see. God loved Lori.

A path littered with wounded people struggling to forgive you makes it difficult to find your way home. When Lori showed signs that old demons had returned, I thought surely God had given up on her this time. Once again, I was wrong.

Carol interpreted for the Deaf in the classroom next to Lori’s office. From the moment they met, the urgency to pray for Lori pursued Carol twenty-four hours a day: in the middle of the night, while she was in the shower, cleaning house, or driving down the highway. One morning on her way to work, Carol said, “God, if you want me to pray for Lori today let her come out of her office to drink a cup of coffee, or smoke a cigarette, or go to the bathroom.” When Carol pulled into the parking lot, Lori came out of her office holding a cup of coffee, lit up a cigarette, and was on her way to the bathroom.

Lori slipped into depression as her addiction returned. She lost her job at the college, checked herself into the psych ward and emerged to be hired by a doctor. The doctor offered her more money than she requested, with the promise of a generous increase after some initial training. Everyone on his staff was a Christian. Lori had every reason to be encouraged. 

She called me frequently. We talked about God. She talked about regrets and mistakes. She longed for the days when she went to church on Sunday and intercessory prayer on Monday. I invited Lori to spend the weekend with me and witnessed a different person. I believed she was sincere about changing her ways and hoped she would succeed. She didn’t.

Free will is a blessing or a curse perched precariously upon the choices we make.  Similar to Israel in the wilderness, Lori and I ate the same spiritual food and drank the same spiritual drink (1 Corinthians 10). I heeded the Bible’s admonition to flee from sin. She enjoyed its pleasures and reaped the consequences of her choice.

For most of Lori’s life, I thought God had given up on her. I stared at her lifeless body lying serenely in a casket at perfect peace, knowing that he never did. Lori lived in pain but not in vain. She taught me what my finite mind could not imagine—the infinite depth of God’s love.

I followed the testimony about my sister with diverse entries: a video, a devotion, stories of answered prayer, and news about church events. To keep the blog fresh and interesting, I requested permission from other writers to share their material. Posting articles months in advance of their release made the blog manageable as I looked for my niche in writing.

TO BE CONTINUED…