My Journey to God – October 2007

The cool air of October 7, 2007, carried the scent of damp earth as the first light of dawn seeped through my bedroom window. The gentle click of my alarm clock broke the silence, pulling me out of sleep. If someone had asked me what this day would bring, could I have ever imagined the answer? I do not believe anyone could. The only one who truly knows each day is the one who breathes life into us every morning.

I know many have their testimony, and how I wish I could read them all. It always brings joy to hear each and every testimony, no matter what it is. Yet, if I am being honest, I was skeptical that prayer could touch my body, let alone my heart. The fear of disappointment lingered, making it hard to believe fully. However, remember the words of Jeremiah 29:11, ‘For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.’ I hope that by sharing my testimony, you find joy in it and inspiration to start your journey with God. It is not difficult; we just make it that way. Let this serve as an encouragement; with faith, you too can overcome doubt and step into a new life filled with hope and promise.

Sunday, October 7, 2007, may have been an ordinary day for many, but it was the day my life truly began. It marked my birthday as a new creation and the death of my old self. How could this be? A few days earlier, I was on the phone with a close friend, talking about a current health issue. He asked me three questions. First: “Do you believe in God?” I quickly replied, “Yes,” without hesitation. I had always believed in His existence and in Him, but that was as far as it went. After this question, a quiet doubt whispered in my mind, questioning the depth of my faith. Next: “Do you believe God can heal you?” I hesitated briefly, then brushed it off and said, “Yes.” As I answered, I felt my certainty wobble like loose glass, exposing my fear and hope. Finally: “Do you want us to pray for you?” I answered, “Yes,” and with that, I felt a wave of peace and a leap of excitement in my heart. Each question stirred something deeper inside me, turning what had been a casual belief into a seed of profound faith. After I had answered, he said, “Let me call you back. I have to make some phone calls.” At first, I assumed they were work-related since he was on the clock at the time.

He called me back a little later and asked, “Can you come this Sunday?” He explained that he had made calls to ensure certain people would be there. I figured he had scheduled this prayer time just for me. He gave me the address and the time, and I said, “Okay.” From that day on, my heart began to view this Sunday not just as a gathering but as a small pilgrimage, a deliberate journey to a sacred encounter. The address he gave me felt like the place of turning, where the road would lead me closer to my spiritual rebirth. I felt a mix of excitement and anxiety, wishing the day would come sooner.

Saturday night, I laid out the outfit I planned to wear. I hopped on the computer, typed MapQuest into the search bar, entered the address, and printed the directions. I went over them a few times since I’m not familiar with that part of the city. I made sure to tuck them into my purse so I wouldn’t forget—losing them would definitely be a problem.

It was a restless night, even though I went to bed early. I felt both excited and overwhelmed, wondering what might happen. Would they know about the mistakes I’d made? Of course, I’ve never done anything truly awful, but we all have moments we regret and wish we could undo. As I lay there, I listened to the hush before sunrise, a quiet moment that contrasted with the turmoil inside me. I kept checking the alarm to make sure the volume was loud enough, just in case. After only a few hours of sleep, I woke up before it even went off. It was 7 a.m., and as much as I wanted to crawl back into bed, this wasn’t the day for that. It would be embarrassing to arrive late, especially since my friend had gone out of their way to let everyone know to be there.

I got out of bed, took a shower, and got ready. With a few hours to spare before I needed to leave, I planned to be in my car by 8:55 a.m. and on the road soon after. Even though it was only about 30 miles from the city where I lived, I wanted to allow extra travel time to make sure I arrived early. When it was time to go, I headed to the front of the house and stopped to check on my mother. She was awake, sitting on her bed. I told her I was leaving, and she said, “Okay, be safe, and God bless you.” She always gave us blessings as we left, but this time she actually said the words, which caught my attention. I smiled and replied, “Thank you, love you.”

I stepped out the door, and the moment I hit the porch, a headache came on suddenly. I kept walking to the car, hoping it would fade, but as soon as I got inside, it exploded into a migraine. The throbbing in my temples spread across my head, my eyes stung, and tears streamed down my face. I knew instantly there’d be no going anywhere. It was time to shut myself away in total darkness, blinds and curtains drawn, pillows piled over my head. I took medication that seemed to take forever to kick in, all while battling that irritating wave of nausea.

I turned the ignition on, still hoping to get to the church, but the pain was excruciating, and I could barely open my eyes. How could I drive like this? I might cause an accident. I shut off the car, opened the door, and then heard a small but vivid voice saying, “Go! Go! Go! Do not be afraid!” I listened, though I was still debating whether to leave or stay. I turned the ignition on again, then off, and decided to go back inside for some ice-cold water. Thankfully, we had bottled water in the fridge. I drank some and took another with me.

My mother heard me and asked what was wrong. I told her I just needed water, and she said, “Okay, go now, or you might be late.” I left, got in the car, but the migraine grew even worse, and the cold water didn’t help. I decided to send my friend a message to apologize for not making it, but as I typed, the voice kept urging, “Go! Go! Go! Do not be afraid!”

As the struggle between staying or going continued, I shifted the car from Park to Drive and moved forward. The drive became a constant tug-of-war between turning back and pushing ahead, but the voice in my head kept urging me not to be afraid and to keep going. My biggest worry was causing a major accident on the freeway, especially since I was relying on one eye to see the road, switching to the other when it became too irritated. Tears were streaming down my face, and though I stayed in the slow lane, there was still the risk of an accident.

I exited onto a street called Gilman and pulled over onto the shoulder before the stoplight, hoping I wouldn’t be pulled over for the illegal stop unless it looked like something was wrong with my car. After some relief and slightly clearer vision, I got back on the freeway. A few more miles ahead, I’d need to move to the far left lane to navigate the maze-like split. By then, the clock read 9:45 a.m., and I figured it wouldn’t be much farther once I got onto the I-580.

Just as I thought the migraine was easing, I suddenly felt feverish, chilled, and shaky. The nausea worsened, and I thought I might actually vomit while driving. There was nowhere safe to stop, so I pressed on, hoping to reach the split in less than a minute, get into the right lane from there, and maybe exit. At that point, I was determined to just head home—it was all becoming too much to handle.

Finally, the split in the maze came into view. With all the strange things happening to me, I didn’t think anything else could surprise me. At least my watery eyes had cleared up, and I could see better. I kept going, knowing that in a few seconds I’d be on Interstate 580. My plan was to enter the interstate and immediately move to the far right lane so I’d be in the slow lane, making it easier to exit if needed. But that didn’t happen. Just as I was about to merge, it felt like someone else took control of the steering wheel, guiding me into the right lane and onto the wrong interstate. There’s no way I would have done that, especially since I knew exactly where I was supposed to go. Switching suddenly wasn’t an option—I would have hit the big yellow drum, probably filled with water, between the split, and get into a major accident and others along with me, I was shocked and confused, and now I had to get over to the far lane quickly on I-880, so I could exit and figure out how to get back to the right freeway.

Maybe a skilled and seasoned author could turn this story into a thrilling movie, but I certainly couldn’t. Even though it was happening to me, it was baffling. I knew I-880 well, but the exits were unfamiliar. I rarely took them, mostly just drove through the area. I decided to take the nearest exit, turned on my right signal, and thought it would be easy to change lanes since there didn’t seem to be much traffic. But as soon as I tried, it felt like I was moving in slow motion, with cars suddenly appearing out of nowhere, speeding past so fast that I couldn’t switch lanes. Stuck in the far-left lane, I grew nervous and nauseous. This happened at every exit until I saw the San Leandro exit, nearing.

I let out a sigh of relief, recognizing this exit from my time living in this small town. I knew exactly how to get onto the I-580 freeway from here. I could breathe a little easier, even though the fever and chills had worsened, the migraine throbbed, and my eyes ached terribly. Still, the watery eyes were gone, and that was such a big relief.

Finally, I managed to change lanes and take the exit, and after leaving the freeway, I felt even more relieved. At a traffic light, I saw detour signs everywhere. I wanted to scream, but I just followed the cars ahead since everyone was taking the same detour. I didn’t mind too much because I-880 was on the right, which meant I’d eventually reach the main road, stop at a gas station, and ask how to get back onto the I-580 freeway. The traffic on the way to the main road was a nightmare. Classic cars were everywhere, with people having fun and shouting.

I spotted the gas station on the left, and by then it was already past 12:30 p.m. I figured everyone at the church had left, and I felt a bit embarrassed, but I still wanted to try to see if anyone was there. I pulled over at the gas station, only to find it closed. I called and texted my friend, but he didn’t answer. I just hoped he would eventually see my messages.

There wasn’t a single person on that main road, and as I looked for the freeway entrance, there was nothing. I ended up driving in circles for an hour, trying to find any way onto the freeway, but came up empty. By then, I was totally freaked out and had no idea where to go. Thankfully, I had a full tank of gas, because I couldn’t seem to find an open gas station anywhere at that hour.

Finally, my phone rang—it was my friend. I pulled over and answered right away, relieved to hear his voice as I frantically explained what had been going on. He said they were still waiting, and I told him I was on my way but couldn’t find the freeway entrance. He gave me directions, but as I followed them, I still couldn’t see it. “Wait!” he said, then went silent for about a minute before coming back. He guided me again to the same area I’d been circling, and suddenly, right in front of me, the freeway signs appeared. I was ecstatic and told him so before we hung up.

His instructions were simple: get on the freeway, look for Seminary Blvd., exit, keep going until I saw Foothill Blvd., make a right turn, and the Church would be on the left. I could park anywhere on the street. It sounded easy enough, so I kept my eyes on the freeway signs—first one said 1 1/2 miles, then the last one said 1/2 mile. As I drove, I realized the Seminary exit sign was no longer there, and I had stumbled into another nightmare. I took the next exit and called him. When he called back, I told him I was on MacArthur Blvd. He told me to get back on the freeway, take the next exit, make a right turn, and he’d stay on the phone until he saw my car. That worked for me.

I finally got out, and within minutes I saw Foothill Blvd., turned right, and spotted him standing in front of the building. We hung up the phone, and I had made it, but it was already after 1:30 p.m. I felt embarrassed for showing up hours late to the time they were supposed to pray for me. I parked across the street from the church, and even with the engine off, I still felt like going home because I was a mess and ashamed. I even started the car again to leave, but realized that would have been pretty foolish.

I looked at myself in the mirror, and I looked horrible. I thought to go to the bathroom and fix myself up, so I got out of the car, and as soon as I got in front of this little Church, on Foothill Blvd., Oakland, CA, something amazing happened.

The migraine was gone, along with the shaking, trembling, chills, fever, and nausea, though I still felt some lingering effects. As I approached the church door, an unexpected wave of peace washed over me, a tranquility that seemed to speak louder than words. It was as if something beyond my understanding assured me that I was exactly where I needed to be. This sudden calm, after hours of turmoil, felt like an embrace from God himself, reassuring and steadying. When I walked in, I planned to head to the restroom, but I noticed a woman speaking and didn’t want to interrupt, so I took a seat instead.

As I listened and watched the woman speak, she kept glancing at me with a smile. She seemed fierce in her words, and it made me feel awful. What she was talking about sounded like she was describing someone like me—how could she know? I wished I had chosen a seat all the way in the back so I could slip out unnoticed. I felt so ashamed and wanted to leave unnoticed.

There were only about six people in the church, and I figured everyone had already left since it was quite late in the day. When the woman finished her teaching, she walked toward the pews, and at that moment, my friend stood up and said, “Pastor, the young lady needs prayers.” She looked at me, smiled, and simply said, “Okay.” I was shocked and surprised at the same time, thinking he must have told them in advance that I was coming and needed prayers. Had I known, I probably would have stayed home, but I went along with it because I didn’t want to embarrass him since he had scheduled it for me.

As the congregation gathered around me, an overwhelming sense of peace and anticipation filled the room, amplifying the transformative power of prayer. The unexpected challenges I faced that morning dissolved in the light of this moment, hinting at the profound impact this prayer would soon have not only on my body but also on my soul. The story doesn’t end here; what unfolded next changed the course of my life in ways I couldn’t have imagined.