I was born Helena Crystal Duncan on July 4th, 1983, Independence Day. Independent I was.
Most of you may know me as Ruth or Ruthie. This is my testimony, the dreaded testimony. So many fears and insecurities have prolonged this testimony for quite a while now.
Under the close, close guides and guidance and nagging, I mean persevering wisdom of my dear, sweet mother, Elisha. Here it is, Ruthie’s testimony.
A Mother’s Love:
My memories of my life are scattered, but there are certain things and situations and people you never forget. My earliest and only memories of my mother are unfortunately not the best. My mother was a very broken woman that found solace in the comforts of undependable men and alcohol. I don’t know much about my mother or her trials and struggles that led her to become the shell of the woman that I painfully remember. I believe the Lord uses even our traumas to mold us into his liking and to draw us close to him. At a very young age, I was keenly aware that I was not alone, though I felt alone often.
I’ve always known Jesus was real, and no one had to teach me. My mother’s violent, random outbursts were the beginning of my total dependency on Jesus. When the person or persons that the Lord put over you as your guardian, your earthly mother and ather, the ones who are supposed to love you and protect you – what do you do when they turn on you? What do you do when you feel hated by the one who birthed you? I cried out to the Lord. Where else could I have turned?
When she beat me and my brothers and sisters with a metal crowbar, I cried to Jesus. When she stripped all of our clothes off to our complete nakedness and stood us outside in the snow on Christmas Day, I cried to Jesus. When I was hit in the head with a high-heeled shoe and saw my blood splattered on the ceilings of the room, I cried to Jesus. When she passed away while we were taking an afternoon nap, I cried to Jesus.
My life seemingly got worse each season after my mom passed. To my surprise as well, I thought: what a relief it would be not to live in fear another day. I loved my mother, but it was a love formed from fear and survival. It was not a mother’s love.
~ Sister Ruth.