Cardboard testimonies

This morning we celebrated Jesus’ resurrection and victory.

God really moved in my heart today. My words fall short of how I felt. There was a great atmosphere for joy in the church but for some reason, I didn’t feel alienated and alone, like I usually do. It felt real. I felt hope and I felt the truth of the gospel shine in all the close spaces between us, brothers and sisters all, singing and dancing and clapping before God (clapping? Cheesy, I know). We had gone through the journey and tried to remember the suffering and hopelessness of Jesus’ death as the nails hung bloody on the cross. And today we were remembering the victory, the life, the hope that Jesus still has for us now. The hope - the knowledge - that he can change the world with his love. He could then and he can now.

I felt privileged to be part of a slot in the service where about a dozen of us shared what difference Jesus’ victory made in our lives. We shared our testimonies on cardboard. On one side, we wrote down what our life was like before Christ. Then we flipped the cardboard over to reveal what our life was like after finding Christ.

I had never heard of cardboard testimonies before. You can find videos of them being done in different churches, and perhaps I’ll be able to share a clip of ours sometime. It is an incredibly simple yet very powerful idea. I felt so honoured and grateful to have been a part of it, standing there with my brothers and sisters and being given the chance to bear witness to God’s grace in such a quiet but public way.

I thought that our cardboard tesimonies would be powerful and moving to the congregation in front of us, but I don’t think I realised what effect it would have on me. Standing there on stage, my life condensed into a few capitals on cardboard, while music played behind me, rejoicing in the love of God - I saw and felt and cried for God’s presence in my story. God’s footsteps on my path.

Testimonies have power not just for the receivers but the givers. They carry strong memories of God’s trace over our lives. And all of us need to be reminded, or we forget. We forget what God has done for us. We forget what our lives were like before God.

Sometimes it takes a few words and a piece of cardboard in your hands to see the truth.

A few people approached me after the service to thank me for being brave and sharing my testimony. I was grateful for their encouragement and love. But what meant the most to me was a lady who thanked me with tears in her eyes. I struggle with it too, she said. But I can’t share it with anyone. I don’t have anyone I can share it with. The person closest to me gets angry. Christians shouldn’t struggle with this, he says.

I think this is the reason why we need to be vulnerable, why we need to be open and unafraid. Even if what we are talking about might be frowned upon or shunned or avoided. Even if we may be mocked or rejected. It doesn’t matter. Because by being weak with each other, we can be strong together. We can lean against each other and get through the storms of life. And there are so many.

There are so many people who dream our dreams and shed our tears and feel our fears. Different people with the same scars and hurts. I wish we would do things like this more often, so that this lady I spoke to would know she is not alone, that she always has a hand to hold. That she is worth the fight.

I am grateful to God because when people told me I was brave, I realised that I didn’t feel it. Two months ago, I wouldn’t have been able to stand in front of a crowd of 400 odd strangers, admitting that I had - and still struggle with - a mental health issue. But this morning, it just felt like the thing to do. I believe in it, I thought to myself.

A few months ago, I signed a pledge for the mental health charity, Time to Change. I promised myself that I would speak out about my mental health problems. That I wouldn’t be afraid anymore to be honest, that I would do everything I could to combat the stigma in people and inside of me. So this morning was just a logical extension of this promise I made to myself. It wasn’t bravery. It was just acting in the truth.

When I reflect on this, I am grateful to God for bringing me from a position of self-stigma and shame to a position of self-acceptance and knowledge that God can heal. Knowledge that all of us are flawed and glorious jars of clay, broken and loved by God. Hope that God is working the every day, and there is nothing to be afraid of. That nothing that anyone says of me can prevail over what is right and true and good.

This Easter, I am grateful for Jesus’ life, death, and victory. I am grateful for what he has done with my life. And I am grateful for everything that is still to come.

(And in case you are interested, this is what was written on my piece of cardboard:
BATTLING DEPRESSION  NO HOPE  NO JOY
ALIVE TO LOVE GOD & OTHERS)