My testimony begins thirty-one days before Sukkot when the Father put it on my heart that I must fast for the whole month. At this point in my life, there was so much growing that was happening, and I was excited — I still am — to grow some more. You see, the Father was working on my heart.

The months before September involved life-changing decisions of things I did not bother to change before in my walk.

By now, I was expecting big changes; I just did not know what.

A few days into the fast, the enemy really put the heat on with all the thoughts that were coming into my mind. In the past, I would have watched a movie or played a strategy game; but, the month before, the Father had shown me that for the last 5 years of my life, I had been worshipping those things instead of Him.

So when the attacks came hard, I had no idea how to fight them, and this time I had no way of shutting out the sexual abuse from the past.

After fellowship on Shabbat the day before, I was in my kitchen with the phone when Satan whispered that I was disgusting and dirty and the Father can never use me because I am too broken to be useful and that I would only grow up to be an abuser to my own siblings who I love and have helped raise.

When that last comment went out, I was determined never to do that, so I went to the counter and found a pain pill bottle and swallowed the pills hoping it would finish the job with no hesitation.

I decided to take my final hours on my closet floor, lying there for at least two hours. I wept, I prayed, I repented, and eventually felt worse than before because now I had to live with myself knowing I had failed at suicide.

For the next six days, I had nothing else in mind. The following Sunday, my mom planned a party to celebrate my sister’s graduation from Catechism. By the end of the party, I was hoping to go home early, so I asked my mother if we could leave earlier than expected, and she agreed only if I was willing to move all the unopened soda boxes to the truck.

So one by one, I did it alone, going through an unlit part of the building and used the opportunity to pray quietly, lifting my hopes up. Believing that I was almost finished, I turned and saw a man peeing on the wall, which opened up a suppressed memory.

I loaded the last box and sat on it and broke down and begged God that if He had any love for me, He would take me home because I had no strength anymore.

Then I heard a voice say, “Lay it at His feet,” so I began to pray according to those words.

Waking up early in the morning and aiming to go to the bathroom, I discovered my mom comforting my youngest brother, and it looked like he had possibly broken his hand when he fell while playing with the other children. She gave him to me so she could get ready to go to the hospital with my step-dad.

Holding him there in the living room, I decided to pray for his healing, although in my mind, I was wondering if God would listen to me after all I had done, would he heal him??

But I had to try, and so after looking around at all the Catholic images, I began to pray, “Yehovah, in the midst of these gods, glorify your Name!” My brother stopped crying, and my parents came back ready to leave and were shocked that he was no longer crying. I went back to sleep, and when I woke up, I no longer held in my soul the reproach of the past because He had healed me from it. I learned to forgive myself and just to lay it all at His feet, every mountain I come across.