But, I don’t have a testimony…

My hands were sweaty as it neared my turn.

The leader of our group had asked that we all share our brief testimony with the rest of the group.


But, I don’t have a testimony. 

Or, rather… I don’t know what my testimony is. 

I was one of those people that had grown up in the church. I naturally had an eager-to-please spirit, never rocked the boat, and gladly accepted Christ young. What was my testimony?

I love Jesus? 

Yep, that was about it.

My nerves only grew as others began sharing how God had helped them overcome fears, broken families, faltering health, and failed dreams. They’d seen dark times, but now seemed so joyful, so sure of their story.

I, however, was not.

I felt my throat tighten up as my brain scrambled for something, anything, that might make it sound like I had a story, too. But, I couldn’t think of anything. I felt inferior. I felt unimportant. I felt… boring. My story was boring. I had nothing to share. Nothing to offer. Nothing to say.

Oh, how the devil loves to convince us of that. He loves to belittle our triumphs over him. He loves to derail our enthusiasm, causing us to believe that our stories don’t matter.

You see, I did have a story. I had a dozen different stories. Only, I didn’t realize they were worthy of sharing, worthy of stealing a few precious moments out of somebody else’s life. I didn’t know what my testimony was, because up until that point, I hadn’t lived through anything BIG.

But… I had lived through many things small.

Failed friendships, rocky experiences, and moments that challenged me mentally, emotionally, and physically.

I did not get through those alone. I couldn’t. I had to rely on the strength of Christ.

And that, as simple as it is, is testimony.

In reality, we all have numerous little testimonies. But, we often only highlight the big ones. All the while wondering if they’re “big enough” worth sharing.

I can assure you, they are.

Sometimes, the most simplest of stories can be the most relatable. The most needed. If your dog went missing when you were twelve, and you spent the entire day ping-ponging back and forth between crying and searching, crying and searching, you understand the feeling of loss. You understand the feeling of fear at what may have happened. You understand the feeling of helplessness. You understand the power of love.

It may not feel like a big story, or something worth sharing. But maybe that was the first time in your life that you realized you needed to enlist the help of God. If your puppy never made it home, maybe you whispered your first plea for God to heal your broken heart.

If God was invited into the situation, you have a story. Because God is a God who hears and cares. He waits for us to seek Him, and acknowledge His presence. And loves when we ask if we may tap into His power. And when we do, He does not sit stagnant. He moves. He orchestrates. He helps us. He heals.

Maybe He healed a broken bone. Or maybe it was a broken heart. Maybe it was a broken dream, or maybe it was as simple as fixing a broken car.

The point is, God heals. He meets us at a place of hurt, and carries us to healing. 

If you’ve ever been hurt, and sought out Christ, then friend, you have a story.

And that story is worth sharing.