by Sis. Linda Diane Randall

My name is Linda. I was born the second daughter of a New Jersey Pastor. Growing up we were taught the importance of prayer, never to take revenge and always to forgive so Jesus can always forgive us, and that Jesus is our foundation. The things our parents taught us would be forever with us.

In June of 1965, my parents were gruesomely killed. My sister and I, ages 12 and 11, had to go live with relatives. Eventually, we ended up in a very strange situation. We discovered that my father was previously married and had two children 15 years older than we were. We moved to Brooklyn, New York with my father's first wife and her family.

We were in a very different environment from the aesthetic one we had known. Suddenly, there were arguments, profanity, smoking, and drinking. We felt rejected. Where in this situation was God? However, I thanked God for this compassionate woman who took us in; the children of a man who had once deserted her and her two children years ago. She treated us well and taught us all that she could about life.

In my troubled state, I began to search for something to ease my pain. Inadvertently, I ended up in a cult that taught that the Black man was "god" and that Jesus was just a prophet and a messenger of a person called Allah. Because I was mad at Jesus for what I believed he had done, taking my father away, I gladly accepted this accusation against Him. First I trembled, but after a while I was able to deny the cross with no remorse.

At age fifteen, I ran away from home. I was raped by a cult member and ended up in the juvenile detention center. Here, I had my first exposure to a heroin addict kicking the habit "cold turkey", lesbianism, severe hatred, and the like.

By age nineteen, I had three children, no husband, and no God. Still a member of this cult I had converted an entire family, I was so proud! Jesus kept trying to let me know He was not going to leave me alone. He said to me one day, "Diane, I still love you. I promised your dad I would take care of you and I will." I cried out for Jesus to leave me alone. I hated my life and myself. I was still angry. I had not dealt with my anger against Him.

My life was going downhill fast. At age twenty, I left the cult and got a job. I was going to parties often. Using drugs more and more and drinking. I hated myself so much that I finally attempted suicide. Turning on the gas oven, I waited for death. It would not come, only a knock at the door. I would later discover that "death" had no authority over my life.

One day I had an idea that maybe if I were to get married my life would be better. My criteria for picking a husband was based on the way I lived my life. I met a man who was also an alcoholic and a drug abuser. We lived together for about one year before we were finally married. Foolishly, I thought that I could straighten out my life without God. I was increasingly miserable! He was no help for me and I was no help for him.

One night when he came home drunk, we began to argue. When he fell asleep, I thought to kill him. But in my anger I crashed my fist through the glass in the bathroom door and shredded my wrist instead. It was after this event that I had a desire to find out who this Jesus really was that I was rejecting. I kept feeling His presence from a distance. Although I kept saying leave me alone, He knew what my heart was really wanting. I decided each week that I would go out and search for a "good" church, a church where the Healer was who would heal my pain. My desire for inner healing increased, as did my curiosity for knowing who Jesus was. Going from church to church I became increasingly depressed, as I could find neither in any of the churches that I had visited.

Finally, after yet another drunken argument, I was beat up. There was rage and fire in his eyes. He did not stop until he saw blood. My three girls watched helplessly, screaming in terror. Then he choked me until I blacked out. I thought finally, I would die, but then, Jesus sweetly whispered, "This is not the way I want you to live. I have a better life for you than this." I prayed for death once again. It would not come. Again, "death" had no authority.

I left New York and moved to Maryland. For the first time, I believe I actually allowed God to influence the decisions of my life. I wanted to live right. No more drugs no more parties, no more promiscuity. I promised myself a new life. I failed myself again because I was only relying upon myself. My quest for Jesus began again. After visiting a couple of churches in the area I decided not to go to any more churches. I wanted only to study the Bible because I believed it to be true. The one thing that bothered me about churches was that they were not integrated, as I knew Heaven would be. I always believed that heaven would be a mixture of all of the people God had created, so I thought a true church would be the same. Besides, all of the churches I had experienced told me I was okay and I knew I was not. I still did not know who Jesus was nor did He know me, so I thought.

One night, after my feeble attempt for self-righteousness failed, I fell on my face and cried out to God. "Jesus, if you don't help me now I will have to take my life and you will have to find someone to take care of my (by then, four) children who will be left behind like I was. I really don't want them to suffer through life the way that I have. But I am inadequate to give them what they need because I can't even help myself. Jesus, I need truth. I need to know who you are and where you are. I need friends that are truthful. I am tired of the lies." The next week, a group of us were all sitting around smoking drugs, a knock came on the front door and I met Debbie. She invited us to a friend's house for a Bible study. Little did I know that this study was given by the same church that picked up my children for Sunday school. "Death" again had no authority or victory.

The things we studied in the Bible study were questions that I always had about the Bible and no one could ever answer for me. What I felt for in the other churches was present in this Bible study. Then, one day I found out I had to be re-baptized. I was only baptized in the titles and not the name, Jesus. But was there a difference? I had to know. My father had baptized me and his baptism was very special to me, especially since he was gone. But I had to have truth. Prove to me what was the mode of baptism that the apostles used.

Eventually, I had to go to the church to get baptized. Every message related to my life. I always believed and knew the Bible was real and was originally written in Hebrew and Greek. The pastor (Rev. CM Wright) would give us the Hebrew and Greek meaning of certain words and passages of scripture. The congregation was filled with Jews, Blacks, Whites, Hispanics, Greeks, Asians and other races of people. When I asked God to forgive me of all of my sins, and went under the water in the precious name of Jesus, I knew I had found what I had first denied and had been looking for! When Jesus filled me with His Spirit, the Holy Ghost, I was miraculously and instantly delivered of all drugs and alcohol dependencies. I now had a true desire to live a clean and holy life. I wanted to belong to Jesus! Most of all He wanted me! I now know and can worship freely, the God of my heart; the same God of the Hebrews of the Old Testament; the same God of the Apostles in the New Testament! You can too. I invite you.