VL - Issue 43- April 22

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PUT DOWN THE WALLS THE STORY OF MARY BETH BAREFOOT It’s a blessing to be raised in the knowledge of Jesus and His love. It’s even more of a blessing when you receive it for yourself. That’s when God’s love heals and changes you. I was a preacher’s kid who, from the age of six, led worship. I stood on a stage with a microphone in hand and sang my little heart out. Every family activity revolved around the church. From the outside, our life seemed good. Our family did what church people were supposed to do, especially in serving others. But behind closed doors, our home life wasn’t so perfect. My mom was my best friend, and we had a great relationship. My father was a good man, but he often brought chaos into our home. Dad could be such a godly and gentle man, then suddenly become angry and harsh. Years of violent seizures brought on by epilepsy had impacted my father’s mental state. It seemed that each episode took a part of my father with it. Dad was a church planter, and when I was 11, our family moved to North Carolina to start a new church. We moved into a tiny house with thin walls, and I could hear every word my parents spoke. Some days, they argued for hours. The discord between them was unnerving. Due to his condition, Dad wasn’t supposed to drive. But he was stubborn and refused to hang up his keys, even though he’d had several accidents. Trips to the hospital were routine for our family, but somehow, he always emerged unscathed. And then, when I was 12 years old, Dad was in another car accident. At first, I wasn’t worried. “He’ll be okay,” I thought. He always made it home. But I soon learned that Dad wasn’t coming home—he had been killed instantly. News of his death turned my life upside down. Daddy was gone, and although life with him hadn’t been easy, I couldn’t imagine living without him. 26 Issue 02 / 2022 VICTORIOUSLIVINGMAGAZINE.COM
PHOTO BY OPENDOOR CHURCH All I could think of was our last interaction. We had argued that morning, and although I couldn’t remember our exact words, I knew they weren’t good. And now I would never have the chance to make it right, to say I was sorry, or to tell him goodbye. I felt paralyzed with shame. My mother was overcome with grief. She’d loved my father, even though their relationship had often been strained. They had been married for 24 years, and now he was gone. I hated seeing her suffer, and suddenly feeling responsible for her well-being, I decided I would be a solid anchor point for her from that day forward. That’s an enormous burden for a child to carry. Being an anchor required me to stifle my own grief. I was determined not to be a burden for anyone, especially Mom. So I put a smile on my face and went back to leading music at church. I did my best to ignore how I felt. I didn’t tell anyone about my pain. In fact, I didn’t even cry for a whole year. But inwardly, I was asking questions primarily directed at God. “Why are things like this? Why did Dad suffer from seizures and have to die? Why does Mom have to raise me alone?” And then there was the big question: “Why did You do this to me, God?” I couldn’t imagine any reason other than I must have done something wrong. Surely God was punishing me. My shame increased as I decided my father’s death must be my fault. These questions echoed in my heart daily, and when I didn’t get any answers, a seed of anger took root. Over time, my heart hardened toward God. I never doubted God’s existence, but the more I thought about Him, the less I believed He actually loved me. Bitterness took hold. Soon my young mind had concluded that God was just some guy in the sky who had killed my dad. I remembered the verse about the Lord giving and the Lord taking away. He had taken away, all right! For two years, I stewed privately. Isolation, coupled with anger and shame, can take a person down a dark road—even a child. I allowed steep walls to close me in emotionally, but few people noticed. At the age of 14, I imploded. I became depressed and suicidal. I began inflicting self-harm through cutting. Outside of the home, I put on a good front. After all, aren’t church people supposed to act like everything’s okay? That’s what had been modeled in all the churches I had attended. It seemed shameful to not be okay. Plus, I didn’t want all those self-righteous people judging me. The one person I couldn’t fool, though, was my mom. She saw through my façade. I was deathly afraid to be apart from her, so I stayed as close as I could. What if God decided to take her too? I imagined she’d get cancer or get in an accident. Or maybe He’d let something happen to me, and she’d be all alone. These scenarios plagued my mind. I found comfort in food, and over the next year, I gained 45 pounds. Of course, that only added to my shame; I became so self-conscious. Thankfully, Mom cared enough to take me to therapy and to see a doctor. Through high school, I lived on a roller coaster of emotions. In my higher moments, I thought about what I could do with my life. I wanted to make my father proud, so I decided to go to seminary. I was accepted and given a scholarship to attend. But I wasn’t there three days before I had a panic attack. I immediately dropped out, packed my car, and drove to the hotel where my mother was staying. My faithful companion, shame, followed me there. I mean, who drops out of school and forfeits a scholarship after three days? Only a failure, I imagined. Before going to seminary, I had fallen in love. He was my first real boyfriend, and I thought he held the moon. I desperately needed someone to love me, to think I was great, and to tell me I was beautiful. I found all those things in him. Before long, we were engaged. I applied to a local college, determined to get a degree in something—anything. About the same time, I started attending a new church, Opendoor. It was the first time I remember being ministered to by others in the church. I had always been on the stage singing, even when going through dark moments. But there in that seat, still before the Lord, God’s Spirit touched me. I began to weep as years of grief, shame, and pain erupted from my soul. Open before the Lord, I sensed Him revealing how He had created me to worship Him. He had given me a gift. I was caught off-guard by the Lord’s comforting presence and His small, still voice. Maybe He wasn’t a big guy in the sky who was out to get me after all. I sensed Him inviting me into an authentic relationship with the Creator of the universe. And I accepted. For the next six months, the Spirit of God began to bring light and order to the darkness of my life, just as He had to the world in Genesis 1:2. And then, gently, He began to deal with me about my fiancé. I knew this guy wasn’t God’s choice for me, but at 19, getting married seemed like the thing to do. There were many warning signs, but I stubbornly ignored them. I also ignored the godly wisdom of others. As a result, I experienced trauma that brought much shame back into my life. I became that shut-off, scared-to-death, 12-year-old girl all over again. And I no longer sensed God’s presence or the work of His Spirit in my life. I NEVER DOUBTED GOD’S EXISTENCE, BUT THE MORE I THOUGHT ABOUT HIM, THE LESS I BELIEVED HE ACTUALLY LOVED ME. VICTORIOUSLIVINGMAGAZINE.COM Issue 02 / 2022 27
Page 1 and 2: REAL PEOPLE | REAL STORIES | REAL H
Page 3 and 4: ISSUE 2, APRIL 2022 Be of good cour
Page 5 and 6: ISSUE 2, APRIL 2022 CONTENTS 8 24 2
Page 7 and 8: Through the stories of Victorious L
Page 9 and 10: TRANSFORMED LIVES God’s Faithfuln
Page 11 and 12: PHOTOS COURTESY OF MYPILLOW I had a
Page 13 and 14: PHOTOS COURTESY OF MYPILLOW bragged
Page 15 and 16: TRANSFORMED LIVES As they should ha
Page 17 and 18: PHOTO BY GERI SIMPKINS PHOTOGRAPHY
Page 19 and 20: invited anyone who wanted to receiv
Page 21 and 22: PHOTO BY ASHCROFT STUDIO PHOTOGRAPH
Page 23 and 24: stuck, Melisha!” His words helped
Page 25: STEPPING FORWARD DON’T GIVE UP! B
Page 29 and 30: STEPPING FORWARD Trust God, Even Wh
Page 31 and 32: could see that God was at work as m
Page 33 and 34: GOING DEEPER: Be Courageous On page

VL - Issue 43- April 22

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