A Story of Surrender, Survival, and Being Rescued by God

I was born in Baton Rouge, Louisiana.

Before I could even form memories, my world had already shifted. My father took another wife, and my mother was pushed out of my life when I was only one year old. I grew up believing my grandmother was my mother — that my father and uncles were my brothers.

That was my reality.

When I was five or six years old, I learned the truth. And I remember the ache. I wanted my grandmother to still be my mother. I wanted the world I knew to stay intact.

But childhood does not always ask what we can handle.

My father eventually decided I would live with him instead of my grandmother. I did not understand why. I only knew it hurt. My stepmother was harsh and controlling. I was a child carrying responsibilities far beyond my years — cleaning, cooking, caring for my younger brother while still needing care myself.

Then we moved to California. And just like that, everything familiar was gone.

I knew of God. But I did not know Him.

At fourteen, I met the man who would become my husband. I did not love him. But he pursued me, and I was desperate to escape. I married to get away from one kind of pain — only to find myself in another.

The cycle continued for years. I left and returned. His family was kind, and I think I stayed because I craved family more than freedom.

We had three children. Outwardly, I functioned. Inwardly, I was struggling deeply.

I was angry at God. If there were a God, how could He allow this? How could my life feel like a lifetime of suffering?

There were years when I tried everything to numb the pain. I was lost. Bitter. Defensive. When you hurt long enough, you stop trying to be gentle.

Then my daughter became a Christian. She and my daughter-in-law spoke to me about God. I would get irritated and tell them to leave me alone.

I was not ready.

One day, in what felt like my final attempt to save my marriage, I asked my husband to go on a vacation with me. To try. To fix us.

He said no.

And I knew there was nothing left in me.

One morning, I got up and fell before God. Not politely. Not religiously. I cried. I said:

“I give up. I cannot do this anymore. Take over. I surrender. I want peace. I want joy. I want happiness. I cannot live like this.”

For fifty years, I had tried to survive on my own strength.

That day, I stopped trying.

And that is when God stepped in.

When I surrendered, everything began to change. Not overnight. Not magically. But deeply.

He strengthened me in ways I had never known. He opened my eyes. He softened my heart. He removed bitterness. He gave me wisdom. He gave me understanding. He gave me peace.

Most of all, He gave me Himself.

Five years into my walk with God, I can say this with certainty:

The life I was searching for — through people, through control, through striving — was only found in surrender.

I spent fifty years trying to do it alone.

Joy came when I let go.

Peace came when I stopped fighting.

Love came when I allowed God to love me first.

This is not a story of survival. It is a story of rescue.