THE POWER OF MY TESTIMONY by Gittel Fruma Hope. It’s a precious treasure, is it not? Hope gives us permission to dream. It assures us that we will make it. It drives us to work for a better future. It invests in ashes. Hope sustains us. Of all the audacious, illogical, ludicrous things I have ever done in my life, the greatest of them has been to hope. The word of God says in Revelations 12:11 that at the end of time, satan will eventually be defeated by “the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony.” I have no part in the blood of Jesus, other than to accept it. Jesus did that work and there is nothing left for me to do. But I have full control over the word of my testimony and there is power in it. When I share what God has done and is doing in my life, I am accessing one of the greatest sources of power in the universe. As Psalm 126 says, “The Lord has done great things for us; we are glad.” These great things are my finished testimonies. My ark of remembrance holds gleaming, brilliant gems from the past, the completed works that God has done. He has brought healing, reconciliation, provision, salvation, and more. He has done wonders upon wonders for me. These are my manna, preserved, so I might remember what God has brought me through.
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I take out these gems and show them to people. I show them to my son. I show them to my unsaved family. I show them to those around me who are struggling. I turn them around in my hands, letting the light pass through all of their facets. Each of their glittering hearts holds a piece of God’s splendor. These were all ashes, but now they are all beauty. These are my polished testimonies. There is another box of testimonies, though. This one is shoved into a corner. The contents of the box are raw and disorganized. Some of its innards are so painful, I can’t allow myself to look at them. This haphazard container holds the testimonies in progress. They are ugly. They are embarrassing. Sometimes they feel like betrayal. We are constantly confronted with the evidence of darkness in this world. We struggle with sickness, poverty, grief, loneliness, hunger, hostility, and loss. None of us is immune to the fallen nature of our world. Sometimes, I want to hide my box of brokenness. I don’t want others to see me bleed when I pick up its jagged pieces. I don’t want to appear vulnerable or weak. I don’t want to show people that everything isn’t finished yet. What if it leads people to think God isn’t faithful? What if it makes people question what I say I believe? What if things will always be this way? How can I face this reality?
