MY JOURNEY
HELLO EVERYONE
WELCOME TO MY TESTIMONY
My name is Andrea, and this is my testimony. My journey to Christ brought me to the place of fellowship with you.
Wrestling With Faith
For a long time, I wrestled with religion and spirituality—not in a casual way, but in a deep, soul-level struggle that twisted through my thoughts, my choices, and my identity. But the funny thing is, it didn’t start right away. In high school, I was what you might call on fire for Christ. I was saved, baptized, and genuinely in love with God. It wasn’t just church on Sundays or memorizing verses—it was a real relationship. I talked to Jesus like He was my best
friend. I felt His presence, and I truly believed He had a plan for my life.
Back then, my faith felt solid. It was the one thing that felt constant in a world that was already confusing.
But life has a way of creeping in—slowly, quietly, and often without warning.
As I stepped into adulthood, the world started to speak louder than my faith. Responsibilities piled up. Disappointments hit harder. Questions I never had before began to surface. And somewhere in the noise, I started to drift. It wasn’t a sudden drop. It was a slow fade—so slow, I didn’t even realize how far I had wandered.
I still claimed to believe. I still wore the title “Christian.” But my heart was torn. I was standing in two worlds, trying to hold hands with both—one hand reaching for God, and the other clinging to the comforts and logic of the world. Like Lot’s wife, I kept looking back at what God had called me to walk away from. I thought I could manage both. I thought I was strong enough to straddle the fence.
But eventually, that fence became a dividing wall.
And somewhere along the way, I lost sight of Him.
Not because He left me, but because I stopped looking for Him.
There came a point when I consciously turned away from God. Not out of hate, not even out of anger—but out of disillusionment, confusion, and the belief that I didn’t need Him anymore.
I told myself I could figure life out on my own. I traded in faith for logic, and dependency on God for self-reliance. The world applauded that mindset—Be your own guide. Make your own rules.
Trust no one but yourself.
Lost and Wandering
And for a while, that’s exactly what I did.
I began questioning everything I once believed. Every truth I had held onto seemed suddenly shaky under the weight of worldly knowledge and personal pain.
The God I used to talk to every day began to feel more like a distant concept than a loving Father. Eventually, I stopped praying. I stopped reading the Word. I even stopped believing altogether.
I didn’t just fall away—I ran. And when I say I ran, I mean full speed in the opposite direction. I dove headfirst into a lifestyle that silenced conviction and numbed guilt.
I didn’t want to feel God anymore. I didn’t want to be held accountable. I wanted to be free to do whatever I wanted—no questions, no consequences, no tugging at my soul.
Looking back, I can honestly say I wasn’t just lost—I was fighting for the wrong side. I wasn’t neutral. I was an active participant in the enemy’s agenda. I knew better… but I didn’t care. I shut out the still, small voice. I muted conviction. I convinced myself that doing things my way was better, easier, and safer.
But even in my rebellion, even as I played the part of a prodigal with no interest in coming home—God didn’t give up on me.
He watched me walk into darkness, but He never walked away.
He let me taste the emptiness of everything I thought would fulfill me.
And just when I thought I was too far gone to ever come back…
He pursued me.
Patiently. Persistently. Quietly. Powerfully.
Not with wrath, but with mercy.
Not with guilt, but with grace.
Not with condemnation, but with a gentle whisper:
“You’re still mine.”
God Pursued Me
In His infinite wisdom and unshakable love, God saw what I couldn’t see. Long before I had any idea what was coming, He already knew the battles I would face. He knew the weight of the grief that was waiting around the corner. He knew the emotional storm that was forming, the kind that would knock the wind out of me and drop me to my knees. He knew that the version of me walking around back then—distant from
Him, full of questions and pride—wouldn’t survive what was coming without Him.
So in His mercy, He came for me early.
He didn’t wait until the tragedy hit. He didn’t wait until I was at my lowest. Instead, He started reaching for me before the storm broke. Quietly. Gently. Strategically. He began drawing me back to Himself. Placing people, moments, and circumstances in my life that didn’t make sense at the time—but now, looking back, I see they were all part of His divine setup.
Because He knew.
He knew I would need more than positive thinking.
He knew I would need more than self-help and motivational quotes.
He knew I would need Him—His presence, His peace, His strength—to get through what was about to happen.
And when the darkness finally came, it wasn’t just hard—it was suffocating.
A darkness that made time feel frozen and the future feel erased.
A darkness that took the breath right out of my lungs and left me wondering how I’d ever keep going. The kind of darkness that tries to convince you that hope is gone forever.
But God had already made sure I wouldn’t face it alone.
He had already secured my survival by securing my soul. He had already gone before me to make sure I’d have what I needed to walk through the valley.
And oh… what a valley it was.
The Day My Life Changed
On the evening of October 8, 2014, at exactly 8:32 p.m., my world shattered into pieces. I received a phone call no mother should ever have to take—a call that delivered the unthinkable. My youngest daughter, Adreena, had been tragically taken from this world. She was the victim of a quadruple murder-suicide that took place in Richmond, Virginia, nearly 100 miles away from home.Adreena was only 19 years old—still so young, with her whole life ahead of her. She was smart, vibrant, protective, and full of promise.
But on that night, her bravery led her into the path of evil. She died a hero, trying to shield someone else. In a moment that still feels surreal, she gave her life trying to protect her close friend, Michelle, and Michelle’s one-year-old baby boy.
All three of them—Adreena, Michelle, and that precious child—lost their lives in an act of senseless, unimaginable violence. It was a horrific night that I will never forget, a night that changed me forever. What was stolen from me in that moment was not just my daughter, but years of dreams, laughter, late-night talks, and all the milestones we were supposed to share.
The God Who Carried Me
The drive home that night felt like forever. I was numb, crying uncontrollably one minute and completely silent the next. It was as if my heart had been ripped out of my chest—like I was walking around with this giant, aching hole inside of me that I was sure would swallow me whole.
But in the middle of that pain, God stepped in. He didn’t let my mind fixate on how she died. Instead, He gently filled my heart
with flashbacks of who Adreena was—her smile, her laugh, her light. And somehow, through all the heartbreak, I made it through the night. I didn’t cry myself to sleep. God held me until I drifted off.
When it came time to prepare her funeral, I didn’t have the strength to even breathe without falling apart—but God showed up. And He never left. Not for a second.
People kept asking me how I was holding it together. The truth? I wasn’t. I had absolutely nothing left to give. No strength. No words. No voice.
But God carried me.
He was the strength in my weakness.
He became my voice when I couldn’t speak.
He comforted others through my brokenness.
He showed up through me, even when I didn’t know how to show up for myself.
Not Healed… But Held
I want to be honest with you—I’m not telling this story because I’ve figured it all out or because I’ve arrived at some perfect, healed version of myself. I haven’t. I’m not completely whole, and I’m definitely not always strong. There are still days when the weight of grief, questions, or spiritual fatigue knocks me off my feet. There are still moments where I have to stop and catch my breath just to keep going.
God still carries me.
And I thank Him every single day that He does.
But the difference now is—I'm no longer a lifeless puppet in His arms. I’m not just lying there, numb and broken, waiting to be moved from place to place. Something inside me has shifted. Something has woken up.
I’ve started to move—slowly, awkwardly, but deliberately.
I’ve started to crawl.
Just like a newborn trying to find strength in shaky limbs, I’m learning how to live again, not just exist. I’m learning how to talk to God again, how to listen for His voice, how to open my Bible without fear or shame, and how to trust that He’s still writing my story—even when I can’t see the next page.
And I know this is just the beginning. I know crawling is a stage, not the finish line. With every prayer, every step of obedience, every moment of surrender—I’m growing. Little by little, day by day, I’m learning to stand on spiritual legs I didn’t think I had anymore.
My prayer isn’t to just survive this life.
My prayer is to grow strong enough to walk boldly in the calling God has placed on my life.
And one day—stand tall beside you, shoulder to shoulder, not as someone who has it all together, but as a soldier for Christ—fighting for faith, for truth, for others who are still in the dark, wondering if God can find them too.
Because if He found me… if He’s carrying me…
He can and will do the same for you.