I come from a very disfunctional family and Jehovah Witness back ground.I have recently left the Jehovah Witness Organization,which means I can no longer have any contact with family and friends.Yes it is challenging on a daily basis.But God is working with me each and every day.I was baptized on Monday Jan.20,2008,which I couldn't be any happier about my decision.God called me out of the dark and into the light.I was lucky enough to find Hight Point Fellowship,which is where I found a new family and a home away from home.I hope to serve in many different ministries at High Point for many years to com.Anyway that is my Journey,and WOW!! What an exciting Journey it has been.

-Tanya

 I was not raised in a church going family. My family did not show love in the same ways that other families do. My Mother had not planned on becoming pregnant with me and never missed an opportunity to let me know that. On the contrary, whenever she got angry, she would tell me that she didn’t really love me or that she really wished that I had never been born at all. Then she sometimes would ask me how I felt about that. It was as if she wanted to see how deeply she could hurt me. It was never deep enough.
My Mother had an anger management problem. The verbal abuse was always matched by the physical abuse. My Mother would fly into a rage and beat me with anything she could grab. When I was able to escape her grasp, she would throw me on the floor and sit on me. This way I could not move when she hit me. I got really good at lying for my Mother; I was always told to tell anyone who asked about the swollen face or black eye that I had fallen down or been in a fight with another kid. She always knew how to make it up to me though. She would say that if I were good, she would take me to Shipley’s Doughnuts on the way to school. By being good, she meant not telling any one what had really happened.
I guess, for a long time, I never really knew that anything was wrong. I mean, when you’re raised a certain way, it becomes standard. It’s like the old story about cooking a frog. If you put him in a pot of cold water and turn up the heat ever so slowly, he won’t realize how hot it is until he’s cooked. That’s the story anyway – I’ve never tried it.
At some point, I must’ve realized that all wasn’t well in paradise because at fifteen, I had endured enough and ran away from home. I lived with my Sister in Indiana for a few months and went to night school so I could work during the day. We had a real fight one day and I left home again. I was arrested by the police for being out after curfew and when I refused to go back to my Sister’s house, they put me in a youth shelter. I stayed there for a few months and they sent me back to Texas via Trailways.  When the bus reached Dallas, I thought I had better call my Mother and let her know that I was coming home. This night is forever etched in my memory. I told her that I had just arrived in Dallas and should be home in a couple of hours. I guess I half expected her to rejoice and thank God that I was alive and safe. Instead, she screamed at me and accused me of being so arrogant as to presume that I could come and go as I pleased. She told me that her front door only swung one way and that I was not welcome there anymore. Then she hung up and the line went dead. Suddenly, the night felt much colder. I was devastated. I was fifteen years old and scared. I realized that I was truly alone in this unfriendly place. I approached a police officer and told him what had happened. He made a few phone calls and a little later, a man arrived and told me to put my bag in the back of his car if I wanted to have a place to stay. He took me to a youth shelter and checked me in. I remember a very fat, unfriendly woman telling me to follow her. She led me through some doors and into a very dark room. I couldn’t see anything. We stopped at a bed and she told me to go to sleep and we would figure out what to do with me tomorrow. I laid there until my eyes started to adjust to the dark and suddenly, I could make out dark figures approaching me. They were other boy’s from the room. One put his hand around my throat and threatened that if I made any noise they would kill me. They went though everything in my bag and split my belongings up among themselves. When they had left and went back to bed I decided to leave this place. I suddenly jumped from my bed and hit the floor running. I didn’t stop when I hit the outside door. I remember that fat woman yelling behind me that she was going to call the police. I was scared and kept on running.
I walked and hitch hiked to Fort Worth, I tried to sleep under an overpass but had very little luck. One guy (who gave me a ride) gave me a ten pack of juicy fruit. A couple of days went by and I finally called the police and turned myself in as a run away.  They took me to a preacher’s house in White Settlement and he introduced himself as John. He showed me around and asked if I were hungry. “I’ve eaten nothing but chewing gum for two days, what do you think?” Is what I wanted to tell him but thought better of it. They were having chili dogs that night and I think I must’ve set some kind of record. I know this is going to sound funny but, even today, I get excited when Denise says we’re having chili dogs for dinner.
This place was like Heaven to me. I had my own room and felt safe at night. These people loved each other and you could tell. Here was the family I had wanted for a long time. Things went real god for a few months. Now, let me just say that Adoption was never mentioned. But, you take a kid that has been in one abusive situation after another and put him in a place like this and he can fantasize about a lot of things. Somehow, I had convinced myself that I belonged here and that I was never supposed to leave. Euphoria was abruptly ended one day when I saw a police officer at the front door. It was the same one who dropped me off a few months ago. He said they had found me a new place to stay and he was there to pick me up. It took me a long time to get over the disappointment of thinking I was going to live here and finding out that it was just another pit stop until they could find another place for me.
I passed through several more youth shelters and homes before I was 17 and able to join the Navy. I had come to rely on myself for so long that I had a real problem with authority. If you are an Alcoholic, the Navy is a great place to discover it. There were always plenty of opportunities to get drunk and be disrespectful to an Officer or get in a fist fight with a Marine or Coast Guardsman just to see who was tougher. I lasted about two years in the Navy. After three trips to the Brig and several occasions on restriction, I was Court Martialed and politely asked to leave the U.S. Navy.
When I got back to the States, I was a nineteen year old alcoholic who had been kicked out of the military, was beginning to dabble in drugs and had a real chip on my shoulder. I looked at everybody with a critical eye – even God. Everybody said his love and grace were free but I had never seen it. I certainly didn’t believe that I was a recipient of this love or grace. As a matter of fact, I tended to blame God for everything. I mean, he gave me to an ungrateful and unloving Mother made me a homeless teenager that no one wanted to adopt and nothing in my life had ever worked out as far as I could see. I guessed that I was the one person God hated and I really believed that.
I soon met a girl from Mississippi and neither of us were very well acquainted with God so, we didn’t have any problems throwing ourselves at each other in a fit of lust. We were both pretty sick and couldn’t possibly make sound decisions regarding a lasting relationship. I mean, she chose me – which I even considered to be a bad move on her part at the time. My relationship with my Mother had taught me that women were not deserving of respect. I didn’t much care for anyone at that time. She became pregnant and I became gone. I came back a few months later and made an “honest” woman out of her by getting married. I thought I was quite honorable for that little gesture. The only good thing to come from that relationship was our little girl – Abigail.
Unfortunately, I was not ready to be a Husband or Father at that time and after a couple of affairs and several second chances she left with our little girl. Now I had always looked at things from an “investment – payoff” standpoint. The way I figured it - I gave up my freedom by getting married to girl who was stupid enough to fall for me and get pregnant. This is how she repaid me? I reacted by doing the very thing that I had learned to do so well, I ran away. I returned to Texas and abandoned my daughter. The marriage didn’t work out but, that little girl needed her Father.
When I returned to Texas, things went from bad to worse. I went through relationships with women like they were yesterday’s news. I was still drinking way too much and my drug habit had developed into something that was completely out of control.  I started carrying a pistol in my back pocket at first, for protection - then, as a way to get drugs. I started robbing crack dealers. I always justified it by saying “who cares, either I’ll kill him or he’ll kill me.” Either way, nobody would give it a second thought - “Just another drug deal gone bad.” At any rate, I really remember thinking that the only way out of this life of misery was for me to die. I could see no other way. I had come to the point that I didn’t want to rob crack dealers. I didn’t want to do drugs anymore. But, my addiction had reached a level where I was serving it instead of it being this recreational fun time thing. I couldn’t “just say no.” It had passed that point. I was living in a week- to- week motel that was mostly filled with people of a “questionable nature.” The worst night of my life was about to take place and leave a lasting impression on me that would echo into eternity.  
I had just left another bad relationship and was sorting through my life. This relationship had given me a taste of my own medicine. Susan was a woman that didn’t care for me as much as I didn’t care for her. We both had very little to live for so, we lived for the moment. We were two miserable people living way to fast. We were sort of a modern day Bonnie and Clyde. She would shoplift at local stores and I would rob crack dealers. We both figured we were destined to be dead or locked up soon so, we went on dong the thing we figured was going to kill us. Makes sense to me! The logic of a drug user is a fantastic thing to behold.  I had a very dear friend that knew my situation and decided to help me. He knew I wanted out but, couldn’t do it myself. He took me to this motel room and told me to stay away from that relationship and reevaluate my life.
Unfortunately, I got really depressed that night and started looking for something to help me through the tough decision I was about to make. I called several dealers and scored several times. I told myself it was just to loosen up a bit. A few hours went by and I was still going. At some point, I must’ve realized the impending doom. I was not going to stop. It wasn’t a choice at that point. It felt as if my lungs were going to collapse. I was barely breathing and had already started feeling like I was going to pass out. I couldn’t stop. At this point, I knew I would overdose but, I also knew I couldn’t stop. I sat down and wrote a letter on the inside cover of my Alcoholics Anonymous book apologizing to every one I cared for.
Writing this letter is the last thing I can remember. I said earlier that I knew the only way out of this life of misery was for me to die. That was partially true. I woke up about a day and a half later in the hospital. The friend that had tried to help had come by the next morning to see how I was doing. When he got no answer at the door, he got the manager to let him in and found me.
Lying in that hospital bed, I can remember a very bright light over my bed. That was the first realization that I was still alive.  I was at wit’s end, my life was over and yet, here I was. Somehow, I had made it. I talked to God for the first time in many years without yelling or cussing or blaming him for my many woes and problems. He had humbled me to the point where I could see him. I told him that I could not leave this hospital without going back to the same way of life. He said “I know you can’t but, I can – won’t you trust me?” I trusted God for the first time and I walked out of that hospital on December 23, 1997 and never did another drug.
Life has not been without its challenges since that day, but, I don’t fight anymore. I let Jesus fight my battles for me and he wins every time!  - Charley