Testimonies

My name is Kim, I was born in 1982, already in the middle of a battle I didn’t choose. Addicted to heroin before I even took my first breath, I spent my first three months in the hospital detoxing—tiny, fragile, and fighting for my life. That early struggle set the tone for what would become a long and difficult road filled with pain, loss, addiction, and ultimately, redemption.

I went home with my two addicted parents, but it wasn’t long before I was taken in by my grandparents around the age of two and a half. They gave me love, provision, and stability, but even in that, the enemy was already planting seeds of rebellion. I was spoiled and stubborn, always pushing boundaries and refusing to accept discipline. The enemy loves to start early, and in my case, he did.

By 13, I had smoked weed for the first time, and that was the beginning of my descent into a lifestyle of rebellion and addiction. My relationship with my dad was strained, and home life felt suffocating. At 15, in a desperate attempt to escape, I got married. I lied to make it happen—thinking freedom would be the answer—but the marriage was short-lived, and I returned home even more broken. At 16, I was emancipated, legally free, but spiritually bound. Acid, weed, alcohol—it was all fair game. By 17, my mother, unsure of how to handle me, got me my own apartment. The enemy had me isolated, and I spiraled deeper into darkness. But in the midst of it all, God never stopped watching over me. Even when I didn’t know Him, He knew me.

When I became pregnant, everything changed. I stopped using. It was like a divine pause—a sacred protection over the life inside me. My child was born healthy, and for a while, I found strength in motherhood. But I was still in an abusive relationship. I thought I had no worth, no way out. I had another child at 21 with the same man, and finally, after years of abuse, I found the courage to leave.

I moved to Florida hoping for a fresh start. For a few years, things were stable. But addiction is cunning, and the devil is patient. Drugs were easy to find, and soon I was back to partying, smoking weed, and numbing my pain. One night, I was drugged and nearly died. If it weren’t for a stranger who called for help, I wouldn’t be here today. That was God’s mercy—undeserved but freely given.

Still, I didn’t change. A few years later, I got pregnant again. And once more, God used the life within me to pull me from the edge. She, too, was born healthy. But after that, my health took a turn. I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia and prescribed strong narcotics for pain. My addictive personality couldn’t handle it. What started as a prescription became a full-blown dependence. When my doctor stopped accepting my insurance, I turned to the streets—buying drugs and eventually shooting it.

When my biological mother died, grief consumed me, and the enemy seized the opportunity. I spiraled hard. Within two years, I lost everything—my home, my children, my freedom. I ended up in jail, and when I was released, I was homeless. My children, then 16, 14, and 9, had to stay with my mother. That separation broke me. I felt like I had failed as a mother, a daughter, and a human being.

On the streets, things got even darker. I began using meth. I was no longer trying to numb pain—I was trying to disappear. I was raped, beaten, drugged, and left for dead more than once. I should not be alive. The enemy tried every tactic—he waged war on my body, my mind, and my spirit. But every time he thought he won, God stepped in.

You see, there’s a war for our souls. It’s not flesh and blood we battle against—it’s powers and principalities. The devil saw my potential and did everything he could to kill it. But God saw something greater. He saw purpose in my pain. He saw destiny in my destruction. And He never stopped reaching for me.

Eventually, I got tired—tired of the streets, tired of the pain, tired of living like I was already dead. That’s when I cried out. I didn’t know what to pray. I didn’t even think God would listen. But I said something like, “God, if You’re real, help me.” And He did.

It didn’t happen overnight. I had to fight. I had to fight for my mind, for my sobriety, for my healing. But this time, I wasn’t fighting alone. The same God who spared me in the hospital as a newborn, who protected my children in the womb, who kept me alive on the streets, was now leading me out of the darkness.

I began to understand not just the kind that forgives but the kind that empowers. God’s grace gave me the strength to rise again. His mercy said, “You are not what you’ve done.” I started to rebuild. I entered recovery, got clean, and began walking with the Lord. Every day was a battle, but with God’s Word as my weapon and His Spirit as my guide, I kept moving forward.

Now, I stand as a testimony—not to my strength but to God’s unrelenting grace and mercy. I should be dead. I should be lost. But God said, “Live.” He reached into the pit and pulled me out. He’s restoring what the enemy tried to steal. My relationships with my children, my sense of purpose, my hope—it’s all being made new.

I want to tell you this: no matter how far you’ve fallen, you are not too far gone. The devil is a liar. God’s love is stronger than your past, and His mercy is new every morning. I’m living proof that God uses broken people to show His glory. The war is real, but so is the victory in Jesus Christ. I’m not perfect. I still have scars. But I wear them as reminders—not of my shame, but of His saving power. I’m no longer a victim—I’m a vessel. And I know now that God doesn’t waste anything. Every trial, every tear, every tragedy—He’s using it all for His glory.

So if you’re reading this and feel lost, hear me: God hasn’t given up on you. The fact that you’re still breathing means He still has a plan for you. There is power in the name of Jesus to break every chain. I know, because He broke mine. This is my testimony. From the pit to purpose—by the grace of God, I am still here.