Rebekkah's Story
I Don’t Have a Fairytale Life—But I Have a Testimony.
I wasn’t born into a fairytale life. I wish I had been. My parents moved from Vicksburg, Mississippi to South Carolina when I was just three months old. They came to take a church that would shape the course of my life for years to come. As a young couple stepping into ministry, they carried more than they probably could handle—but my father had a deep burden for souls. I grew up in a small town where life revolved around two things: church and family.
Living in a pastor’s home often feels like living in a glass house. People see the outside but rarely understand the struggle inside. Even now, at 49 years old, there are still things I don’t fully know or understand about what my parents endured while pastoring. My life hasn’t been glamorous, but I do know this: life can chew you up, spit you out, and keep moving. And it doesn’t discriminate when we choose a path not ordained by God. I could pour out my entire life story here and now—but if I did, there’d be no need to write this book. So I’ll give you the short version, because I believe my testimony can help someone who’s either trying to come back to God or thinking about running away from Him. The world doesn't go easy on backsliders. In fact, it celebrates when people with a high calling lose their way.
My Story
I wasn’t born to sing or play an instrument, but I was called—to be an intercessor. It’s not a glamorous calling. It’s often quiet, often painful, and mostly hidden. But it’s one of the backbones of the Church. In this book, I won’t hold anything back. Some of it might offend—but this isn’t someone else’s story to tell. It’s mine. And I’m going to tell it.
We moved to Cowpens, South Carolina when my dad resigned the church, and started attending a church in Spartanburg. I was 12 years old. My parents had just been through a painful church split. I watched my mom cry for hours, and I saw the heartbreak in my dad’s eyes. He just wanted to win souls. But life isn’t a pretty story—it’s messy. It’s hurt, mistakes, and even success that mold us into warriors for the Lord—or push us further from Him.
I received the Holy Ghost at age 12 during Mississippi Camp Meeting. Sister Travis laid hands on me and said God had something special for me. I was just a kid. Not popular. Not famous. But I had the gift of intercession. And the enemy hates those who reflect God’s love.
At 18, I moved to Jackson, MS to attend Jackson College of Ministries. I stayed two years. During that time, I fell in love with someone who didn’t know God—and I walked away from everything I had been taught. I dropped out and moved back home. That relationship turned toxic, full of anger and hurt. He was later imprisoned, and even after I moved to Charlotte, NC for college, we stayed in contact.
I was 22 when I found out I was pregnant with my son, Noah. His father didn’t stick around—drugs had too strong of a grip on him. Still, I finished my degree and moved back home in August 1998. Noah was born that October. My family and church community supported me, and eventually I started my career in graphic design.
When Noah was two, I moved out on my own. I met a man from South Louisiana who quickly pushed for marriage. I barely knew him, but he had the approval of his church—or so I thought. We married in 2002.
Not long after, the abuse began. Severe. Repeated. Hidden. He traveled a lot for work, but when he was home, I endured unthinkable violence. Black eyes, broken spirits, shattered self-worth. We separated and reconciled many times over our seven-year marriage. The last time he laid hands on me, I nearly died. I escaped, beaten and battered, and made it to a police station. The abuse was so visible, so horrific, that investigators were shocked I made it out alive. I filed for divorce. Despite how the church culture viewed divorce at the time, I chose survival.
Abuse may be silent—but I refuse to be. Though I got out, I didn’t return to the church for over a decade. Depression took over. Shame. Emptiness. My son was the only reason I stayed alive during that time. I thought about suicide more than once. But my parents, my pastor, and the prayers of the faithful kept me tethered—even when I couldn’t see it.
Noah became a father himself after high school. Drugs took hold of his life. He lost everything—his education, his family, his joy. I wasn’t in the church then. I looked for love in men who never had the capacity to love me right. I was searching for acceptance because I didn’t know how to receive God’s love.
My house burned down when my first granddaughter was only two days old. I lost everything—again. Still, I didn’t return to God. I didn’t struggle with drugs or alcohol. I struggled with men—chasing validation and worth. But I’m not ashamed to admit it, because that’s what God delivered me from.
My son continued down a dark path for five years. He married again, had another daughter, and repeated some of the same behaviors he witnessed in his stepfather. Drugs fueled it all. Eventually, my granddaughters came to live with my parents. Many nights, I had no idea where my son was. I wept myself to sleep more times than I can count. But the prayers never stopped. God was still working—quietly, patiently, persistently.
In November 2023, I was in a near-fatal car wreck. My femur snapped in half. Ribs broken. Heel, toe, and vertebrae crushed. A concussion. And just days before, I had considered ending my life. The enemy whispered, “Just die already.” But God said, “I’m not done with her.” Recovery was long and painful. I had to learn to walk—twice. When the rod in my leg snapped in July 2024, I asked God what He was trying to say. He answered gently: “I’m not done with you yet.”
Today, I’m rooted in my faith like never before. I’ve made serious strides. My calling in intercessory prayer is stronger than it’s ever been. I’m teaching women’s Bible studies online, mentoring others, and walking daily in my purpose. And here’s the best part—my son has been clean for over a year. He’s reunited with his daughters. He hasn’t come back to church yet, but I can see God working on him, just like He worked on me.
I lost my job of 7 years after returning from my accident, but God opened the door for something better—something aligned with His plan. Every day I wake up, I see His hand in my life. I know I’m anointed. I know I’m favored. I know this story, this pain, has purpose. My ministry to reach women across the nation is coming. I feel it. God is laying the groundwork—and I’m ready. I’m alive, I’m walking, and I’m telling you my story.
