Heartache to Healing

By Sheron Jones

Has a broken past shattered your hope for a fulfilling future? Is your emotional pain so paralyzing that you have forgotten how to even dream anymore?

Through her inspirational testimony, Sheron Jones shares hope for the brokenhearted. Whether you struggle with fear, rejection, loneliness, insecurity, or depression, freedom from bondage is possible. Your life doesn't have to be without hope. You can learn to discern the tactics of your Enemy and walk in your God-ordained purpose in life. Will you allow God to take you from Heartache to Healing?

"The thief cometh not, but for to steal, and to kill, and to destroy: I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly." John 10:10

• Language: English
• Publisher: eBookIt.com
• Release date: Apr 26, 2016
• ISBN: 9780990945772

Book preview

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Chapter 1

My Life

Memories from my earliest recollection are happy ones. My parents separated when I was four years old. However, around my brother and me, they were respectful and friendly towards each other. It was not until I was eight years old that the security I had always felt, came to a screeching halt. My father, whom I loved and adored more than words could explain, broke my heart. He disappeared from my life for almost five years, without so much as a phone call. It was during the time of my father’s absence, at the age of twelve, when a teenage neighbor, who I thought was a friend, violated me. He stole my innocence. This was an emotional setback, to say the least. This experience left me feeling powerless and ashamed, so I kept the incident a secret.

On the outside, I appeared to be a pleasant and outgoing, young girl. I participated in afterschool events and church activities. I always smiled, but it was a façade. I tried to keep control of my emotions by bottling things up inside, but that did not last long. During my teenage-years, the anger, hurt, and disappointment I had always tried to suppress-—came up. I became selfish and emotionally disconnected. I had a nonchalant attitude, tried to pretend like nothing bothered me, and that I did not need anyone, but that was far from the truth. I wanted to feel protected and loved. I just did not know how to express it, and I would not trust anyone. There were times, I went into my bathroom and cut myself to dull the emotional pain.

I hooked-up with the wrong kids in high school. By the age of fifteen, I was smoking cigarettes, drinking, sexually active, and in and out of school. This became a new and exciting time for me. I had lived a sheltered life prior to this. My mother was a strict disciplinarian. I was in church, at least, three times a week and because of our religious beliefs, there was no FM radio playing allowed in my home. I could not wear pants. In addition, going to the movies or parties with friends was out of the question! The parents of the girls I hung out with were the complete opposite. They did not care what time we came in at night, so I would run away from home to have the fun, I thought I was missing.

After hanging out with my friends for a couple of weeks, my wonderment of their freedom quickly turned into sympathy. All three of the girl’s parents were drug and alcohol abusers. One night, while I was sleeping on the couch at my friend’s house, her parent stole my belongings for drugs. My things were in a bag right next to me.

My friend’s ages ranged from thirteen to fifteen years old. The youngest girl, from my new group of friends, had a scar on her chin from her mother attempting to throw her out of the window. At my other friend’s house, there was an infestation of bugs and the utilities were off. Although I appreciated the kindness, food, and shelter, which all three girls extended to me, I had enough. I was ready to go back home.

After going back home, my behavior did not change. I just found another group of girls to hang out with. It was not until my best girlfriend, who was only fifteen years old, died from a gunshot to the neck, that I knew it was time for a change. I prayed to God for freedom from my old way of thinking. God answered my prayer. I began to see things differently. I no longer enjoyed hanging out in the streets. I began to care about my body, and I stopped taking my home for granted. I had run away, off-and-on, for about a year and through it all, God remained with me. He never allowed anyone to hurt me.

In 1993, two days after my sixteenth birthday, I met a young man named Kenyon at a nightclub for teenagers. Kenyon would become the love of my life, my best friend, fiancé, and eventually, my children’s father. Initially, I was not interested in a relationship with him because we lived in different states. However, after running into him the following month at the same place on Valentine’s Day, the connection we felt was undeniable, so we kept in touch. I had never met anyone like him. He was tall, good-looking, intelligent, and nice. He exemplified everything I felt I did not have. He was only a year and a half older than I was, but he was already preparing for his future after high school. Meanwhile, I was still cutting classes. Aside from all of his positive characteristics, he also brought out the best in me, and being around him made me want to be the person that he saw in me. Although we lived in different states, we surprisingly made it work. We not only ran up our parents’ phone bills with our long distance calls, we also travelled, by train, to see each other regularly. A little over a year after we had met, I found out that I was pregnant with our son.

Kenyon signed up to go straight into the military reserves after high school, and so we were apart for a few months. The night Kenyon came back from basic training, he surprised me with a marriage proposal and an engagement ring. By this time, I was eighteen and life was great. I was a mother and engaged to be married to my best friend— and son’s father. I could not have asked for anything more. Kenyon was not only a great dad to our son, but he showed me what love really is. He was kind, supported my dreams, took me out to different places, and taught me how to drive. He even bought me roses, which was new to me. Kenyon prioritized our family over everything else. A year or so, after our daughter was born, Kenyon left the college he attended and moved our family into an apartment.

We moved in February 1998 and started making serious plans to get married in September of that same year. Once a month, as part of his military duties, he left to participate in weekend drills. On