Child of the King: I Believe I'll Testify

By Audrey Harvey

The test of strength is not in one bending,
but in one not breaking.


As a Christian, my aim is to help believers as well as unbelievers come to know Christ in a personal way. I want you to know who you are in Christ and the rights you have as a child of God.

In Child of The King (I Believe Ill Testify), you will see Gods goodness and mercy when we are obedient to His will. You will also see that being a child of God has nothing to do with how good or perfect you may think you are. As you read about the different incidents in my life, dont focus on me, but rather on the one who loves us more than we could ever imagine. You will see that every uncomfortable situation I found myself in was only by Gods grace that I came through them all. I hope that you will understand that sometimes our greatest accomplishments are gained through struggles.

Please know that life is vain if you think its about you.

In the Bible, John 3:30 sums it up when he said, He must increase, but I must decrease.


~ Audrey Harvey

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 10, 2007
• ISBN: 9781465333728

Audrey Harvey

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Copyright © 2007 by Audrey Harvey.

Library of Congress Control Number:     2005910712

ISBN:   Hardcover   978-1-4257-0251-9

   Softcover   978-1-4257-0250-2

ISBN:   ebook   978-1-4653-3372-8

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Contents

CHILD OF THE KING

POSITIVE, BUT NOT PERMANENT

HE KNEW

STANDING ON THE PROMISES

ALONE

CHILD OF THE KING

(I Believe I’ll Testify)

When I was a young girl, I can remember myself as having a whimsical nature. I even recall jumping on my sister’s back when I turned three because I was so excited. My sister yelling at me to get off her back is as clear today as it was all of those years ago. Some of my siblings considered me to be different. What they meant by different, I couldn’t tell you. Half of them used to say I was mean, while the other half just called me strange. As children growing up, my siblings were compared to sweet little buttercups; whereas I was compared to a stinkweed. Maybe this had something to do with me being the youngest of seven, and being just a little spoiled. I definitely felt I had possession of my own independent spirit. My father used to say I wasn’t worth a wooden nickel but that he wouldn’t take all the money in the world for me. Mother used to tell me stories about how I never seemed to want to listen to her because I liked doing things my way. She said that even when I was learning to walk in my walker she couldn’t seem to stop me from trying to run so fast. As a result of not listening, I would cut the corner too short and tumble over and hit the floor. I would start screaming at the top of my lungs, only to get the attention I needed, and then Mother would come running. After she picked me up, consoled me, and dusted me off, I would get right back in my walker and race around the corner, only to make the same mistake over and over again.

I remember how Mother would gather us all together and tell us stories about Jesus and other Bible characters. If she were telling the story outside in our swing area, my sisters would hover around her, but not me. Most of the time, I stayed at a distance. I chose to be a few feet away and pretended to be playing, but I heard every word my mother was saying, and I absorbed them like a sponge absorbs water. Mom would dramatize the Bible stories she would tell us so that we could get a more vivid picture in our minds. She had a very large Bible that had a metal latch on the outside. This Bible was very old and wonderfully picturesque, as if Michelangelo had painted the pictures himself. This was strictly a home Bible as it was much too large to carry to church. As my mother so diligently taught us about Jesus, little did I know that this would constitute my spiritual foundation. How could I have ever imagined that the stories Mother so vividly told and read to us would one day become the map that has led me in the direction to finding God?

Sometimes Mother would gather us all together and ask each of us what we wanted to become in life. Everyone was quick to give their answers, which were all of a professional nature, except for mine. When she asked me what I wanted to become, I tried to be funny and told her I wanted to be a bum. That did not sit well with her at all. She would tell me to never say anything like that again. Even though Mother knew I was teasing, she also knew the power of words. She would then proceed to say that no matter what we wanted to be in life, as long as we lived for the Lord, she would be happy. When I was a child, my thoughts were limited and immature. Now that I am an adult and have a child of my own, the true meaning of what Mother was saying is very clear to me. I too wish great success for my child. Oh, not that he would become some icon, but by him honoring the Lord, he would be a great man no matter what his profession is in life.

Mother did not always go to Sunday school. For a few years of my very young life, she did not go to church, although she was raised in Sunday school and church. At that time, I did not know why, nor did I think anything about it. When we would get home, she was always prepared to ask us what we learned in Sunday school. Each of us had something to tell her; however, my answer seemed to be the same Sunday after Sunday. I told her I learned about Jesus. Even though I was only six years of age, I had the smarts to realize that Sunday school and church were places you’d go to learn about Jesus and God. So, even though I could not remember a thing I learned, I knew I couldn’t go wrong when I said to her, I learned about Jesus. After about a month of giving her the same answer, she finally told me I would have to do better than that.

As I got a little older, my mother would tell us of experiences that she’d had. Sometimes they were in the form of dreams, and other times they were miracle stories that she or members of her family had experienced. These were the kinds of stories that one would enjoy hearing any time of the day, or while lying in bed at night. One had to be a good storyteller to be able to capture my attention. Well, Mother was just that. These stories may have seemed unbelievable at times, but they were true. For instance, Mother once told a story about how one of my aunts had fallen over a steep embankment. She and a group of kids in their neighborhood in North Carolina were roller-skating, and my aunt had gotten too close to a particular embankment and fell in. The other kids ran to get help. When they told my grandfather and some of the other grown-ups what had happened, they immediately grabbed a rope. They knew that they would require the aid of a rope in order to pull my aunt out from the place where she had fallen. When they arrived, they saw my aunt sitting at the top of the embankment from where she had fallen. When they asked her how she got out, my aunt pointed and said, I walked up those white stairs over there. There were no visible white stairs, but my grandparents knew that God had sent His angel to the rescue.

Previously I told you that my mother did not go to either Sunday school or church when I was very young. I do remember that when I was eight years old she started going back to church. When I became a teenager, Mother told me the reason why she was not able to go to church. She said that she had been sick at one time and had a very large knot on her navel area that was very sore to the touch. She also said that she had to cover it with lots of cotton and gauze to keep us from accidentally hitting it when we hugged her. Mother said that one Sunday she was lying on the couch wanting to go to church but could not. While alone at home, she said a minister on television was talking about the power of healing through faith. As he was praying, she began to pray with him, at the same time asking God to deliver her of the knot. While she was in deep prayer, with her hand on the knot, she said she could feel the knot gradually getting smaller and smaller until it left. Not long after that, Mother started going to church faithfully. This meant I had to go to church more. After all, I was only a chubby little eight-year-old girl; and spending more time in church on Sundays was not exactly what I had in mind. I had to go to Sunday school, then church, and finally to our five o’clock Baptist Training Union, or BTU. Every third Sunday of the month, there was an evening church service we attended. Add that to the three previous services, and what you get is no life. This was really hard on me. To think of all the TV shows that I would have to miss was bad enough,