God Chose Me

By Donna Mills

The journey to finding God is different for every one of us. It doesn't matter who you call God. He calls on us to serve, to love unconditionally. I am a survivor because God chose me to be. I learned to find peace in the storm. My journey does not look like yours, yet when I was willing to stand still, I could find peace because God found me right where I was.

How many times have we all asked, "Why me?" at one time or another in our lives? Many years ago, after sharing my story with a trusted friend, she commented, "That's a lot." I replied, "It is, and what I don't understand is, why me?" Her response has helped me through some of the darkest days of my life. She said, "Why not you? God has a plan for you."

Putting all of it in a book for the world to read was not my plan; it was God's.

I have shared my story with many others over the years, and every time at least one person comes to me afterward and tells me how my story has inspired them to keep moving forward. So before I speak, I pray that one person will hear something in my account to give them a little hope, a spark to make a decision, or encourage them not to give up. I have done my work well if my story saves one person from the darkness and hopelessness of abuse, violence, fear, shame, defeat, or addiction.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: Jan 19, 2023
• ISBN: 9798887311609

Book preview

GOD

C

HOSE

M

E

DONNA MILLS

Copyright © 2022 Donna Mills

All rights reserved

First Edition

Fulton Books

Meadville, PA

Published by Fulton Books 2022

ISBN 979-8-88731-159-3 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88731-160-9 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Introduction

The Journey Begins

The Quiet Phase

The Breaking Phase

Further Destruction

The Descent into Darkness

A Shimmer of Light

The Light Is On

Introduction

My name is Donna Marie Mills, and I am a Christian, a widow, and recovering alcoholic. I was born in a snowstorm, on February 8, 1960, in Chelsea, Massachusetts. My life has been stormy ever since. My story is not exciting or humorous; it’s the story God chose me to tell. There is a lot of pain and trauma in my account, though it wasn’t always bad. While I have not been to jail and have not found myself in an institution, that doesn’t mean I always did everything I was supposed to; I never got caught. The other kids always called me goody two-shoes, but they were wrong. I am far from perfect, and I have made many bad decisions and gone down some pretty ugly roads. Yet somehow, God always found me and brought me back to Him for some reason.

I have always loved storms and winter, as it means I can curl up and read with a cup of hot tea or cocoa. I can often be found on my front porch during a thunderstorm in the summer, reading but mostly marveling at God’s tremendous power. Although I am not partial to the wind, I love a good thunderstorm that rattles the walls and vibrates the windows. One of the most peaceful sights is watching snowfall; it’s so quiet and gentle even in a blizzard.

God called me many years ago to write; I got my first diary when I was eleven; since then, I have written nearly every day for the better part of my life. Today, I journal twice a day and sometimes more. For me, writing is my way of talking to God. It’s how I pray; it’s how I communicate best. After my parents divorced, I stayed in contact with two of my cousins and a grandmother through letters. Yep, that’s right, snail mail, a practice I continued until I divorced the first time. I still write letters on occasion. Writing helps me calm down the squirrels in my head that threaten to drive me crazy, those thoughts that won’t stop no matter what I do. Something I should have said, or not, something I should have done differently. The list of ways I can beat myself up mentally goes on and on, and I know I am not alone.

I got my first computer in early recovery and mentioned that I considered writing a book. My friend thought it was a good idea, yet I felt insecure and talked myself out. My thinking was, Maybe someday. The truth is, I never felt that my story would be interesting enough for anyone to want to read. But then twenty-five years later, God put it in my heart to write my story for the newest edition of The Big Book, Alcoholics Anonymous. At first, I was still hesitant until I went through my regular daily routine. Finally, the urge to write was so intense I could not ignore it any longer. I get up before anyone else, read a meditation book, listen to guided meditation, and then write on an average day. Whether my story gets published or not is not the point; the point was that I was inspired and guided by God, and I obeyed.

I chose to ignore that call all those years ago, yet I have heard I was a writer on multiple occasions. So, as I sit here listening to the birds sing, it’s a lovely spring morning, and the sun is shining. Although it’s not quite warm yet, it is comfortable. I love being outside when I write when the weather permits. I love the smell of fresh air and feeling the breeze on my skin. If it’s not warm enough to be outside, I will sit in front of a window to admire God’s handiwork. The glorious colors of the sunset, the clouds slowly drifting across the sky. I will do my best to tell you the many ways God blessed me even when I did not believe.

In reading these words, I hope that you don’t wait as long as I did to learn how to live a God-led life; I am still learning. I won’t tell you how to live for God; we each have our journey, though I encourage you to find yours. I am a compassionate person; I will cry over the minor little thing, TV commercials, love stories, random acts of kindness, or a compelling sermon; it got me in a lot of trouble early on until I learned to accept who I am. This story is about one hardheaded tenderhearted woman’s journey back to God who couldn’t see what was right before her, even when she had heard. I finally decided to listen after twenty-five years. I ask that as you read, remember I am not a victim; God was with me every step of the way, even when I did not know or believe it.

The Journey Begins

Most people rarely remember anything that happened to them during the first five years of their lives, and there are some things I w ish I could forget. However, I know now that God needed me to remember all the things that shaped my life and made me the woman I am today. Who that is, I am still learning. I don’t know how my parents met; they divorced before I was old enough to ask. My dad was in the Navy, and my mom was just out of high school. They were only six months apart in age. They were married in November 1959.

My earliest memory is walking across my grandfather’s house room into my grandfather’s arms one bright day. I was near the living room doorway, and the sun was shining through the plate glass window. My grandfather was sitting in his recliner next to the window. It was a huge picture window, and the sun shining through was very bright. He leaned forward in his chair and told me to come to him. My mother says I was six or seven months old; I’ve always been in a hurry, though I don’t know why. I remember jumping on my aunt while she was asleep and my grandfather telling me not to wake her as she is a bear if you wake her up. I thought it was fun. My aunt was around twelve at the time. My grandfather was not a very tall man, and he had a way of telling a story that made even the silliest stories seem believable.

One of my favorites was the story of how the mercury lights came on. One night, we were sitting on the back porch as the lights were coming on, and he asked if I knew how they came on. I did not. He said, There is a little man who lives in the lights. When he lights the lamp, the spark of that light sends him through the wire to the next one. He had a story for everything, and I wish I could remember them all. Grandpa was from Newfoundland and spoke with an accent, so listening to him tell his tales was fascinating for me.

The first time I flew in an airplane, I was almost two years old, and my sister was a few months old.