A Witness for Christ: Finding a Faith and Hope to Last a Lifetime

By Marie Peterson

The world is filled with questions. As individuals, I guess our interests would eventually lead us to ask our own personal ones. Some questions can be answered with one word, while others can be answered in a few sentences, but what if the questions you have are complex? These answers may require time, research, and perseverance at the very least.

A Witness for Christ is an autobiographical spiritual book that will take you on a journey of ups and downs; teaching you along the way; and proving over and over again God's existence, love, forgiveness, and mercy. Hopefully, it will answer questions you have long since been searching for. It was written for all ages, gender, color, creed, and cultures-in other words, for everyone.

This road will take you on a life lived with God, as well as one without Him, and all its consequences. I continuously use Bible passages relating to and proving the truth of my words and experiences. My book is one that each of us can relate to, which, in turn, gives credence to its truth and value. At the end of the book, you will be asked to question yourself and to make a choice-one that can change your life forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 11, 2021
• ISBN: 9781098027735

Book preview

First Season

1943–1965

My Family Background

The first season of my life was by far the best years of my life. They were happy, stress-free, and contented years.

I was born and raised in New Brunswick, New Jersey. We lived in a modest home in a friendly and safe neighborhood. We weren’t rich, but we never wanted for anything. I was one of five children—me being the eldest. I had twin sisters, Cynthia and Sandra, who were eighteen months younger than myself; my brother John was born five years later. And finally, fifteen years later, my brother Alfred was born.

My twin sisters were very close to one another and shared a bedroom. Both my brother John and I had our own bedrooms. As children, my sisters and I were never close. They had each other and their own mutual friends. I had my own friends—best friends who have remained as such till this very day. My brother John was seven years younger than me, and I assumed the role of big sister.

From the beginning, I always had a special place in my heart for him. In contrast, my brother Alfred was born one year before I was married and out of the house; consequently, we never had much of a relationship.

My Religious Background

We grew up in a Catholic home and attended Catholic school, where we were taught from the catechism about God on a daily basis. From as far back as I can remember as a child, I not only had a knowledge but an overwhelming love for God. I cannot explain how or why I had this awesome love for God. I don’t feel as though anyone or anything contributed to or influenced me, I just knew how I felt inside.

I do know, that by the seventh grade, I wanted veraciously to become a nun—not just an ordinary nun, but a cloistered nun, one that not only gives their life to Christ, but forsakes the rest of the outside world behind the walls of a convent. I wanted a stringent life as an offering to the God I loved so much. I went as far as to visit the convent where I assumed I would eventually live. On another occasion, I attended the very unusual, but memorable vows ceremony.

In addition, every day after school, I would engage in knelt-down prayer with the nuns of our school at their convent. In my mind, I was preparing in every way for the vocation I believed was my future.

When the desire of my vocation first became known to me, I informed my mother. Her reply was, I’m sure you will change your mind, Marie. I was devastated and indignant about her response, but needless to say, my mother was right. I did change my mind. I didn’t realize then, but God had different plans for me to serve Him.

My First Encounter with God’s Intervention in My Life

My first encounter with God’s intervention in my life came when I was around ten years old. At the time, however, I had no understanding of what was happening or its relevance.

It was a snowy day when my friends and I decided to go sleigh riding. We lived on a quiet street with a slight incline. We would sleigh down the hill, then walk back up with our sled and do it again. Suddenly, the most incredible thing happened, so incredible you will find it hard to believe, but it happened exactly as I am about to tell you.

I was on my way down the hill when I saw a truck approaching the intersection. Everything happened so quickly. I was going too fast and unable to stop. What happened next was nothing short of a miracle. My sled went directly under the moving truck, between the front and rear wheels, through to the other side of the intersection. I should have been killed, but instead, here I was safe and sound on the other side of the street. Amazingly, no one noticed what had happened, not the driver of the truck or my friends.

For years, I never told anyone of this incident—who would believe me. Years later, I did tell two people. Whether they believed me or not, I can’t say. The one thing I can say is it all happened exactly as I said it did.

As an adult, I remember playing this incident over and over in my head, still not understanding its relevance. Now, fifty years later, when I look over my life, I think I’ve finally come to an understanding. Right from the beginning, God was in control of my life. His protective intervention in my life was for His ultimate purpose, and this was just the beginning!

Accepting the Good and the Bad in Our Life

It’s funny, but when we are going through different experiences in our lives, whether they be good or bad, it is hard at that time to understand why. It seems, however, that we accept the good times without question, mostly, because without realizing it, we take the good in our life for granted.

The bad times are quite a different story. We want to know why. We begin feeling sorry for ourselves, getting angry, depressed, or even want revenge.

A lot of negative emotions seem to go along with our bad times, including blaming God. Whether we believe in God or not, for some reason He seems to be the target of most people’s blame. Sometimes, if we really get to know God, not just know of Him, He will give us an understanding we have been looking for. Surprisingly, that understanding can bring a peace and trust in Him that will last a lifetime.

The rest of this book will tell about many incredible experiences, both good and bad, which eventually brought me to where I am today. As you continue to read, maybe you can relate to my experiences or actions and come to the same conclusion that took me over twenty years to realize, but still struggle with. But make no mistake, I never give up on the Lord, neither has he ever given up on me!

My Second Encounter with God—The Power of Prayer

I was around eleven or twelve when my mother became very ill and was hospitalized. I don’t recall her illness, only that it had to do with a serious blood problem. My father and I stood vigil at the hospital. It had only been the second day of my mother’s admittance, when her doctor came in to talk to my father and me. He told us my mother was very sick and would probably not last the night. Knowing we were Catholic, he suggested summoning a priest to perform the Last Rights. Upon hearing this, I left the room and became hysterical.

In the hallway, I was approached by two nuns. They were aware of my mother’s condition and informed me this was God’s will. I became angry and more hysterical. I yelled to them, This was not God’s will, as I continued to cry uncontrollably.

Seeing how upset I was, my father took me home. I was confused and distraught. Why was God allowing this? I felt I had to do something, I knew prayer was the only answer, my only hope.

The prayer of a righteous man is powerful and effective (James 5:16).

I went into my sisters’ room and asked them to pray for mom. I then felt I had to think of something extraordinary to get God’s attention. I remembered we had bricks in our backyard. I went and got two bricks and brought them to my bedroom. My intention was to kneel and pray on these bricks until the next morning, which I did until the next day.

That next morning, my father and I returned to the hospital. Upon arriving, I didn’t know what to expect. When we got to my mother’s room, she was sitting up in bed, looking peaceful and happy. I could hardly believe my eyes. Just then the doctor came into the room. He informed us, almost incredulously, that my mother was not only better, but that after much testing, she appeared to show no signs of any illness. He then said, It’s a miracle!

I was thoroughly amazed and thankful. God had answered my fervent and faithful prayer. I didn’t know then, but again, God was touching my life in a way I would not only never forget, but in a way that would influence me forever.

And the prayer offered in faith will make the sick person well; the Lord will raise him up." (James 5:15)

My Teenage Years

My teenage years, for the most part, were uneventful—that is until I was seventeen. But I will get to that in a little while.

I loved school and always did well scholastically. I had my friends, music, and dancing—life couldn’t be better. The jitterbug and Elvis Presley were the craze at the time, and I enjoyed every minute of it. My parents, however, were into the big band error, classical music, and opera. I learned to appreciate and love this kind of music also.

My mother loved poems, which I also grew to love. She had a book of poems and would read them to my sisters and me. I remember one poem in particular, it was called Which Loved Best by Joy Allison. The poem told the story of three siblings proclaiming their love for their mother. It went on to give situations and dialogue between the children and mother at the end of the poem; the author leaves the reader to ponder the question which loved best.

My conclusion was, what I’m sure the author hoped to convey—kindness and obedience prove love. It’s not enough to just say you love someone, you must show it in everything you do and say. Without realizing it, my mother had introduced me to a poem that would forever be etched in my heart and mind and influence me forever.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. (1 Cor. 13:4–8)

Through my teens, this poem acted as a powerful tool in remembering the importance and need to be obedient and kind. If obedience and kindness was proof of love, then I had to prove my love to God and, consequently, to my parents.

My mother was the disciplinarian in our