Despite your immediate assumption I’m from New Jersey based on my muscle and attitude, I split my childhood between my divorced parents in NJ and Colorado. So, when I became a Christian at the age of six, I was living in Fruita, Colorado. Even though I was young, it was very real and intense for me. Below are two “very Alli" stories of my childhood faith walk:

1) I was baptized when I was seven. Before dunking me, the pastor asked why I was getting baptized. I responded very seriously and earnestly, "Because I am a wicked, wicked sinner.” The whole congregation laughed, but I was very serious. What they didn’t know is during the week I had watched Charlie’s Angels and stolen a Barbie from my stepsister – two very big no-no's.

2) A year later, I made my mom a Mother's Day card. On the outside I drew a sweet picture (I think it was a flower, sunshine and butterflies) and on the inside I wrote "Mom, I love you and if you don't accept Jesus into your heart, you are going to hell. Happy Mother's Day! Allison." Ironically, Hallmark never called.

My childhood was extreme in so many ways...in faith, trauma, dysfunction and circumstance through multiple parental marriages, crime, heartache and rigid legalism (demonstrated through rules like not being allowed to wear pants until I was 15). I could tell every story that resulted in me being a broken adult and we could all have a good cry, but the bigger story is from my 20's. A quote that reminds me of my early adulthood is from Dan Allendar, a Christian counselor:

“It is frighteningly easy to appear trusting when in fact one is simply dead (in denial of the wounds, hunger or struggle of the heart).”

Standing at a distance, most people thought I had my act together at 20 – I began running an infant and toddler ministry at a mega church with 400 kids and 80 volunteers, served in a food ministry, acted as a mentor/big sister to four kids and worked with a Christian music festival. At 24, I moved to DC and became a publicist for a political pundit. At 25, I moved to Atlanta to work for one of the Braves baseball players and began fighting legislative loopholes pertaining to child pornography. I had read the entire Bible eight times by the time I was 26 when I started attending VSN (Vineyard Sunday Night) and founded the Lazarus ministry for the homeless in the same week.

I was busy, busy, busy. Too busy to notice something wasn’t right. One of the cornerstone scriptures for Lazarus is Isaiah 58. In sum, it says true worship and fasting is to serve the poor and set the oppressed free, then salvation will come and wounds will quickly heal. That is what started to happen in my life, but to heal my wounds, God was requiring me to acknowledge them, when denial seamed a godlier alternative to me. Forced smiles and tired eyes for a stoic Jesus seemed more acceptable. Cracks began to show and I couldn't control it. I was having extreme reactions to things people said or preached and was making myself physically sick by fasting and serving. I realized I was having a not-so-hidden crisis – I was coming undone and God wouldn't let up on me. As I became more involved in vsn/Trinity, Jen Markley, Kris and Karyn saw past my "quirky" façade to see I had issues, emotionally, spiritually, relationally, financially, spanning the whole gamut. All three encouraged me to start counseling. When Kris says to jump, you jump, right? Not me. I fought it and they handled my struggle perfectly. They were bold enough to speak that truth to me, but gave me space to process it, to then act upon their advice.

It took me nine months to take that step. In February of 2002, I stepped into Julie Marchman's counseling office, finally convinced I needed help. With her kind eyes and soft, guiding voice, I felt safe to delve into the depths God wanted to restore. Sometimes, when broken bones don’t heal correctly, you have to re-break the bone. And God had to do that with me. I had learned to survive the only way I knew how, and in order for me to heal correctly, God had to break me. And much like re-breaking an actual bone, this process was painful. I opened myself to feeling the emotions and pain I had stifled as a child in survivor mode: anger, devastation, confusion. For three years, I explored the emotional and spiritual effects of my childhood nearly every week with Julie. My emotional development had been stunted by traumatizing events and even more by my denial of them. For the first time, I looked at my past from a perspective of truth and learned how to forgive those who hurt me as well as take responsibility for my own actions. I became aware that God no longer fit in the box I rationed Him.

During that time, cries of "Where were you during all of that...no, really where were you?" permeated the dead of the night and silent fury filled my active days. Bumper sticker theology wouldn't answer the question of why God didn't protect me. T-shirt Christianity wouldn’t replace my fear that it may have been better if I had never been born. I remember looking at a picture of myself as a four year old and screaming "SHE NEVER HAD A CHANCE," then throwing the picture away. People around me were concerned, but not Kris, Julie or Jenifer. There was depth to their understanding of God and godliness to know I needed this time to wrestle, that it was necessary for my spiritual and emotional survival, that it was essential for my growth. Another quote from Dan Allendar speaks beautifully of my struggle:

“Genuine trust involves allowing another to matter and have impact in our lives. For that reason, many that hate and do battle with God trust Him more deeply than those whose complacent faith permits an abstract and motionless stance before Him. Those who trust God most are those whose faith allows them to risk wrestling with Him over the deepest questions of life. Good hearts are captured in a divine wrestling match; fearful, doubting hearts stay clear of the mat. The commitment to wrestle will be honored by a God who will not only break, but bless."

The most defining moment of my life came during this time. I do “noble deeds”: I run a homeless ministry, cook for the sick and am the friend people depend on, but none of that compares to this moment. It was two days before Christmas (which I was spending pretty much alone), I had bronchitis and mono, just had my heart broken, was unemployed and was dealing with my past. Amidst my overwhelming pain, I slumped down in the shower – crying, defeated, hopeless – and muttered these words in a small, sobbing voice, "Despite all of this, I choose to believe You are Good. I choose You." It was my stake in the ground, my declaration of faith beyond my scarred heart. And God did break and bless. Slowly and eventually, healing happened. I came to peaceful terms with the story of my life and with God. It was a messy process, but I’m grateful for those years, for the friends that spoke truth to me, for the safe place they provided and the tenacity and patience God had with me during the process.