Where I First Met Jesus — A Glimpse of Marriage After God’s Heart

Family ran deep in the hills of Tennessee — not just by blood, but by heart. But for me, family didn’t start out as safe. My early years were marked by a world no child should ever have to endure — one shaped by the kind of pain that comes from being unloved, unseen, and unprotected by the very people meant to keep you safe. It wasn’t just the poverty — it was the emotional abandonment, the fear of raised voices, the sting of being blamed, and the ache of watching those who should have cared inflict harm instead.

I was born into poverty, raised in the backwoods of Tennessee, up on the ridge where the lights rarely came on and running water was a luxury. Our clothes and shoes never fit right. School — on the days we could get there — was often our only chance to eat a full meal. As the oldest of five, I wasn’t just a sibling — I became the anchor in a storm no child should ever face. I stepped into the role of a mother long before I understood what childhood should feel like. Not because I was ready, but because no one else would. I made sure my siblings were fed, clothed, and cared for — because my mother wouldn’t. She was often out drinking — drinking heavily — spending time with men, and disappearing into the night. Many nights, I had to go with her — just a child trailing behind — to make sure she made it home without looking too drunk. If I didn’t get her home — if someone saw her stumbling or she came in too late — I paid the price. She would beat me with whatever she could find: coat hangers, belt buckles, or her fists. It didn’t matter. Her rage needed somewhere to land, and more often than not, it landed on me. I was a child forced into the role of a parent — wiping away tears that weren’t mine, navigating confusion and unpredictability I didn’t create, and carrying burdens far too heavy for my little shoulders. I wasn’t just trying to survive — I was trying to protect my siblings from being taken away, and from the very person who should have protected us.  While other children played and dreamed, I was quietly calculating how to keep my family from falling apart. I’ll never forget the words my grandmother told me at a very young age: *“It’s up to you to take care of them and your mother.” because she can’t. 

There were nights filled with night terrors, waking me up screaming and soaked in fear, as if the demons from the trauma I couldn’t speak of were still chasing me. Sometimes I would sleepwalk, lost in the fear that followed me from day into night. One night in particular is burned into my memory. A violent thunder and lightning storm was tearing across the ridge. I can’t remember why, but I had been locked out of the house during the storm. The wind howled, the sky split open with light, and the rain beat down on my tiny frame. I was cold, soaked, and paralyzed by fear — not just of the storm raging around me, but of being forgotten, unloved, and left to face the darkness alone. I was trembling — not just from the storm outside, but from the one inside. To this day, I’m still afraid of lightning because of that night.

But God was already making a way.

Even in my darkest moments — hiding from social workers, caring for my siblings like they were my own, sleepwalking from trauma, waking the entire house with night terrors and screams — God was near. I didn’t know Him yet, but He knew me. He sent lifelines — like the kind neighbor who fed us, and the foster mother who became a tangible expression of His love. When the nightmares wouldn’t let me rest, she would sit beside me, gently tuck me back into bed, and hold my hand until I fell asleep again. She was God’s angel in the flesh, stepping into the gap when I couldn’t fight the demons alone.

Revival in the Hills

It was in that little white one-room church, with an old outhouse out back and a wood stove for heat, that I met Jesus for the first time. Ensor Chapel Methodist Church, tucked deep in the holler, was nothing fancy — but for me, it was the most sacred place I’ve ever known. That church wasn’t just a place I went; it became the place where I belonged.

The whole community attended — everyone in the holler. Easter picnics, church potlucks, and tender moments of laughter and love filled that small yard. I can still see myself running barefoot through the grass, collecting eggs in my little basket, and the thrill of finding my first golden egg at nine years old. I remember the sound of Mrs. Gentry playing that old upright piano while we all sang — slightly out of tune, but full of joy. I remember hide and seek with the other children, the women whispering stories in the church and the soft, steady hum of the men talking just outside.

For a little girl who had been born into the chaos of poverty, abuse, and abandonment, those moments felt like a breath of heaven — it was safe there.

And then came revival.

The church came alive in a way I’d never seen before. We didn’t have central heat or air, just a stove in the back, and usually, men and women sat on opposite sides. But during that week of revival, everything changed. The pews were packed, the air was electric with the presence of God. I don’t remember where the people came from — I never saw them again — but their presence filled every corner of that little church.

The Spirit of God fell. I felt it — thick, holy, undeniable. Grown men — the kind who normally sat in silence — were standing with arms raised, tears streaming, praising, repenting, running to the altar. The fire of the Holy Spirit broke out in that little country church, and not a soul remained seated.

That was the first time I ever felt God’s presence in a room — and I knew, even as a child, that I would never be the same. It wasn’t just church — it was sacred.

And now, looking back, I understand what I was witnessing: the power of men stepping into their role as spiritual leaders.

A Glimpse of God’s Design

In Genesis 2, God created Adam first and gave him the responsibility to tend the garden and obey His instruction. Eve was formed after, as a partner and helper — but the spiritual responsibility was placed on Adam. Then in Genesis 3, when sin entered the world, God didn’t call out to Eve. He called to Adam: “Where are you?” — not just a call to location, but to accountability.

Scripture continues this pattern:

• “For the husband is the head of the wife even as Christ is the head of the church…” (Ephesians 5:23)
• “The head of every man is Christ, the head of a wife is her husband…” (1 Corinthians 11:3)

God’s design isn’t about domination or hierarchy. It’s about sacrificial leadership — men leading like Christ, laying down their lives in love, protection, and prayer.

It looks like choosing faith over pride, service over status, and prayer over passivity. It means a husband listens before speaking, showing up even when he’s tired, and loving his wife and children with consistency, gentleness, and strength. It means going first in forgiveness, setting the spiritual tone of the home, and being unafraid to weep before the Lord in front of his family. And when men walk in that kind of alignment, everything shifts.

It also looks like a man living as a daily, quiet example of what love and truth really are — leading not with loud declarations, but with the steady witness of his life. A godly man leads with his actions — not just his words. He walks in integrity when no one else sees, speaks with honesty even when it’s uncomfortable, and refuses to let secrets or silence take root in his home. He is the first to bring things into the light — not to condemn, but to heal. His strength is found in humility, and his leadership flows from a heart fully surrendered to the Lord. He knows that his wife and children are always watching — not for perfection, but for consistency, courage, and truth lived out every day.

Scripture reminds us in Proverbs 20:7, “The righteous who walks in his integrity—blessed are his children after him.” A man’s quiet commitment to righteousness leaves a legacy. His integrity becomes a covering, his honesty becomes a foundation, and his example becomes a map for those who follow behind him.

That’s what I saw in Ensor Chapel that week. Men on their knees, covering their families in prayer. Wives beside them, children watching. It was marriage after God’s heart — lived out in real time.

Why Biblical Marriage Still Matters

The world may try to redefine marriage, to minimize roles, to glorify self and convenience — but God’s blueprint still stands. When a husband leads with Christ at the center, when a wife walks in unity with him, when both are surrendered to the Lord — the home becomes a place of peace, strength, and blessing.

Homes like that don’t just function — they flourish. They become places where wounds are tended, prayers are heard, and purpose is born. What happens when a man loves like Christ and a woman walks in unity with him? Children are raised in truth and peace. Hearts are softened. Cycles are broken. And the love of God begins to echo beyond the walls of that home and into the lives of everyone who enters. These are the homes that tell the world what God’s love really looks like — steady, sacrificial, and lasting.

I look back on that little white church, and I see more than revival. I see God showing me what could be. What should be. And what He would one day bring into my own life through His grace and healing.

Conclusion

I should be a different person. I should be angry, hardened, and bitter. But instead — I am redeemed, softened, and whole, because the grace of God met me in the very places where I thought I had been forgotten. In the night terrors. In the storm. In the hunger. In the fists that should’ve protected but instead inflicted pain. And somehow, in a little white church with no air conditioning and a piano slightly out of tune, I saw what the love of Jesus really looked like.

That revival wasn’t about a service. It was about a Savior who stepped into my pain and rewrote the narrative I thought would always define me. It was in that sacred moment — surrounded by strangers who somehow felt like family — that I first understood what it meant to be truly known and loved. It was the beginning of healing that didn’t happen all at once, but in layer after layer, over years of learning to trust God, His people, and the truth of who I really was in Him. It was about restoration that reached all the way back into the darkest corners of my past. It was about men who chose obedience over ego. Women who chose worship over worry. And a little girl, worn and weary, who found, for the very first time, what it felt like to be seen, safe, and truly loved.

If we want to see real revival — not just in churches but in homes — it starts with hearts that say yes to God. It begins when men lead not from fear or force, but from faith. When women rise in strength beside them. When families are no longer built on performance, but on presence — God’s presence.

Because when we return to God’s design for love, marriage, and leadership, we don’t just shift atmospheres — we change generations.

Reflection Prompt

Prayer

Heavenly Father,

Thank You for being with me in every storm, every night terror, and every moment I didn’t think I could survive. Thank You for never leaving me, even when I didn’t know Your name. Lord, I ask that You raise up spiritual leaders in our homes — men who seek You first, who love like You love, and who walk in Your strength and humility. Restore what has been broken, heal what has been hidden, and pour out Your Spirit like You did in that little white church.

Let Your presence fill our homes. Let Your design be honored in our marriages. Let revival start within us and ripple through generations. Give us courage to surrender, strength to lead, and grace to follow You every step of the way.

In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Take a few moments to reflect and journal:

• What examples of spiritual leadership — or the absence of it — shaped your view of marriage and family?
• In what ways do you see God rewriting your story through His grace?
• How can you be intentional about aligning your marriage or household with God’s design today?

Ask the Lord to show you where healing is still needed and where He is calling you to step into your role more fully — whether as a spiritual leader, a nurturer, a reconciler, or a faith-builder in your home.

Let the revival begin in you.
Let it begin in your house.
Let it echo through generations to come.