Where Was God?
When people hear the word childhood trauma, they often picture abuse, neglect, or tragedy. But trauma doesn’t always scream — sometimes it whispers. It can show up as isolation, chronic illness, or the quiet ache of feeling different.
That was my story. I wasn’t abused or mistreated, but I did grow up with health challenges, hard farm work, and the unshakable feeling that I didn’t quite fit in. I didn’t have the words for it back then, but looking back now, I can see God’s fingerprints all over my life. He was there — in the pig pens, at the piano, and in every place I thought I was alone — shaping a simple farm girl into a storyteller for Jesus.
The Farm Girl Who Felt Different
I grew up on a pig farm out in the country — the kind where you learn the meaning of hard work before you can even spell it. Every morning the bus would bounce up our long gravel lane, and as soon as it stopped, whoosh…all the windows on the bus went up. Yep — the unmistakable smell of the pig barn followed us everywhere we went. It was just part of who we were.
Our Saturdays weren’t for cartoons or sleeping in — they were for scraping pig pens. Every week, like clockwork. It wasn’t glamorous, but it built grit, discipline, and a strong work ethic that has stayed with me to this day.
Besides the usual farm chores like picking rocks every spring, hoeing milkweeds, or gathering wood from the bush, life had another challenge: health issues. As a young girl, I had severe ear problems — the kind that meant pain, infections, and endless doctor visits. Then in my teenage years came female health struggles I didn’t realize weren’t normal.
But here’s the thing — I was never weak. I was determined. Hardworking. Resilient. I pushed through pain before I even knew I had it. Looking back, I can see how God used that strength to shape my perseverance for the future.
Still, even with all that drive, I often felt different.
I went to school in Petrolia, a small rural town where all the country kids came into town. We didn’t have “city kids” in the big sense, but there was still a difference. The town kids always seemed a little more polished — cleaner shoes, nicer clothes, less manure on their boots! I never quite felt like I fit perfectly in either world.
It wasn’t that anyone was unkind — it was just that deep-down feeling of being “other.” And that’s where the whispers began: You’re not like them. You don’t belong.
But even in those moments, God was at work. His handprint was already on my story — hidden in the middle of mud, music, and moments of feeling unseen.
God’s Handprint Through Mentors
One of the clearest ways I see God’s hand on my life is through the people He placed in my path.
My Sunday school teachers were some of the first to plant seeds of truth in me. Week after week, they poured out the Word of God, probably never realizing how much those lessons would stick.
Then came youth group — and with it, one of the most impactful mentors of my life: my youth pastor, Mark Hazard.
I’ll never forget one night when he sat down at the piano and began to sing:
“Keep me true, Lord Jesus, keep me true.
There’s a race that I must run,
There are victories to be won,
Give me power every hour, to be true.”
I may not remember every lyric, but I’ll never forget the feeling. That song became a prayer that carried me through so many seasons: “Keep me true, Lord.”
That was one of God’s handprints — right there in the melody, reminding me that even when I felt different, I was seen, chosen, and called.
Worship at the Piano — My Safe Place
When life got heavy, I’d run to the piano. It wasn’t just an instrument — it was my outlet, my safe place, my way of praying without words.
I’d sit and play for hours, sometimes softly, sometimes pounding the keys when I was upset. At those times I would be pounding so hard that all of the decorative items placed on top for display would start to fall off as they crept towards the edge. The music always told the truth of my heart. The old revival hymns were my therapy — “Great Is Thy Faithfulness,” “What a Friend We Have in Jesus,” “I’ll Fly Away.” Those songs became part of me, stitched into my soul.
I was shy about singing in front of people, but behind those piano keys, I came alive. It wasn’t about performance — it was about presence. God’s presence.
Even now, all these years later, I still catch myself singing those same old songs when I’m doing dishes or driving down the road. It’s just who I am. Deep within me, worship still pours out — because that’s where God first met me.
Psalm 16:11 says, “You make known to me the path of life; you will fill me with joy in your presence.” That verse isn’t just poetic to me — it’s personal. His presence really did bring joy, even when the world around me didn’t make sense.
Fashion on the Farm — A Southern Belle Gone Wild
Now, for a little twist — I might have been a farm girl, but I’ve always loved a bit of sparkle!
We didn’t have fashion magazines lying around the house, but whenever we visited the city or caught glimpses of TV, I was mesmerized. Purses, earrings, jewelry, makeup — anything fancy fascinated me.
Even now, I laugh because that farm girl never outgrew her flair for fashion. Years later, when my husband met me, he affectionately called me a “southern belle gone wild.” Why? Because I love fascinators, fancy purses, and all things fabulous.
I often joke that maybe it’s because I didn’t get out enough as a kid off the farm— fashion became my way of bringing the world to me! But truthfully, I believe God wove that love of beauty right into my DNA.
I like to say:
I’m a country girl with simple farm roots, a storyteller for Jesus, and a flair for fashion — accessorizing my faith one sparkle at a time.
Even that was part of God’s handprint. He knew joy and creativity would one day become part of my ministry — a way to draw people in and point them toward Him.
Reframing “Different”
For years, I thought being different was a bad thing. But God whispered a new truth: “You’re not different — you’re set apart.”
Jeremiah 1:5 says, “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart.”
What I once saw as a disadvantage, God saw as design.
The farm taught me hard work and humility. The ear problems taught me how to listen closely — to Him. The teenage health challenges built endurance. And the “differentness” I wrestled with became compassion for others who feel the same way.
He didn’t just allow me to be different; He designed me that way — purposefully, lovingly, intentionally.
Every scraped pig pen, every hymn played in tears, every fashion flourish — it was all part of His story being written in me.
Healing & Purpose
Healing doesn’t happen overnight. It’s a process of letting God rewrite the lies we believed in childhood.
Here are a few He rewrote in me:
Lie: You don’t belong.
Truth: You belong to Me. (John 15:16 — “You did not choose Me, but I chose you.”)
Lie: You’re not strong enough.
Truth: My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness. (2 Corinthians 12:9)
Lie: You’re just a farm girl; nothing special.
Truth: I have set you apart for a purpose. (Jeremiah 1:5)
When I started believing what God said about me instead of what I felt about me, everything changed.
My story — farm grit, piano keys, and a few sparkly accessories — became a testimony of His faithfulness.
Practical Ways to Trace God’s Fingerprints
If you’ve walked through your own childhood pain — whether it shouted or whispered — here are some ways to see God’s handprint in your story:
1 Look back with fresh eyes. Ask the Holy Spirit to show you moments of mercy you missed before.
2 Invite Jesus into your memories. Picture Him standing beside you in every scene.
3 Reframe “different” as “set apart.” Your uniqueness is often your greatest calling card.
4 Worship through it. When you can’t find words, let your spirit sing anyway.
5 Share your story. What once hurt you might heal someone else.
His Handprint Is Still There
Childhood trauma doesn’t always come from loud or obvious wounds. Sometimes it hides in the moments we feel unseen, unheard, or unworthy.
For me, it showed up in earaches, pig pens, and piano keys pounded in frustration. But when I look back now, I see it so clearly:
• His handprint was in the mentors who spoke life into me.
• His handprint was on the piano that became my altar.
• His handprint was in my love for beauty and creativity.
• His handprint was in the strength He built through every muddy, messy moment.
Romans 8:31 says, “If God is for us, who can be against us?”
Friend, take a moment and trace His fingerprints across your story. You’ll find them — in the places you thought He’d forgotten, in the moments that once hurt the most, and in the strength you didn’t even know you had.
Because what once felt like pain can become the very place where God leaves His most beautiful handprint.