Well. It's time for me to get my story out there - the whole thing from the very beginning. This is who I am, this is what has shaped me and changed me. This is my testimony, my story of what Jesus does when He invades a heart. My prayer as you read is that you will experience Papa's heart in a way you never have before. His love for you goes farther than the skies and deeper than the ocean.
I was born in Salem - grew up in the same house, same room facing the river, have gone to the same church, still have many of the same friends since birth. I have been so blessed to be raised here. My childhood was not normal though. When I was 18 months old, my doctor found a hole in my heart the size of a quarter, and they had to do open heart surgery to close it. I still have the 6 inch scar on my chest. About the same time, my dad was dealing with a brain tumor and my brother Cole was just entering the family. I can't imagine being my mom then...
When I was 3, my dad passed away. I have very few memories of him. I think it was the night before he died, or very close to, our whole family was in our living room where his hospice bed was. I remember sitting at a table with all of my cousins when I decided I wanted to give my daddy a balloon. My mom picked me up and I gave him the balloon. The next thing I remember is a man rolling out my daddy's hospice bed through our front door.
The next couple years are a little fuzzy. I know that I was not happy. I would wake up in the middle of the night crying out for my daddy, or I would wake up hearing Cole doing the same. But at the same time I began to learn Who my heavenly Father really was. He was the Person my mom cried out to in the kitchen in the middle of the night. He was the One who was taking care of my daddy. He was the One that sent Christmas presents from our church family to a desperate single mother and kept our fridge full of lasagna. And He was Who everyone told me was my real Daddy.
During elementary school, I was the perfect church girl. Honestly, I could have been the poster child for the evangelical church. I was enrolled in a private Christian school (we're still not sure who paid for mine and Cole's tuition all those years), I did Bible quizzing and was always one of the highest placing kids, I was very involved in Sunday School and midweek stuff. Basically whenever the church doors were open, the Flanigans were there. And I loved it. I am so grateful for all of the people who poured their hearts into us and helped us have such a firm grasp of the Bible. But my elementary years were incredibly difficult. So many people in my life died. There has been more death in my family and family friends than I would wish on anyone. And every time, it would bring up more of the pain of not having a dad in my life. Every year on/near February 12, I would wear a locket with a picture of my dad in it. I would show the picture to [most] of the people who asked, and they would always say "Your dad was a very good man. He is so happy now with Jesus. And now you have God as your father."
And then middle school happened... Most of the things that happened between 2006-2010 are not mine to tell, but I can tell you how I reacted. And that was not well. It's kind of hard to sum up, but basically I became a victim of circumstance and poor decisions made by adults that I trusted completely. It seemed as if every time I turned around I found out about something about a very respected adult that I prayed wasn't true. I began to draw back into myself, and I built very high, thick walls around my heart. I fell into a deep pit of depression, anxiety, and obsessive negative thoughts. I had nightmares that I won't repeat. For almost a year, I couldn't sleep. If I could sleep, then I had to have the lights on and music going. But if I had music going, it would distract me and I couldn't sleep anyways. I was afraid that if I closed my eyes I would never wake up again. I became incredibly legalistic and held myself to outrageously high standards. The enemy convinced me that if I didn't read my Bible before I fell asleep, I would wake up in hell. I would have obsessive thoughts which lead me to not trust anyone - everyone was on a constant watch list. Every word they said was doubted, every intention thought to be a hurtful one. Even my closest of friends were not trusted. But how I could I trust someone when I knew they were just going to hurt me and let me down somehow?
I became nasty, bitter, angry, hateful. Anxiety/panic attacks become a regular occurrence. I couldn't do school because of the obsessive thoughts. I got so far behind that I basically felt like a failure. I had always been a straight-A student. I plastered a smile on my face and kept going to church and reading my Bible because if I didn't... Well, I didn't want to know what would happen if I didn't keep to my very strict rules. I hated God, but I cried out to Him anyways. I was angry at Him beyond belief, and yet I couldn't seem to get rid of His hand in my life. I couldn't understand how this God who said He was my Father could let all of those horrible things happen to me, how He could steal away the people I love, tear apart my family and my church, and still say He loved me and had a good plan for me.
Finally my mom had enough and forced me to go to therapy in 8th and 9th grade. Yes, forced. And I think only a handful of people know about this. I fought her every week. I tried to make up excuses not to go. And as much as I hated to admit it to anyone, it did help. I was ashamed though. What 13 year old goes to a psychiatrist? It didn't help that my brother didn't have to go, and neither did a couple of other kids who were very involved in all of the mess. Surely there is something horribly wrong with me, I would think, since no one else has to go. And so I would make up excuses to my friends why I couldn't hangout on Thursday night, etc. to hide what was going on. Always smiling on the outside, and yet dying from the darkness all around me on the inside.
When I was 15, I went for a week in the summer to Camp Risen Son. That place had been my safe haven for the last 5 years. I could run away from everything and just be with people I loved, far from the tangled mess at home. Yeah, they talked about God, but I was still trying to figure out where I was with Him. I believed He was real, I kind of believed that He had something better planned for my life, but I didn't understand His love or His forgiveness. It was the second to last night of camp, I think, and the speaker was talking about forgiveness. I lost it. I realized the depth of the bitterness and hatred in my heart toward a couple of adults who had severely hurt my trust. I was a mess, and I need healing. Jesus came and spoke His forgiveness over me. I was able to forgive myself, and I was able to begin forgiving all the people who had hurt me. Suddenly the joy that had been stolen from me returned. I can remember the next morning the feeling of freedom I had. It was incredible. I knew from that moment on that I had to follow Jesus with everything I was. I had known since I was a little kid I was made to be an overseas missionary, I knew it in middle school too. But I re-realized it that day, I guess.
The rest of high school was better than middle school, but it was pretty rough and doesn't really need to be talked about right now. A couple of concussions in junior/senior year and I basically dropped out. I knew I didn't want to go to college or a university - why spend thousands of dollars to learn about stuff that I would probably never use when I didn't even know what I wanted to do with my life? Besides, I really just wanted to tell people about Jesus, and it didn't seem like I should have to have a degree to do that. (Acts 4:13, anyone? Totally kidding. Go to school if that's what you want to do.) I felt God nudging me to look into YWAM (Youth With A Mission). Several of my friends/acquaintances had done a DTS (Discipleship Training School - YWAM is all about their acronyms...) and they came back changed. Changed in a very good way. They had passion, vision. They had gone on adventures. They had tried something new. And new was very much what I needed.
So in January 2012 of my senior year of high school, I started looking around the YWAM world base map. I was already planning to go to England to meet a penpal and stay with her family. I was looking for bases in countries about as far away from Oregon as I could get. I figured if I was going to do this, I was going to do it all the way. I was looking at Australia and New Zealand and countries where I could go backpacking and such - places I wanted to go. But nothing was getting me excited, nothing was grabbing my heart. Frustrated I prayed, alright, God, where do You want me to go? And He said, Europe. I said, Ehhh, don't think so. And He said, Look. I did. The first country that popped up was Belgium. Honestly, I had forgotten that was even a country. I read through the base information and I was hooked. It had grabbed my heart. I couldn't get it out of my head. We'll just fast forward through the next 8 months... But basically, I bought a one way ticket to England before I knew if I was accepted to the base in Brussels, got accepted, and it was a really, really crazy few months leading up to it.
I had absolutely no idea why God wanted me in Brussels. My time in England was awesome, unforgettable. And then it was time to go to Brussels. I had expectations and an idea of what my DTS would be. But I was also freaked out of my mind. It was one thing to go live with a penpal for two months... We had skyped, facebooked, written letters and emails. I knew her, and I trusted her. This though? This was much different. I was going in alone, to live with 10 other people I didn't know, who were from all over the world, and who would have different stories and personalities than me. Let's just say I learned more about my personality and how I work than I have ever. DTS is not really for those who don't want Jesus to break down their carefully built walls. I was so closed off the first few weeks. But I couldn't trust them! I didn't know who they were or if they would hurt me if I opened up to them.
We all went on an emotional rollercoaster the first few weeks of lecture phase. The some of the first topics were identity, Fatherheart of God, and Kingdom Living. Identity killed me. I believed so many lies about myself - that I wasn't beautiful or pretty or worth it, and because I wasn't all of those things, I didn't think anyone really wanted to be my friend - I was really just an annoyance that my "friends" put up with. Definitely lies, but lies that I probably wouldn't have had if I had had a dad who affirmed me in my beauty and femininity. And with all of that, I struggled to make new friends because I didn't think they would want to be anyways. Well, after lots of tears, I broke with those lies I believed about my self image and acceptance.
The next week was Fatherheart of God. Going into the week I had already decided that I wasn't going to cry or get emotional at all. I already knew that God was my Father. I thought I knew that better than any of my teammates. No one knew that my dad had died when I was little. So I sat there in my spot in the lecture room the first 3 days not engaged at all. I wasn't really connecting with the teaching, so I was just there. I had felt God's Presence all around and in me that whole week. On Thursday night we would usually have ministry night where the lecturer or our staff would do a special evening of worship or prayer or something like that. This particular Thursday night they had set up different prayer stations - a table for communion, a cross for surrendering, a place to write a letter to God, a place for confession, and a couch to just sit and be with Papa. I went straight for that one. I curled up on the couch with a pillow, and not even 5 minutes later I was sobbing from somewhere so deep within me that it scared me. Suddenly I was overcome with these emotions and this pain I didn't even know existed. All of these desires I had for an earthly father that I had not allowed to grow since I was a little girl burst out of my very soul. I realized how badly I wanted a daddy to hug me, to hold me, to tell me I was beautiful, to walk me down the aisle, to be there for me when I needed to talk about boys or just needed a hand to hold. I finally told God how unfair it really was, but that I wasn't angry.
While all of this was happening in my head, I was basically hyperventilating. The lecturer came and started praying over me. Over the next two hours, I never moved off the couch, but he came back a couple of times and did things that I always wanted my dad to do. He brought over a blanket and tucked me in. More hyperventilating. He stroked my hair and kissed my forehead and prayed over me more. Even more hyperventilating. Finally after two very long hours, I had cried all my tears and felt more wrung out than a sopping wet dishrag. I was so exhausted I could barely talk let alone walk. As I was about to head upstairs with my leader Nele, the lecturer stopped me, gave me a hug, and whispered "I am so proud of you". I knew that was really what Papa was saying to me. I lost it again.
I couldn't explain what had happened to anyone because I had absolutely no idea myself! So for the next week I was an emotional train wreck. One minute I would be laughing at the dinner table, the next minute I would be sobbing on my bed for an hour. It was great... Anyways, during that bipolar week it was also the week of Kingdom Living teaching. The lecturer was from Scotland. Now, I don't know what your theology says about prophecy, but this guy was doing it. All week he would just stop in the middle of his lecture, look at someone, walk up to them, and tell them something about their life that only they knew. He would then pray over them and speak truth over their lives. But he never did that to me. In some ways I was relieved, in others, not so much. We had talked a lot during meals and stuff, but he never got into anything spiritual. I was so messed up emotionally I didn't really care.
That Wednesday night, I had it really rough, and I was journaling my prayers in my bed. I was so upset, I finally wrote in my journal "God, just give me a dad!" I could show you the page. You know when you say things out of emotion but don't expect anything to come of it? Yup. That would be that sentence. So, Thursday morning I thought nothing of it. My team, my outreach leaders, and Michael the speaker went on a prayer walk that morning around the EU buildings in Brussels. We were not ready. If I'm not ready for a prayer walk, I get depressed and angry. We went back to the base to debrief and pray, and I was hiding deep in myself. I was sitting next to Michael and another teammate. While they were praying to close off the morning, I started sobbing again. I lost it. They kicked everyone else out of the prayer room so it was just me, the two outreach leaders and Michael. I finally explained what had been going on all week, and they started praying for me. Michael prophecied over me - I honestly don't remember what he said, I was crying to hard! He did say something about Papa filling my loneliness though. After about a half hour, I felt much much better and headed up to the DTS student apartment to get cleaned up. Michael was staying on the same floor so he followed me.
Just as I was about to go in to the apartment, Michael stopped me and said, "Papa wants me to ask you something. He wants me to ask you to be my daughter." *enter Katy's dropped jaw here* I was floored. I stared at him for a bit, and he looked quite worried. And then I told him that I had just prayed for that the night before. (Not for him particularly of course!) He seemed slightly shocked and said he needed to go call his wife and kids... And I walked dazedly to the shower where I freaked out a bit: I realized that I didn't know how to have a dad or how to be a daughter.
And so began a very strange journey for all of us.
It's kind of a weird thing to skype your mom and tell her that a guy from Scotland is adopting you or how that even came to be. My brother had men step up in his life and be a father figure, but I had never had anyone really do that for me. My mom was excited for me, but also a little hesitant I think. Michael and I talked quite a bit while he was still in Brussels, and just a couple days after all of that happened, he told me that he and his family wanted me to come visit them after my DTS was over. Me: woah... hold up. Sudden realization of what God was really doing hit me like an anvil. I was excited and man, was I scared.
Over the next couple of months I wrestled with God. First, He takes my biological dad, then He gives me a new one out of the blue, and then the new one goes back to a country that is halfway around the world. Fantastic! It was hard. I felt like Papa really wanted me to go stay with Michael and his family after my DTS, but I was scared. My mom was neutral, and all my teammates thought it was a great idea. So while I was on outreach in Bulgaria I bought a ticket to Scotland for 10 days before I came home to Oregon.
It was probably one of the best decisions I have ever made. I was so scared flying into Glasgow. As the plane touched the tarmac, I had a minor panic attack. Holy cow, Katy, what in the world are you doing?? What if they don't like you? What if it's horrible? WHAT ARE YOU DOING? But man. It was so worth it. Michael's kids, my siblings, Emily Joy and Joshua are the greatest. His wife Gail is the best. And I loved everything about the town where they lived. But not gonna lie, the first couple of days were pretty hard for me when it came to Michael. I was putting so much pressure on myself - I was so afraid that I was going to mess it all up. I had no idea what I wanted or expected from the relationship, or what he was thinking. I wanted it to not be awkward so badly! And it really wasn't. 10 days was not long enough. I got on the plane to leave Scotland, and I felt a part of my heart stay there.
And so here we are, a year later. My dad and I have messaged back and forth and we've skyped as a family a couple of times. I am so excited to go back. I will be staying with them for almost two weeks before I go to Germany for my next YWAM school. During the last 6 months especially, I have felt a pulling in my heart for Scotland. I was able to do some ministry with them and some of the YWAMers in West Kilbride and I love the work they are doing. We'll see what Papa has in store :)
This is my story. This is my story of Papa's love for me. This is His work to restore the brokenness in my life. And this is His heart for all His children. Of course, you probably won't have a random guy adopt you, but I know that God is always working to redeem the things stolen by the enemy.
Psalm 145:13-20
The Lord is trustworthy in all he promises and faithful in all he does.
The Lord upholds all who fall and lifts up all who are bowed down.
The eyes of all look to you, and you give them their food at the proper time.
You open your hand and satisfy the desires of every living thing.
The Lord is righteous in all his ways and faithful in all he does.
The Lord is near to all who call on him, to all who call on him in truth.
He fulfills the desires of those who fear him; he hears their cry and saves them.
The Lord watches over all who love him, but all the wicked he will destroy.
