The Testimony I Was Never Supposed to Tell

Author Testimony: How God Met Me in a Marriage Falling Apart and Made Me Whole

I’m Patience Colby and I never thought this would be my author testimony. I certainly never thought this would be the way I came to know God, not through a mountaintop moment, not through a revival tent or a healing, but through the slow heartbreak of unmet expectations and the silence of neglect. I’ve never shared this out loud, and to be honest, I don’t think I could, not in church, not to my in-laws, not to my husband’s friends. It’s not the kind of testimony that gets a standing ovation. But it’s mine. And I believe it’s for someone who, like me, is gasping for breath under the weight of “just making it work.”

I was raised Baptist. I knew the hymns, I bowed my head during prayer, I even picked up the Bible from time to time. But it never stuck. I was chasing life, success, control, acceptance. God was never denied, just conveniently ignored. Always nearby, but never invited in.

That all changed when my sister-in-law came to live with us, with her two kids and what felt like a hurricane of emotion. We weren’t close, and frankly, neither was she with my husband. Still, I welcomed her with open arms. I thought we’d bond. Instead, we clashed. Constantly. Oil and water doesn’t even begin to describe it.

To this day, I’m grateful that God has blurred the details of my testimony. I can’t remember all the arguments or what was said. But I remember how it made me feel. Small. Unseen. Misunderstood. It cracked something deep in me. Growing up, I had to push to be heard. I fought, not with fists, but with force. That’s how I earned my place. That’s how I survived. I didn’t know another way.

But suddenly, that way wasn’t working. My home didn’t feel like a safe place anymore. My husband, though kind, pulled away from any real solution. I wanted him to pick sides, because I needed to know I mattered. Like no one saw my pain or believed I deserved peace in my own home. I wasn’t asking him to choose between kindness and cruelty. I was asking him to choose me. And when he didn’t, I broke.

But looking back, I can see what I couldn’t then: asking a woman and her children to leave with nowhere else to go would’ve been a hard, even unthinkable, thing for many people. Especially with kids involved, even if they were teenagers. At the time, all I could feel was my own hurt and sense of injustice, but now I can hold space for the complexity of it. I do have compassion for that now. For him. For them. It doesn’t erase the pain, but it helps me see the situation from more than just my own wounded view.

But when you’re in the fire, all you feel is the burn, and I was burning.

The tension in the house had grown so thick, we ended up in family counseling. There had even been moments, words spoken, that made it clear we were more than just different. At times, it felt like she outright resented me. And I didn’t know how to live under the same roof with that kind of quiet hostility.

I wanted to be the queen of compromise and I couldnt find a stable surface to stand on with her. Instead of protection from my husband, I felt invisible. Our marriage was crumbling, and I was left with a revelation: I had married the idea of a protector, hoping he’d replace the one I never had. But no man, no matter how good or broken, can fill that role like God.

I didn’t walk out. I didn’t call a divorce lawyer. My author testimony is that I turned inward and upward. And one night, we watched the movie War Room. Something about that fictional couple’s faith stirred a longing in me. I thought, What if God really is this involved? What if I’ve never really been serious about Him?

So I got serious. I opened my Bible, not as a checkbox but as a lifeline. I started learning who God is, and in the process, I started discovering who I am. Not who I’d become through wounds or weariness, but who I was always meant to be, gentle, joyful, capable of whispering instead of shouting.

My husband sometimes liked the fighter in me, until the fight turned inward. But I was never born to be anyone’s weapon. My author testimony is that I learned that in God’s presence, I didn’t have to yell to be heard. I didn’t have to earn space, I already had it in Him. And while I’m still growing, still unlearning old patterns, I finally know that peace isn’t something others can give. It’s something God plants deep inside and waters with truth.

So no, I can’t tell this author testimonial in front of a crowd, not yet. But maybe someone, somewhere, will read it and feel a little less alone. And maybe, just maybe, they’ll look up like I did and realize: God’s not waiting for you to get it together. He’s waiting for you to let go.

Yours Truly,

Patience Colby

Scripture:

“No one lights a lamp and hides it in a clay jar or puts it under a bed. Instead, they put it on a stand, so that those who come in can see the light. For there is nothing hidden that will not be disclosed, and nothing concealed that will not be known or brought out into the open. — Luke 8:16-17 (NIV)

Reflection:

If you’ve ever found yourself in a season where silence hurt more than words, where relationships felt like battlegrounds, or where you questioned your own worth, know this: God saw you then, and He sees you now. My stories will always carry echoes of that truth, not just romance, but redemption. Not just happy endings, but healing beginnings.

As you read my books or follow my blog, I hope you feel what I once didn’t know I could: seen, heard, and loved by a God who doesn’t need you to be loud to listen.

P.S. You can still shop old books, here or Amazon.