The Testimony I Was Never Supposed to Tell

Part 2: Author Testimonial for How God Provided When I Had Nothing Left But Questions

In my new novel When Vinyl Vibes, I explore what it really means to be seen by the person you love. Not just noticed or acknowledged, but truly understood, held emotionally, gently known. That longing was born in me long before I wrote about it. So, When Vinyl Vibes was the first thing that came to mind, writing out part 2: author testimonial. It was forged in the years when I didn’t feel seen by the person who promised to love me most. And yet, in the middle of that ache, something unexpected happened: God saw me.

And just as beautifully, I saw Him.

What followed wasn’t just a spiritual awakening. It was something playful. Intimate. Deep. I got to know God in a way that felt almost secret, like He had carved out this quiet corner of my life where I could ask questions without judgment. I didn’t have to get it right. I didn’t have to impress anyone. I just had to show up. And every time I did, He was there. Waiting. Listening.

It felt like we had this little thing going, just the two of us. Even in a full house, with mouths to feed and tensions rising, there was joy in our moments together. A thousand whispered questions:

What do I do now, God?

What’s next?

What will my miracle look like?

There was this giddy anticipation, like waiting for a surprise gift you know you’re going to love because it was chosen by someone who really knows you. That’s how God began to reveal Himself, through provision I didn’t expect, answers I didn’t ask the “right” way, and quiet reassurances that said, I see you, daughter. You don’t have to do this alone.

We were struggling financially at the time. Stretched thin. A full house and an empty bank account. But then—God. A pastor from the church I was attending reached out and met a need we hadn’t even voiced aloud. And suddenly, it clicked: there are still churches that care. Still communities led by the Spirit to be the hands and feet of Jesus. I was stunned, grateful, blessed.

And then there were the mysterious phone calls, from my husband’s friends. Not close friends. Not people who knew the inner workings of our home. But somehow, they would call at just the right moment with just the right amount of money. Enough to fix the car. Enough to keep the lights on. They knew nothing. And yet… they knew because God knew.

It wasn’t charity. It wasn’t pity. It was provision, divine and deliberate. It felt like God saying, You don’t have to beg anyone. You don’t have to perform. I’ll send help. You just keep trusting Me.

And He did. Over and over again.

But here’s the thing. When I asked God to remove the family that was living with us, when I begged for peace in my own home, He didn’t just say yes. He said, “Yes… and.”

Yes, I will give you peace.

But first, I will teach you resilience.

Yes, I will remove the chaos.

But first, I will show you who you are without it.

I had to stop obsessing over how others saw me. That’s still a process I’m working through, to be honest. But when she finally moved out, unexpectedly, without warning, it shocked me. Not just because the moment came, but because I realized I wasn’t the same woman who had once wept for it.

Her presence, her friction, had driven me closer to God. She was, without knowing it, a tool in His hands to refine something in me. And when she left, so did a piece of the angry armor I’d carried for years. The armor I thought made me strong, but really just made me hard to reach.

That was the beginning of the end of my nasty attitude, one forged in childhood trauma, honed by survival, but never blessed by God. He didn’t give me that edge. He gave me mercy. He gave me joy. He gave me Himself.

And the more I look back, the more I realize He’s always been there. Shielding me. Covering me. Holding back things I’ll never even know to thank Him for. I was a child of God before I even knew I was adopted by Him. He protected me from dangerous paths, from fights that could’ve turned deadly, from growing up too fast in a home that couldn’t always keep me safe.

My mom? It wasn’t the meds that kept her from crossing a line. She wasn’t even taking them. It was God. He stood in the gap, as He still does.

So now, if I could give myself advice from the other side of that valley. For anyone that reads part 2: author testimonial being nosy, but hopefully finding wisdom, it would be this:

• Get in your Bible. Don’t just read it. Let it read you.
• Recognize that this pain won’t last forever. Every day might feel like a thorn in your side, but that thorn is not your identity.
• Go on walks. Breathe in beauty. Trust that storms pass.
• And above all else, know that God is enough. He always has been. He always will be.

You don’t need every relationship to work out. You don’t need everyone to understand you. You don’t even need your husband to fill every emotional gap. What you need is the One who already sees, already knows, and already loves you completely.

That’s the testimony I was never supposed to tell. But I’m telling it anyway.Because someone needs to know that God provides. Not always in the way you ask, but always in the way you need.

Yours Truly,

Patience Colby

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

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.

Scripture:

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”
—Psalm 34:18 (NIV)

Reflection:

I didn’t plan on writing a Part 2: author testimonial. Honestly, I thought I was done after the first post. I’d told the story, shared the lessons, and moved on. Or so I thought.

But then, conviction.

God gently pointed out that while my words had healed others, I was still bleeding from an old, open wound. One I had learned to ignore. One I had covered in strength and survival, but not in truth. This post, this part 2, isn’t just a continuation. It’s a rebandaging. A revisiting of where I’ve been so I can remember just how far God has brought me.

Because I am far from that woman. I don’t live in that place anymore, physically or emotionally. And that distance isn’t luck, or coincidence, or my own grit.

It’s a miracle, and it’s entirely because of God.

This post is my altar of remembrance. My stone of help. A “thank you” to the One who never left my side, even when I didn’t know how to ask Him to stay.

So if you’re reading this and wondering whether you’ll make it out of your storm, please know that you will. Not because the pain isn’t real, but because He is. And He still heals. Every single time.