did you forget your testimony

I used to think that... it was too big to slip my mind

I went to Aldi the other day and I couldn’t find my car.

I’m looking, looking… and I’m like, “Lynn, how do you lose your car in a parking lot that literally has 30 spots?”

So I checked the right side — and turns out the car was parked in the exact same place where I had parked a couple days earlier. Same spot. No difference.

And I realized something.

My brain was so used to that routine that it didn’t register anymore.
It was familiar, so it didn’t feel like new information — and because of that, it didn’t feel important.

I think that happens with our testimonies too.

Sometimes in seasons of tension, the big things God has done start to feel small. Not because they are small — but because new fire, new challenges, new waiting seasons take up so much space in our minds.

That day in the parking lot felt simple, but it exposed something deeper in me: I had started to forget the weight of what God already carried me through.

Being planted in a local church has been one of the ways God keeps reminding me. Through sermons, songs, and also through people who remember my story.

“Planted in the house of the Lord, they will flourish in the courts of our God. They will still bear fruit in old age, they will stay fresh and green.” — Psalm 92:13–14 (NIV)

Because the truth is, I realized recently that I had started to minimize my own testimony. There were years when I sat in my car crying, repeating the same prayer:
“God, take this away. Take this away. Take this away.”

For over ten years I prayed for Him to take away clinical depression.
And He did.
Jesus healed my mind.

That miracle carried me through the last fifteen months of job searching. But when month sixteen came, for some reason it didn’t feel as big anymore — and that just didn’t make sense to me.

Because my testimony is big.
My story is big.

Jesus healed my mind after fourteen years — and somehow familiarity tried to make me treat it like a small thing. And when I slowed down long enough to look back, I started seeing a pattern.

I remembered the years I spent studying engineering, convinced I wouldn’t make it to graduation. Eight years of pushing through doubt and exhaustion — and yet God met me there too. When I thought I didn’t meet the requirements for an internship, He opened a door anyway and sent me to Greenville, South Carolina.

I remembered the version of me who used to hide in bathrooms because speaking in public felt impossible. Now I can walk up to strangers and start conversations about the most random things — and it still surprises me. That sometimes when I worship I can't help but smile really at how much God changed me.

I remembered moving to the States and feeling alone, unsure if I would ever find real friendships again. And yet God placed people in my life who became family — some friends who have walked with me for more than a decade.

Even in moments of grief, like when my grandma passed away in Spring 2024, God showed up through people. My crew leader offered to come with me to the funeral. 

Looking back, I see that many of the greatest gifts in my life came on two legs. God used people — ordinary, faithful people — to remind me who I was becoming when I couldn’t see it clearly myself.

And somewhere along the way, I realized that I had stopped looking at the receipts.

The miracle of healing.
The perseverance through school.
The restoration of my voice.
The friendships that carried me when I felt weak.

They were still there. I just stopped noticing them because they had become familiar.

2025 was the most beautiful and hardest years of my life. It was the year my mind felt free in a way I had never experienced before. God entrusting me with so much to steward and grow into. And now, stepping into 2026, I feel like God is recalibrating my perspective again.

Not by changing my situation overnight, but by reminding me where He has already shown up. And that He can and will do it again.

Because the moment I treat what He has done as something ordinary, I strip it of the wonder it deserves. But when I sit and linger in the places He pulled me from, something shifts. My eye looks up. My soul realigns.

That day at Aldi, I didn’t actually lose my car. I lost my awareness of something familiar.

And maybe that’s what God has been gently teaching us all — that sometimes we don’t lose the miracle. We just stop recognizing it because it has become part of our normal.

So now, when we feel the weight of waiting or the uncertainty of what comes next, we need to go back and look again.

Not to live in the past — but to remember that the same God who carried us through healing, grief, and unexpected doors is still present in this moment too.

And maybe flourishing doesn’t always look like something brand new. 

Sometimes it looks like standing in the same place — and finally seeing it with fresh eyes.

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Heart Call:

Your testimony always has the power to anchor you in hard seasons.

Psalm 103:2 (NIV)

“Praise the Lord, my soul, and forget not all his benefits.”

Psalm 77:11 (NIV)

“I will remember the deeds of the Lord; yes, I will remember your miracles of long ago.”

• Do you see the miracle in your testimony?

• Have you gone back in time lately to count all the times God showed up for you?

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Photo Credits: Yasser Mutwakil.