Cindy’s story of transformation
My extended family has always cherished telling stories, sharing memories, and telling great jokes. I loved hanging out with my grandfather and his brothers during family reunions. The joy, love, and connection in those moments were so rich. My aunts, uncles, and cousins would often pull me into their stories, especially those about how God provided and guided them during difficult times. I also learned that while some stories were accurate, the “fisherman” in most of us sometimes loved to embellish, turning the truth into something more entertaining—perhaps even a little bit of lying. One family tale involves the huge largemouth bass caught by my brother and grandfather in 1969. We were all amazed by the record catch, only to later learn that the fish was actually gasping its last breaths and floated up to the boat. They didn’t exactly “catch” it; they simply grabbed it with their hands. The truth came out at Christmas in 1983 at our huge family gathering. Our family loved the truth with much laughter and told the stories we wanted to live on in the hearts of our children.
As someone who finally understood the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus at the age of 16, I found new life in the true stories of God's amazing love and grace for us messy, flawed people. I read how Jesus loved His disciples, challenging them to move beyond the religion of the day into a living, uncomfortable faith. I saw how the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob loved the liars and misfits from broken backgrounds and used them to bless many. This spoke hope to me, a hope that maybe—just maybe—it was all true, and I could trust the God who still speaks today. Oh, how I needed this living Truth to heal the wounds of hurt and perfectionism that had been imposed on me.
At the age of 12, my mom took me to a country doctor who told me I was “too fat.” I weighed 120 pounds (54 kilos), was a healthy swimmer, and loved sports, but he put me on a 1,000-calorie-a-day diet. It wasn’t long before my mom introduced the “daily judge” of my worth: the scale. For the next several years, until I married my wonderful husband, I would weigh in front of her. If my weight wasn’t low enough, she’d recommend—or sometimes force—laxatives, enemas, and ridiculous diets, all in an attempt to get me under 100 pounds (45 kilos). As a junior in high school, I finally made it under 100 pounds after a two-week flu. It was then that I realized how dangerous this was when my mom told me that just a little more weight loss and my legs wouldn’t touch at the top. I was still a class officer, an A student, in the band, involved in the church youth group, and played the piano and organ, but I was slowly sinking into active bulimia, a struggle that would last from age 12 until I was 25.
At 25, I entered inpatient treatment for six weeks, where I learned how to develop healthy habits and a new way of thinking. I left my husband and three young children at home with family and church friends while I began the slow journey to recovery. It was there I encountered the concept of the 12 steps, and through them, I learned that the key to overcoming addiction is to believe and trust in a Higher Power—we call Him Jesus. It was a long, painful process, but through it, I stepped out of people-pleasing and into a life of freedom, submitted to Jesus, who kept me alive until I could get the help I needed.
Today, 37 years later, living in submission to my Creator and the Lover of my soul, I can say that I am thankful and free from so many lies and addictions that once threatened to destroy me. I am daily reminded that I am God’s child, Jesus' friend, and that my life is filled with the same power that raised Jesus from the dead—a power that will never abandon me. This beautiful adventure continues to grow me in faith and love. I now share many true stories of God’s amazing grace, His unfailing love with the people and places He leads me to.
One of the most transformational parts of my life has been the groups of believers who desire to go deeper by consistently meeting and pursuing a closer relationship with God. The first such group was the one I found in the hospital, where our stories could be shared, prayed over, and processed, bringing healing and life. Later, in my late 20s, I became part of 12-step groups, where I sponsored others and was sponsored myself. The constant battle from addiction to freedom became a lifeline for me, where I could express my emotions freely for the first time.
For as long as I could remember, my parents wanted me to be a “happy, beautiful girl,” and from the age of four, I was sent to the bathroom to cry, only allowed to return when I was “back to being happy.” I don’t know how many hours I spent in that bathroom, but I learned early that it was the only place I could express my real or “negative” emotions. No wonder, then, that by my teen years, throwing up became my coping mechanism for the emotional chaos I was experiencing—shame, abandonment, and loneliness.
I now tell the teens I work with that, while our parents did the best they could, it doesn’t mean they got everything right. I’ve written out my parents' stories and seen how far they came from their own upbringings. I don’t want to sound unforgiving, for I now realize that every story holds the hope of redemption. My prayer is that all the truths I’ve learned—along with those I have yet to discover—are turned into beauty by the Perfect, Holy, and Loving Trinity.
Photo credit: Melissa Askew (Unsplash)
Another group that profoundly impacted my life was a small group of five women who met every Thursday morning at 7 a.m. at our leader’s home. For three or four years, we spent hours each week studying the Bible, praying, and challenging each other to teach in new ways. We grew in brutal honesty, becoming truly known, understood, and loved. In this space, I shared all my story—the dark, the ugly, the sick, the broken, and the joyfully redeemed parts—and was met with kindness, love, and the courage to move forward. Their acceptance of me, flaws and all, freed me to trust God in ways I never imagined. If they could love me knowing all that, I could trust God to love me and lead me.
For nine years, I was part of the Budapest City Team with ReachGlobal. Living and ministering in a cross-cultural setting was stressful and filled with spiritual warfare, but it was also a beautiful time of witnessing God’s power. The stories we shared brought us together, seeing God work mightily in our lives and in the lives of those we served. In many ways, my attempts at reaching out to the culture weren’t perfect, but God used even our failures to show that shame doesn’t define us. Trusting God to lead and teach, even through struggles, creates powerful stories of grace.
Photo credit: Hannah Busing (Unsplash)
The most beautiful and transformative story I know is the story of God’s love—His grace that transforms, bringing light, hope, and fulfillment to every deep desire in Jesus. Romans 8:1-17, especially verse 14, tells us: “All who are led by the Spirit are children of God.” As I studied this passage, the words "led by the Spirit" caught my attention. I want to be led, but what does that truly look like?
A few months before this realization, my husband, Harold, and I had begun taking ballroom dance lessons. Many of our kids, their friends, and the youth we had worked with were getting married, and we wanted to know how to participate in these celebrations. The dance studio had two bathrooms—one for leaders and one for followers. I needed that reminder often, especially as we started learning. One night, about six months into our lessons, we attended a practice dance. We had been practicing basic waltz steps. A champion Bible quizzer we knew was there, and he had also become a champion ballroom dancer. He asked me to dance. Harold and I had been intentionally staying to the side, slowly learning, not wanting to take up space or cause a disruption. When this young man asked me, I honestly told him, “I don’t want to hurt you.” He smiled and kindly replied, “I’m really good at leading. You can trust me.”
I wanted to dance. At first, though, I kept looking around at the others flying around the floor. As I tried to follow his lead, my mind kept telling my body, I can’t do this! But then, I closed my eyes and began to feel his guidance. I could sense the strength of his lead and the smooth rhythm of the music. Every time I opened my eyes, my body rebelled. So, I closed them again, trusted in his expert lead, and before long, I found myself floating and flying around the floor. What a beautiful dance!
Photo credit: Kari Bjorn (Unsplash)
This experience became a perfect example of what it means to be led. We live by faith, not by sight. It can feel terrifying at times, but it’s not my lead—it’s the Holy Spirit’s beautiful dance, guided by God’s gentle nudges, His strong embrace, and a beauty beyond anything we can imagine. We can trust in our Holy and loving God. The Trinity is already in this perfect dance of relationship, and we are simply invited to join in worship. What a privilege, what a story!
Written by Cindy Golden