🕊️ The Night No One Came (But God Did)
A Sacred Testimony for Wellness Wednesday
By Chelle Lynn | Serenity Driven Ministries
The year was 1996. I was 18 years old.
I had been married for four months, living in a shotgun apartment in downtown Frankfort, Kentucky. The walls were so thin you could hear your neighbors doing their bathroom duties. The first month of our marriage—well, it was okay. But it didn’t stay that way.
Soon came the violence.
It started with him slamming me to the floor so hard I was unconscious for several minutes. Then there was the choking. His hands around my throat became his way of showing dominance, of asserting power. Sometimes he’d sit on top of me with his hands tightening and his teeth wrapped around my nose.
Intimacy was not affection. It was survival.
The Last Night
I had worked the late shift at McDonald’s. We didn’t have a car, so a coworker gave me a ride—someone I had dated back in high school. That alone was enough to ignite my husband’s rage.
I don’t remember how it all started. I think he threatened to kill the guy. But maybe that was another night. Abuse blurs like that.
What I do remember is the “whack” of his fist slamming into the side of my head. I remember being dragged through the apartment—living room, kitchen, bedroom—while he kept hitting me with his left hand. The imprint of his wedding ring was left on my face.
He threw me on the bed. Locked the door.
And then he said it.
“If you don’t tell me the truth by 3 AM, I’m going to kill you.”
There was more hitting. More threats. More of his twisted sermonizing.
“The truth will set you free.”
But he didn’t want the truth. He wanted submission. Fear.
I screamed. I beat the walls. I kicked. I hoped someone—anyone—would hear me through the paper-thin walls and come.
No one did.
When screaming didn’t work, I prayed.
And he mocked me.
“God’s not going to help you. You already said you were losing your faith.”
It was getting close to 3 AM. I still hadn’t told him what he wanted to hear.
And I wasn’t going to lie.
So I sat there thinking about dying.
This was it. My last night on earth. I was going to meet Jesus.
And somehow… I felt peace.
I turned to him—his face twisted, teeth clenched, knife in hand—and I smiled.
He planned to make it look like a suicide. Slit my wrists.
So I gave him my arm. Calm.
“If you’re going to do it, do it.
I’m telling you the truth. And I’d rather be home with my God than spend another day with you.”
He pressed the knife into my skin.
Pushed.
Harder.
I stayed still.
Then suddenly—he stopped.
And he slit his own wrists.
The Escape
I ran.
Down the stairs. Pounding on a neighbor’s door—someone I thought would help. Screaming.
They never answered.
But the apartment manager did.
They called the police.
He went to the psych ward.
I went to my grandmother’s… and began the long journey of surviving the nightmares.
Jesus Was in the Corner
After moving in with my grandmother, I couldn’t sleep in a bedroom or in the dark. I slept on the couch in the living room with the TV and lamp on, waking in cold sweats after nightmares that he’d broken through the window or come down the chimney.
One night, I woke to Jesus Christ Superstar playing on MTV.
There He was—Jesus—surrounded by people in the valley.
I got up, walked to the kitchen to find comfort, but before I could even reach into the fridge, I dropped to my knees. Just collapsed. As if I couldn’t carry it anymore.
I cried like I’d never cried before.
“Where were you?” I whispered to God.
“How could you let that happen to me?”
And in my mind’s eye… I was back in that room. On the edge of the bed. My husband beside me. The threat still lingering.
But this time, I saw something I hadn’t seen before:
Jesus.
Standing in front of the bedroom door.
Blocking it.
Watching.
Weeping.
I realized in that moment—He had been there.
He had been ready to rescue me all along.
But I had to choose Him.
And I did.
Forgiveness Isn’t a Finish Line
Years went by. I buried the memory.
I even forgot about Jesus standing in the corner.
I tried to make life work on my own terms—came in and out of church, in and out of faith.
Eventually, during a conversation about forgiveness with my pastor, I knew it was time.
I found my ex-husband on Facebook and sent him a message:
“For all the things you did to me.
For all the nightmares I had afterward.
For all the failed relationships and inability to trust—
I forgive you.
And I pray that God blesses you with a long and healthy life.”
The next day, he replied.
He said he had been struggling in his relationship with God—and that my message helped him.
I thought that was the end of it.
I thought I had surrendered.
But something like that doesn’t just disappear.
It softens with time, but it lingers.
It still touches the deepest parts of my brain, my body, my relationships.
Triggered… and Transformed
Last night, I heard my neighbors yelling through the walls.
Thin walls.
It brought me right back.
Back to that night.
And suddenly I understood why I’d been in a mood all morning. Why I was angry at people misunderstanding my last post. Why it hurt so much to be asked, “Are you okay?” or to be laughed at.
Because it wasn’t about them.
It was about me—not being heard.
Just like I wasn’t heard when I screamed all those years ago.
But here’s the thing:
I was heard.
Even if no one knocked on the door.
I was seen.
Even if no one came.
I was held.
Even when I thought I was alone.
Jesus was there.
He saw my torment. He wept with me.
He waited for me to reach out—so He could pull me from beneath the waves.
And He’s listening to you, too.
If You’re Screaming in Silence
Whether your trauma is loud or quiet, recent or decades old, physical or invisible—I want you to know something:
You are not alone.
His hand is outstretched, patiently waiting.
And if you don’t know how to take it…
Call me.
I’ll meet you where you are—
Just like He met me.
Even if it’s on the floor in our blanket burritos.
🕊️
✨ Devotional: When No One Came
A companion to “The Night No One Came (But God Did)”
⸻
đź“– Scripture Reflection
“He reached down from on high and took hold of me;
He drew me out of deep waters.”
– Psalm 18:16
“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted
and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”
– Psalm 34:18
“Even if my father and mother abandon me,
the Lord will hold me close.”
– Psalm 27:10 (NLT)
⸻
đź’¬ Mini-Reflection
Sometimes it’s not that God wasn’t there—it’s that we couldn’t see Him through the pain.
But He was. He is.
In the hallway.
In the silence.
In the locked room.
Jesus is not the one who left.
He’s the one who stood guard.
The one who waited for you to look up.
The one who wept with you in the muck.
And when you’re ready, He’ll walk with you out of the darkness—one trembling step at a time.
⸻
✍️ Journal Prompt
• What memory still lingers in the shadows that I haven’t truly given to Jesus?
• What have I buried because it hurt too much to feel again?
• What would it look like to say: “I forgive… and I release this to You”?
⸻
đź’Ś Devotional Affirmation
I am not crazy.
I am not alone.
I am not broken beyond repair.
I am deeply seen, deeply known, and deeply held by a God who never left the room.
⸻
🙏 Prayer
Jesus,
There are parts of me I thought were forgotten.
Moments so dark, I couldn’t even admit they still lived in me.
But You were there.
And You never stopped reaching.
I give You the pieces I buried.
I give You the nights I screamed.
I give You the silence that still echoes in my bones.
Thank You for waiting.
Thank You for weeping with me.
Thank You for staying.
Help me forgive.
Help me feel.
Help me heal.
And when someone else cries out in silence…
Send me.
I’ll go sit with her too.
Even if it’s on the floor.
Even if it’s in a blanket burrito.
Amen.
🕊️ Whether you’re ready to talk, need someone to pray with you, or want to begin your own healing journey…
👉 Visit our Links Page to request prayer or set up an appointment.
I’ll meet you where you are.
Even if it’s on the floor.
Even if it’s in a blanket burrito.
You’re seen. You’re safe. You’re still loved.
