My Testimony
Everyone has a story. Each one of
us has a past filled with mistakes, lessons and trials. Each of our stories is
different and because of this, we each have a unique perspective on life. My
story is one filled with peaks and valleys where I have deeply felt sorrow,
anger, depression and grief; but I have also felt true joy, love, excitement
and contentment. This is my story.
My Background
I was born in the small city of Diamond Bar in
Orange County, California. I was born to Dr. Robert and Robin Bender in early
December of 1996. I am the second youngest of 5 kiddos, but I am also the
oldest. Confused? Let me clarify. I was born into a mixed family tree of sorts.
You see, my parents had a 22-year age difference between them. Both had been
married previously and my dad had been blessed with three children during his
previous marriage. Therefore, I was blessed with three older siblings. Once my
parents were married, they were given the little bundles of mischief that were
my younger brother, Spencer, and I. So, I grew up with a lot of “adopted
siblings” as my nieces and nephews were older or around the same ages as my
brother and me. My family was close. We spent holidays and birthdays together
as often as possible and as we grew up, we were left with many amazing
memories. My family is my everything and it’s important that I mention and
explain my family dynamic as they all play a huge part in my testimony.
My Parent’s Marriage
My parents were the ultimate example of what a
marriage should look like. No, that doesn’t mean that they didn’t make mistakes
or argue from time to time; but they adored each other. They were head over
heels in love. I saw my parents walk through times of struggle and trial that
could have easily overwhelmed them… but they stood steadfast. How? Christ. God
was the center of their relationship and so through good times and bad, they
relied on/trusted in Him and clung to each other. My parents not only verbally
taught me what love, faith, trust, etc. was supposed to look like… they
actively lived these things. They lived their lives daily seeking to serve the
Lord in the small ways. It is because of my parents that I am who I am today
and dang, I’m thankful for them.
My
Grandma
Growing
up, I only knew one of my grandparents – my Mimi. She was my mom’s mother and
she was one of the biggest Christian influences in my life. All my other grandparents
passed away before I turned 5 years old. I have no memories of any of them; but
as sad as that sounds, it wasn’t so bad because my Mimi filled any possible void.
She was kind, compassionate, funny, intelligent, beautiful and had the biggest
heart for people. She loved Christ with her entire being and was able to love
others in a way that I had never witnessed before and haven’t witnessed since.
I have endless memories of snuggling in her bed with big bowls of ice cream and
a movie playing for one of her “bed picnics” or building forts in her living
room with a fold out table and a ton of blankets. We rarely ever had a
babysitter because Mimi wanted us with her as much as possible. She was a rock
in my life and in our family. She made my brother and my childhood’s beautiful
and wonderful through her constant pouring into us.
The Change
The Change
Life began to change when my parents
decided to move my family to the small town that I know as home - South Lake
Tahoe. There were varying reasons and circumstances behind the move, but I
don’t think any of us realized just how much of a blessing that decision would
turn out to be. My Mimi moved to the same town just short of one year later and
lived about 5 minutes away from us. My family enjoyed more time together than
we had in a long while. My parents worked from home, home schooled us kids, and
got to do just about everything together. We had always been incredibly active
as a family, from snow skiing to 15-mile bike rides, we did it all. After settling
into Tahoe, everything seemed peaceful for a while; until a day in early
January of 2009.
The Diagnosis
We were skiing as a family that day
and my dad, the man who had always been waiting for at least 10 minutes at the
bottom of the run for the rest of us, was suddenly unable to keep up. He was experiencing
shortness of breath and fatigue. Now keep in mind that my Dad was a doctor for
many years, and if that wasn’t enough, he was also the most stubborn person I
have ever known. He insisted that it was nothing more than pneumonia and
prescribed an antibiotic to solve the problem. However, a few weeks later,
there was no improvement. My mom finally put her foot down and forced my Dad to
go and have some testing done. Looking back, I wonder if the reason that my Dad
projected such confidence into his guess diagnosis of pneumonia was because
deep down he knew that there was something more to how he was feeling. Someday,
I’ll have to try to remember to ask him. Not long after that, we received the
results from the testing… my Dad had cancer. My best friend, my hero, my person… had
cancer. It didn’t seem possible. My family had served the Lord for the entirety
of my life – serving in multiple ministries, serving as biblical counselors,
leading bible studies and meeting needs in so many other areas. How was it that
this is how God was repaying us.
Treatment Begins
Over the next year, my brother and I
stayed with my Mimi quite a bit as my parents were in and out of the hospital
while my Dad underwent Chemo treatment. There were a lot of ups and downs in
that year, but we held strong, surrounded by a community of believers that we
had come to love and cherish. That was where the unexpected blessing of the
move to the small town of Tahoe really came into play. We had such a small
community, but it was a strong community that loved, supported and cared for my
family during an intense time of struggle. Over the summer of 2010, my family
lived in a trailer in the parking lot of a Southern California hospital as my
Dad received a specialized treatment that could potentially place him in a
state of remission. I don’t have many memories from that time of life, and for
that, I’m thankful. One afternoon in September, my brother and I were at my
Mimi’s house and my parents had just arrived from a follow-up appointment with
my Dad’s oncologist. It seemed that the procedure had been somewhat successful
as we were told that my Dad was in partial remission. What amazing news! But it
all came crashing down around us when my Mimi, my only grandmother, broke the
news that three months earlier she had been diagnosed with cancer. She had
decided not to tell us as she didn’t want to add to the burden or stress that
my family already carried. I was angry and confused. Just as things seemed to
get a bit better, it all fell apart once more.
The Hard Road
On
June 22, 2011, my Mimi went home to be with Jesus. It was a very hard time for
my family. There was so much that we had already walked through leading up to
that point and when the end of her time on earth came, it was a combination of
relief and sorrow. Comfort came from knowing exactly where she was going, but
that didn’t take away the reality that it was going to be a long while before
we got to see her again. At that point, I was too young to truly grasp the
reality of what was happening and for the first time, I felt completely
emotionless. I didn’t want to feel and so I didn’t. I lived in a state of being
completely numb and I was okay with that.
During
my Mimi’s downward spiral, my Dad had been doing well for someone who was so
intensely battling cancer. As a doctor, I think that being able to focus on
someone other than himself was a big help. But after she passed away, he
started declining once more. I have memories of some days where he seemed
completely himself – laughing, smiling, his sense of humor and good spirits
seemingly restored; and then the next day, he would be weak and unable to
hardly stand on his own. My brother and I bounced from friend’s house to friend’s
house, living away from home sometimes for a week or two at a time while my
parents spent time in and out of hospitals. We missed home, but then we didn’t
really want to be home when we had the chance either. I don’t think that either
my brother or I wanted to face the reality that we were losing our Dad. He
wasn’t the same man that we had known… how could he be? Up to that point in my
life, I had never seen my dad cry; yet, during the battle against cancer, I had
seen him cry more than once, and that rocked my world more than I wanted to
admit. I watched as the strongest man I had ever known withered away to
nothing. I watched as he tried to be strong for my family but was reliant upon
others for just about everything. He endured more pain and more suffering than
I have ever witnessed in my life; and the other person to suffer right
alongside him, was my mom. My mom endured so much – trying to raise two kids,
work multiple jobs, take care of a household and take care of someone who was
battling a life-threatening disease. My mom is my hero in every sense of the
word. She was the ultimate spouse, mother and friend in times of incredible
hardship. I do not and will not respect or admire anyone as much as I do my
mother.
Then in January of 2013, we received
devastating news. The diagnosis that my dad had received almost 4 years before
had been incorrect. My Dad had what is called plasma cell Leukemia; a kind of
cancer that is not curable. It was a miracle that my dad had survived as long
as he had… but now he had two options. He could continue treatments that may or
may not have any effect and might prolong
his life, or he could simply try to enjoy what time he had left. Through many
tears, a lot of contemplation and receiving much counsel, he chose the latter.
It was probably one of the hardest decisions he ever had to make. I will never forget watching tears stream down
his face as he said, “I’m not ready to say goodbye to my kids”. We all knew how
much he loved us, and we knew that it was time for him to stop suffering for
our sake, but that certainly didn’t make things any easier. It was a very rapid
decline after that decision was made. On March 6, 2013, my dad slipped into a
coma. My mom had called my sisters, telling them they needed to get to my dad’s
side as quickly as possible. Within 24 hours, my family crowded into my house.
We each had a chance to say our goodbyes, and by my dad’s twitching fingers, we
knew that he could hear us. It was the hardest thing I have ever done. I held
his hand in mine and through tears, tried to express how much I loved and
adored him. Those few days were some of the hardest and yet happiest of my
life. Even though my family was gathered for a less than joyful reason, there
was joy because we were together. People slept on the floors and on the
couches; we made enormous meals and we laughed together. Having my family
together made such a hard thing, so much easier. Then, on the morning of March
8, at about 4 AM, my dad went to be with Jesus. My mom had held him in her arms through the
night praying with him and assuring him that we, his family, would be okay. He
fought with everything he had for so long, and it was finally time for him to
go home.
Walking Away
I
felt like I had lost everything that mattered. That wasn’t true, of course, but
grief doesn’t exactly push logic and reason. I had watched two people that I
deeply loved and cared about suffer to an extreme. I had watched my mom bear
unbelievable weight and responsibility on her shoulders. I myself had to grow
up much faster than most kids my age to try and help my family in any way that
I could. I had seen too much brokenness and shed too many tears, and I was left
asking the question, why? Why was
this happening to my family? What could we possibly have done to deserve this
kind of heartache? We had been faithful servants, giving to the Lord and
following His will and this is where we ended up. What the hell was the point?
If we served a God who was willing to destroy the lives of the people that he
“loved”, then I wanted no part in that sick, twisted dynamic. I was done. At 16
years old, I made the decision to walk away from everything that I had ever
known.
Year of Darkness
After
I made the conscious decision to turn my back on God, I entered a year of
darkness and depression worse than I know how to put into words. There were
countless mornings that I would wake up sobbing, begging whatever being was out
there to let me switch places with my dad, or worse, to just end my life. The
hurt and heartache that I felt was intense and it seemed that no matter where I
was or what I was doing, I could never escape it. I remember thinking that the
world deserved and needed my dad, and I considered myself expendable. I also
remember thinking and believing that loving people wasn’t worth it if the loss
that came after was always this intense. I wanted it to just end. There were
many moments that I sat on the floor of the bathroom, looking at a handful of
pills, wondering how long it would take for them to take effect. But I hit rock
bottom one afternoon in July. No one else was home, and I had a break. I had
cried to a point that there were no tears left. I walked into my kitchen, took
a knife out of the drawer and sat on the floor of the kitchen. I twirled it in
my hands a few times, watching the sunlight glint off it and wondering how much
it would hurt. I held the knife to my chest and willed myself to finally just
end the pain that I had been feeling for so long. But in the end, not only
could I not do it, but I realized how desperate and broken I was. That moment,
as horrible as it was, was the moment that everything began to change.
Prodigal Daughter Returns
After
that moment, I slowly began turning back to the Lord. I had still been
attending church with my family (because there was no way that I was going to
tell my mom that I wasn’t a Christian), but for the first time, I was hearing
the messages that the pastor spoke. I had felt betrayed and abandoned when I
had lost my dad; he was my whole world. My identity had not been found in
Christ, but in my family; and when my family went through a drastic change, my
identity was stripped from me and I was left with nothing. Or so I thought. I
began to slowly understand that God doesn’t cause pain or grief; but He will
allow it. I understood for the first time God’s intense love and perfect plan
for me. I recognized that God not only saw my hurt… He understood it. He
sympathized with me. He cared.
Then
one Sunday morning, I reached the point of surrender. I can’t tell you what the
message was about or what worship songs had been played, but in the middle of
worship, my heart broke. I escaped to the bathroom, where I knelt on the tile
floor and simply began to weep. I finally saw myself for what I was: a broken
sinner with a desperate and constant need for a Savior. I was the prodigal
daughter, who had been blessed with so much, only to turn my back on it all and
try to run as far as I could go. Little did I know that God had been there,
pursuing my heart, awaiting me with open arms and never giving up on me. I
surrendered my life to Him that day and for the first time, I felt free. My
faith, my relationship with Christ was finally mine. All mine. He had always
been willing to claim me as His own, but I was finally claiming Him in return.
“I am my Beloved’s and He is mine.” – Song of Solomon
6:3
The Present
I
love that current time is called the present. We may not always recognize it,
but each moment is truly a gift. The Lord has used my story, as hard as it is,
to mold me into the woman that I am today. I used to wish to change the past,
and now, I am simply thankful that I was able to accept it and move forward in
the journey that is life. After surrendering my life to the Lord, He has been
faithful in pursuing me and showing me, one step at a time, His plan for my
life. He has instilled in me a heart for worship and a deep love for uniting
His people and leading them using the beauty of music. He has continued to grow
in me a heart of compassion and love for others that I could never have on my
own. He is growing my faith daily, reminding me that He is worthy of my trust,
my love and my life. I am now serving in worship ministry and going to school
to study the His Word with the goal of one day pursuing missionary ministry. I
am not sure what my next steps in life are, but I know that if I continue to
wait on the Lord’s will and pursue His plan for me, I have no need for worry.
He is good.
I know this has been long, but I
have one last thing to share. Recently, I got a tattoo. If you see the picture
below, you will see that it is a small word marked on the inside of my wrist.
It reads, “His Daughter”. I know that based off of that phrase, many would jump to the conclusion that I chose to get this in honor of my dad... but that is simply not the case. I know how my Dad felt about tattoos (#notafan), and so saying that I got it in his honor would be kind of laughable. And the blunt truth is, it wasn’t for him, it was for me; it is for me. The phrase “His Daughter” carries a double meaning for me personally.
First, it is a reminder that I am still Robert Bender’s Daughter. Whether or not he is here on this earth to claim me, I am still his child. It becomes very easy to accept the reality that I have one parent; so easy, in fact, that I begin to forget that I was raised by TWO parents. My Dad was, is, and always will be, a huge piece of my life and of who I am. This tattoo is a reminder that even though I don’t get to see my Dad on earth, I can still claim him as mine and I will always be “His Daughter”. It is a reminder not to forget.
Second, this is a reminder that ultimately I am my Heavenly Father’s daughter. During the darkest time of my life, I tried my absolute hardest to run as far from the Lord as I possible could... it didn’t work. I was the stubborn child trying to force my Father to let go of me and let me have my way; all the while, He was patient and clung tightly to me. I rejected Him, yet He still claimed me as His. I was angry and bitter; He was loving and forgiving. The Lord has held onto me, despite everything. What a remarkable statement of grace and unending love is His goodness in my life. He is my all. This tattoo reminds me of what He has done in my life everyday.
Lastly, it reminds me that I belong. I belong to a God who desires and loves me. I belong to a Dad who desired and loved me. I cannot physically see either of them, but I know that I am claimed by them both. I belong to them both. And what a blessing that is.