God’s Gracious Gift of New Life in Christ
My dad grew up in Byron Center and spent much of his young life at Chuck’s Place, a local tavern in town owned by his father, Charles Haase. At the age of 12, his father died and his mother, Catherine, continued to run the tavern so as to provide for her 8 children. She was greatly harassed by the town folk of Byron Center which put a very bitter taste in my father’s mouth for those of Dutch descent and of Christian Reformed or Baptist backgrounds. After my mother’s mother, Marguerite Kiel, had divorced her husband after being convinced by her priest that she could lawfully leave him after years of many adulterous affairs, she worked as a cook for my Grandma Haase.
My mom and dad knew each other while growing up, and at 20 my mother became pregnant. My mom cried the night before the wedding because she wasn’t ready to get married. Her mom, my Grandma Kiel (the greatest woman I had ever known), told her that she did not have to get married, but could go away to live with an Aunt out-of-state to go through the pregnancy and then give me up for adoption. She finally chose to marry my dad. I was born on May 14, 1966. I am thankful for the influence of my grandmother and the strong stand that the Catholic Church took against abortion, thus it was not an option even mentioned at the time.
I grew up in a house with a lot of love, even after mom and dad were divorced when I was seven. Our parents loved and cared for us. They disciplined us. They took us to church and catechism. There were good morals, but we never read the Bible or prayed, except sometimes before formal meals with the usual static prayer. Going to church, confessing sins, doing good deeds were enough to go to heaven.
Growing up there was our little gang of girls in my neighborhood which was comprised of 4 families, ours, a Reformed, Baptist, and Congregational. Those families were a great influence. They took me and my sisters to Awana, Vacation Bible School, and when we would stay with a family for a weekend we would go to church with them. Seeds were being planted.
I did not get along with my mom at all after the divorce, though. Their divorce hurt me deeply and I lived a life of self-pity comparing my life to those around me that had happy homes. My mom worked a lot and I remember her going out a lot. We had babysitters often, with Grandma Kiel being my favorite. After my mom married her second husband the anger in me rose to a new level which coincided with the puberty years. During the next two years I fell subject to severe tragedy that left me scarred feeling guilt and shame. It was not until years later that I understood that I was abused and did not need to feel guilt and shame.
When I was 13, I moved in with my dad when he moved in with his girlfriend, Judy. They were married a couple years later. Judy was my dad’s 3rd wife whom he was married to for 32 years before he died in December of 2013. My dad was much stricter than Judy, but even so, we were not watched as closely as we should have been especially on most weekends after they bought the cottage and would leave us teenage girls home. I made many wrong choices at this time. During 9th grade I realized I was pretty smart and could do well in school, so I became very studious and poured my efforts into getting good grades. If it wasn’t for that and a steady boyfriend throughout high school, I can only imagine how many more bad choices I would have made. I had a mindset that I was going to do what I wanted, when I wanted to—even though I did not like getting in trouble and especially didn’t like letting my parents down, but many things of the past had scarred me and played a heavy role in the choices that I made.
In the Fall of 1983 my relationship ended with my high school sweet heart and I met my husband, Joe, in January of 1984. We became engaged the Christmas of 1985 and planned our wedding for August 23, 1986. Since I was Catholic and Joe was not (Joe did not grow up in a church, but his step-dad would take him to a Baptist church on occasion) we were required to attend classes through the Catholic church for 6 weeks in order to be married in my church, St. Pius X, in Grandville. During this time Joe was working at Tommy Brann’s under his step-brother, Gary. To Gary I was Joe’s girlfriend. Someone he only just got to know a very little bit. Gary developed a relationship with Joe and then with me. Joe didn’t have a car at the time, so when he got out of work I would pick him up to bring him home. I would go in and sit and talk with Gary and Joe for at least an hour many nights of the week, especially right after a class. Gary took it upon himself to engage me in what I believed and why during these nightly discussions. After we would leave there, Joe and I would have many heated, lengthy discussions as to what was right. After about 3–5 weeks of challenges from Gary and arguments with Joe, I had had enough. My Grandma Kiel always told me that you had to be Catholic to go to heaven. And as great of a woman that she was, I knew that she must be right. One night in February 1986, I determined to prove this once and for all. From my snooping through my parent’s belongings, I remembered that my dad had a Bible in his nightstand. I have no idea how or why he had one, but he did. In my smart, but simple mind I figured that if Grandma said we had to be Catholic to go to heaven it must be in the Bible somewhere. I figured that it must be in the New Testament thinking that it was probably something “new.” So, I started in Matthew on a Friday night, snuggled on the old plaid couch, in the living room until 3 or 4 in the morning. I found the truth that very night. My whole world changed that night. I was a sinner in need of a savior. There was nothing I could do to save myself. I must repent and believe…I was born again. I would read, hold the Bible to my chest, cry, and say “oh wow,” and then read some more. My entire outlook on life changed that very night. Nothing would ever be the same again—nothing.
In my excitement I wanted my whole family to know, to see that we had it wrong all along. Just look! Look what it says in here! Jesus paid it all!! It’s not about being Catholic. It’s not about going to confession. It’s about Christ and the blood shed for payment for my salvation. For many nights now I had been imagining myself in Hell calling out to God, praying to God. I had been feeling the sin in my life, in my past life, crushing me as if I couldn’t breathe, but now it was so clear that I couldn’t believe that I never saw it before. I was so excited to tell my family about what I had found in the Bible that I began and then ended with my dad…. He was furious. He was not happy. According to him, I would greatly offend his mother because of how Christians had badly treated her when he was growing up. He was sure that I would become a hypocrite just like those “Christians” in Byron Center. And there I began my walk with Christ without any support from my family. I was very, very close to my dad, but after that day our relationship was never the same again—never.
But, as much as I loved my earthly father, I found that my heavenly Father loved me so much more than anyone else could, even my dad. God, the Father, sacrificed His own Son on the cross at Calvary to save me from death and Hell. I did not know why He would choose me out of so many others, but He did. He had given me a new life, had healed the many wounds from my past, and had healed many more wounds that were yet to come after my conversion. (He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. Psalm 147:3) How could I ever turn my back on Him? How could I ever reject Him? How could I ever hurt Him? Oh, I have over the years, and He has always drawn me back to Him and called me to repentance and faith again and again. (See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God; and so we are. The reason why the world does not know us is that it did not know him. 1 John 3:1)
It was not until after I was converted did I step foot into Seventh. I stepped into Seventh with a heart on fire and hungry for the Word. That work was done by the Holy Spirit before I got there. I went because the person God used to convert me was attending Seventh. He had the truth. I wanted more of that truth. I did not question how the worship service proceeded. I did not question that there were not statues around, no kneeling thing, no holy water, no rosary, no music like I was used to singing, no jeans, no weekly communion, no sign of the cross. I eagerly learned the why and what behind what worship was and what the Reformed faith was.
Interestingly enough, Joe, was a huge part of God’s plan in bringing me to Christ. After becoming a Christian and attending Seventh, we both wanted to make our profession of faith, so we started classes with Rev. Krahe going through the Compendium. I made my profession of faith on Mother’s Day that year and Joe made his in July. We were married in August—by February the following year, Joe stopped coming to church and turned back to the world.
People are always asking me why he stopped coming, what turned him off. He would tell you it was the hypocrites he saw at Seventh and that he knew that how he felt and thought was not in line with what Christians are supposed to be doing and thinking, so he didn’t want to be like the hypocrites at Seventh. But, the Lord showed me early that he was never a Christian as in the parable with the sower and the seed. The seed fell among the thorns. Matthew 13:7, “And some fell among thorns; and the thorns sprung up and choked them.” Matthew 13:22, “He also that received seed among the thorns is he that heareth the word; and the care of this world, and the deceitfulness of riches, choke the word, and he becometh unfruitful.” Even though he stopped going to church, he has never discouraged me from attending. Actually, he has always encouraged me in my faith and to stand firm for what I believe. My hope is that the 150th Anniversary book will contain the testimony of Joe.
As I prepared to write out my story of God’s grace in my life, I tried to figure out what passage in Matthew I read that night so long ago—I couldn’t pinpoint it. I may have read the entire book that night, but it just isn’t in my memory bank any longer. Whatever it was only meant something to me because God had made the scales to drop from my eyes by the work of the Holy Spirit so I could see the truth therein for the first time. The burden of sin fell off my back that night and new robes of righteousness replaced it. The feeling I experienced that night will never be forgotten.
I praise God for giving me life, not just living, breathing life, but new life in Christ. To God be the glory! Amen.
Tammy’s testimony on Pilgrim’s Well.
With her permission, Tammy’s testimony has been taken from Seventh Reformed Church’s 125th anniversary book Gathered at the Cross.
A note from Tammy: My testimony is in no way, shape, or form a bashing of my family! Nor is it meant to be disrespectful in any way. We all have difficult circumstances and trials in our lives that God will use to shape and mold us. My family, with all their flaws, is loved dearly by me, with all my flaws, and always will be.