Jenifer howell

A little over 8 million people call the 320 square miles that make up New York City home. It was in 2002 that I felt called to become one of that great number and sojourn to the hustle and bustle of the infamous concrete metropolis. My parents and coworkers were less than enthusiastic about my nonsensical idea to leave behind any sense of security and my relatively stable existence here in Austin. However, I listened attentively to the compass in my heart; I believed this to be a nudge from the elbow of God. Within a few months, I had quit my job at a reputable computer company here in Austin and had sold off a majority of my possessions as I feared they would not fit into my shoebox of an apartment. New York City here I come!

It took my new roommate and me two days to travel the 1500 miles from Austin to New York. The drive was memorable and I recall vividly the beauty of the Blue Ridge Mountains of Tennessee and Virginia; the scale of them perhaps silently and subconsciously alluding to what was forthcoming. While on the New Jersey Turnpike near the city, the proximity of the impressive New York skyline appeared all too palpable. With one part hesitancy and one part excitement, I squeezed the steering wheel with white knuckled hands; too late to turn back now. Pressing on, we maneuvered cautiously through the Holland Tunnel, ending our odyssey in the heartbeat of the city. Home was a modest two bedroom walk-up situated in the Lower East Side. Appropriately located, the apartment was just a block from the notable Tenement Museum as the Lower East Side of New York is the most historically renowned immigrant neighborhood in the country. I found this to be fitting as I, too, felt like a foreigner abandoned in the middle of nothing familiar, nothing comfortable, and everything new.

Within a few weeks of being in the city, my New York experience would mimic all too closely an episode of Law and Order. As I look back, the memories of January 13th, 2003 are catapulted to the forefront of my mind as if the day was just yesterday. It was 4:30 am and I lay heavily in the arms of Mr. Sandman with the luxury of my pillow topped bed enveloping me in comfort. All of a sudden, my ears harkened at the sound of something all too unexpected. Although I had never heard such a sound in all my 23 years, I identified it as that of a gunshot echoing through the empty streets outside my window and reverberating through my ear canal as if the weapon had just been discharged right beside me. Without delay, I darted to the window to see a victim lying below the fire escape. Surely this was a dream…However the reality of the situation paralyzed me and, motionless, I watched as the victim’s friend frantically made the call to 911. At this time, my roommate was still asleep and, feeling the need to wake her, I tapped on her bedroom door, quietly saying, “Someone’s been shot outside our building.” The words were difficult to form and sounded so bizarre coming from my mouth. My roommate stumbled out of her bedroom and we watched, with little spoken word, as the paramedics arrived and attended the young man. As the emergency technicians removed his shirt, the bullet’s point of entry was quickly made apparent. With my eyes spiraling down on the scene, they promptly landed on the quarter size wound on the man’s chest. Even with my minimal knowledge of trauma accidents, I knew that a gunshot wound to the chest would most likely mean a fatal end to this story. In Psalm 39, David eloquently describes each man’s life as but a breath. The next day I would discover that the breath of cold winter air that this tender-aged man inhaled outside of 75 Orchard Street on the night of January 13 th was his last; he died before even gracing the doors of the emergency room. My reaction to such an incident indicates much about the health of the relationship I had with my Heavenly Father at the time. With no prayer over the victim or his family, I was jolted but had little empathy. I dismissed the surreal event to ‘just another day in a big city.’

With that somber salutation from Manhattan behind me, I focused my attention on setting up shop in my new town. Days and nights were aptly spent perusing online job search engines and selling the idea of Jenifer Howell to any and every company that would throw an interview my way. Within a few extremely arduous weeks, I had procured a job at a small company nestled in One Penn Plaza, one of the largest skyscrapers in the city. I was finally ready to start living my dream. I adapted quickly to life in the big city with little regard for my neighbor. With coffee snuggled comfortably in my hand, paper resting under an arm, and headphones playing the sweet tune of whatever I fancied that morning, I would pop on the uptown F train each day and live completely for myself. Though priding myself on being outfitted with the ‘armor of God’ prior to moving, it was soon becoming clear that I was allowing the bells and whistles of my new toy to take precedence in my life, leaving little to no time for God. Walking around in the overly stimulating environment of New York City, I gave myself over to any and every indulgence that tickled my flesh and lost all sensitivity to the repercussions of my actions. James 4:4 states that anyone who chooses to be a friend of the world becomes an enemy of God and I was becoming the world’s best friend.

Though superficially attending church on most Sundays, I would spend numerous weekday and weekend evenings getting drunk not on the Spirit but on significant amounts of alcohol. Often times, my inhibitions were thrown to the wayside and left there to languish, like yesterday’s trash. Looking back on the entries in my journal during this time, I don’t know whether to be content or melancholy at my apparent realization of that which I was embracing was wrong and was making a mockery of the God that I proclaimed to worship. An entry from February 22 nd reads, “It is time. I know I have put up a fight… but it is time. It has been on my heart all week. I can not serve two masters…..I am tired of playing the religious game on Sunday and selling out to the world Monday through Saturday.” The entry of April 6 th, says, “These worldly things only perpetuate the sin in my life and do not glorify your kingdom. Give me the strength to change.” Just 20 days after inscribing in my journal the aforementioned words, God would move in such way that would force me to shut the door to the world once and for all. I imagine with all the idols I had put before Him, it was necessary for Him to break me in such a way that left me with nothing to cling to except the gift of His mercy and grace.

It was April 26 th when I reluctantly agreed to attend a coworker’s birthday party at a popular restaurant located in the East Village. Knowing the affinity to drinking that I and each of my coworker’s possessed, I was determined to be extremely conservative in what I consumed. However, the conviction that I clothed myself in that night quickly fled and I was left dancing with Satan, being the belle of the proverbial ball and being all too familiar with the moves. In one of the numerous bars that we had skirted to in the course of the evening, I was introduced to a male ‘a friend of a friend’. After a brief introduction to this individual, I was left to mingle with him as the coworkers and friends who had embarked on this ‘bar hopping’ journey with me left to go home. I remember little of what happened after my friends’ departure. It is what I do recall that will forever be emblazoned in my mind. On the night of April 26 th , I was sexually assaulted in the pillow topped bed that I spoke of earlier that had previously been a place of such refuge.

The days following the incident were awash with intense emotion. Guilt, shame, anxiety, and fear permeated every square inch of my physical self almost to the point of immobilizing me. I didn’t sleep for days as I grappled with the event, replaying that which I remembered over and over and over. I spoke with few about what had happened. Most of those I considered friends seemed to misunderstand the severity of the circumstance and the emotions I was struggling to process. I was left feeling completely alone except for a kind and gentle voice that whispered words of comfort, peace, and mercy to the quietness of my soul. It was the voice of Abba, my Father, who, like a thief in the night, redeemed me and brought me back to Himself. Oh, how I smile at the remembrance of the peace that washed over me like a cool, tranquil breeze on a hot, arid, and suffocating summer day. I had heard of this peace that ‘passed all understanding’ but had never experienced it firsthand. For me it was a peace that trivialized the trial and allowed me to rest in the arms of the One who comforts, the One who provides, and the One who heals. With the peace of Christ penetrating deeply, the healing process began almost as quickly as the wound was generated. The change in my Spirit was almost as immediate as a light switch that is flicked from ‘off’ to ‘on’ so that light may illuminate a dark place. The light in this instance was the light of Christ paired with the voice of the prophet, Isaiah, saying “Wake up, O sleeper, rise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you.” Though accepting of Christ at the age of 8, the transgressions that I had so flippantly pursued had made my faith dead for the last 15 years.

In the weeks following my assault, I would feel the presence of Christ most intensely while kneeling at the altar of the Brooklyn Tabernacle Church. I had been attending the Tuesday night prayer meetings with irregularity since I had moved into the city but now I faithfully looked forward to Tuesdays with great anticipation of what God would reveal through the power of prayer. On Tuesday, June 6 th , I walked into the Brooklyn Tabernacle with a desire for direction from God. Laying prostrate at the altar, I prayed God’s will even if it meant that He had more He wanted to accomplish through me in New York, though my heart earnestly yearned to go back to Texas. As I left the church that evening, you could not erase the smile that adorned my visage if you tried; I was confidant that I was about to hear from God. The very next day, I received a phone call from a manager of my former company in Austin, asking if I would be interested in returning. Within 3 weeks, I was back in Austin.

It has only been a year since I have been back in Austin and recently God mustered in me the courage to bring closure to what transpired on April 26 th of 2003. To have that closure, it would be necessary to finally get tested for any sexually transmitted diseases that I might have contracted. Regardless of what the results would indicate, I knew that “in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose” (Romans 8:28); I was prepared to give Him praise whatever the conclusion. On June 16 th of this year, I received a letter from a clinic here in Austin. I knew this letter held the anticipated results, so with courage and slight apprehension, I read, “The following are results of your recent laboratory date. Your results are listed immediately after the test, and the normal ranges are in parenthesis. If you have any questions please call or ask at your next visit. Your blood tests were normal.” Upon reading that simple statement, I held the paper to my heart and wept tears of joy and praise.

In hindsight, my friends, April 26 th will always be remembered as being the best day of my life. It is on this day that I was truly made alive in Christ. Proverbs 20:30 affirms, “ Blows and wounds cleanse away evil and beatings purge the inmost being.” Thank you, Jesus, that you loved me enough to bring me to my knees in brokenness. The suffering that I have endured pales in comparison to the great price you paid to save us, to save me.

“As for you, you were dead in your transgressions and sins, in which you used to live when you followed the ways of this world and of the ruler of the kingdom of the air, the spirit who is now at work in those who are disobedient. All of us also lived among them at one time, gratifying the cravings of our sinful nature and following its desires and thoughts. Like the rest, we were by nature objects of wrath. But because of his great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgressions- it is by grace you have been saved.” Ephesians 2: 2-5 (NIV)

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