Reclaiming My Story

One of my earliest childhood memories is feeling the daily absence of my father. I was just four years old when my parents divorced, and while I can’t recall much from those early years, I vividly remember my favorite pink jacket. I often wore it to school when I was in first grade, and even now I can envision it clearly.

One day, I had worn a little dress to school, which might have been the ONLY time in my life that I wore a dress to school. I’ve always been a bit of a tomboy, and even now, I’m not exactly the girliest person. But that day, I sat outside on the cold cement near the door that led back into our classroom.

I pulled that pink jacket over my legs to keep me warm as I sat there watching the other kids play. I didn’t want to join them for some reason. At six years old, I couldn’t yet understand what was going on in my personal life, nor did I have the words yet to process it, but something was definitely wrong. That much I knew.

If I had only known the exact question to ask, it would have been “WHERE ARE YOU NOW, GOD?”

Like any child, I wanted love, attention, and a sense of normalcy. To be held by my father. But his absence—a result of divorce—had left me feeling empty, like something was missing.

Life continued to bring confusion and pain.

I won’t go into detail about the traumatic situations I experienced at such a young age. But, like many children, I was sexually assaulted by two different people I trusted, and this all happened multiple times before I’d finished third grade.

These occurrences left me with a growing identity crisis as a young girl. I carried those secrets (and shame) in my heart for many years. As you can imagine, this unhealed trauma affected many relationships throughout my life.

It wasn’t until I finally came face to face with who I really was—and more importantly, who I WASN’T—that I began to discover real freedom.

Where Freedom Found Me

It took me years to find the courage to finally reach out to trusted pastors and friends, sharing the secrets I had buried for so long, the secrets that had been keeping me bound.

My mom was the hardest person to share my story with. I’ll never forget traveling home to Michigan to speak and sing at a women’s conference (which I’ve been doing for more than thirty years in ministry). I flew in early, wanting extra time to meet with Mom, my sister, and my best friend.

When I began to share these age-old secrets, I was met with nothing but love. I felt true freedom for the first time in my life.

Later that night, my mom set up a small tub of water at her home where I was staying. When I arrived after my ministry event, she asked if she could wash my feet and anoint me with oil.

For those unfamiliar with this tradition, washing someone’s feet isn’t just an act of kindness—it holds deep meaning in Scripture. Back in Jesus’ time, it was a gesture of humility and service, one He performed for His disciples the night before He went to the cross. It was an act of love, renewal, and spiritual purification.

That’s exactly what this moment felt like for me. My mom wasn’t just caring for me. She was being Jesus to me, embodying His love, offering me a fresh start, a cleansing of the heart—a baptism, not of water but of grace.

With every tender touch, she acknowledged the depth of who I truly was. It was as if she were washing away the weight of my shame, the burden of the past, and reminding me—deep down in my soul—that I was never too far gone for redemption.

As she knelt before me, something shifted in my heart. That wasn’t just my mom. This was the presence of God moving through her, and I could feel it.

But Mom didn’t stop there.

After washing my feet, she anointed me with oil, praying over me with the love and faithfulness she had always poured into my life. In Scripture, anointing with oil is a symbol of blessing, healing, and being set apart for God’s purpose, not in a way that elevates, but as a reminder that He is the one who calls, equips, and sustains. As the oil touched my skin, it felt like another layer of healing was being poured over me, a covering of God’s presence, sealing this sacred moment in my heart.

What had once been a cherished exchange between Christ and His followers became a cherished mother-daughter moment too, one that I will remember for the rest of my life. With her gentle hands, Mom reminded me that I face nothing alone. She was walking with me, straight into the arms of Jesus.

It was an unspoken blessing, giving me the opportunity to reclaim my story, my purpose, and my true identity in Christ. I have NEVER looked back.

Excerpted from Where Are You Now, God? by Tammy Trent. © 2026 by Tammy Trent. Used by permission of David C. Cook. May not be further reproduced. All rights reserved. Tune in Thursday, September 17, to hear Tammy’s inspiration on LIFE Today.