I’m not known for decisiveness, hence my moniker (aptly and lovingly assigned): Our Lady of the Options. Upon receiving a request for a written testimony, I began generating a list of options for themes and topics to pursue, along with misgivings concerning each: Testimonies are usually about conversions, but mine doesn’t seem particularly high drama and probably would not need an extensive exposition.

Maybe I could write about persevering through difficulties. But I’m more of a worrier and not so much a patient perseverer. Besides, my difficulties are nothing compared to the devastating trials others have been called to endure. Well, maybe a testimony of my progress in faith. Oh dear, what progress would that be if I’m really kind of mid-worry right now about some things despite knowing I’m supposed to be anxious for nothing?

Although the Holy Spirit at times mercifully reminds us of our weaknesses with an eye toward growing us in grace, I suspect this time the accuser of the brethren, with an eye toward shutting down a testimony to God’s goodness, was at work in my mental exchanges. This led to ruminations like the popular characterization: “Brain at 3 a.m.—I can see you’re trying to sleep, so I would like to offer you a selection of every memory, unresolved issue, or things you should have said or done today as well as in the past 40 years!”

I’m thankful that amid this din of disputations, God allowed some quiet reflection that provided helpful clarity, reminding me that it is high drama that God would save me—or anyone. From Genesis to Revelation the incomprehensible yet knowable God of the universe reveals His creation, its desperate fall, and His astonishing plan to redeem it and to purify for Himself a people that are His very own, eager to do what is good!

“Upon generation after generation toward those who fear him” (Luke 1:50).

For reasons known only to God, in His great grace and mercy, when He planned and acted, He thought of me. He chose to redeem me. He formed me and placed me in a family that for generations had worshiped Him, and He gave me His Spirit, through no merit or ability of my own, granting me life and love for Him.

God could have chosen to save me from generations of godlessness, and that would have brought Him glory. Instead, He chose, for His glory, to surround me with people who loved Him, who loved the church, and who lived and labored as unto Him.

My dad, Harry Habecker, a carpenter and also a deacon and adult Sabbath school teacher at our church, Grace Baptist, was born into a Mennonite farming family, as were his dad and granddad and great-granddad—all the way back to brothers Joseph, Hans Jacob, and Christian Habecker. These brothers, along with other family members, sailed from Rotterdam, the Netherlands, in 1737 on the Charming Nancy (sometimes referred to as The Amish Mayflower) to land granted them by William Penn’s sons in order to farm and to establish a place of Anabaptist worship, free from the persecution they had faced in their homeland, Switzerland, and in the Palatinate area of Germany. Habecker Mennonite Church, on Habecker Church Road just across the field from the Habecker homestead—all just a few miles from where I grew up in Lancaster County, Pa.—still stands and continues to house worshipers.

My mom, Marilyn (Lutz) has an extensive work history: a piano teacher, accompanist at church and elsewhere (I followed those footsteps), writer for Child Evangelism Fellowship, nurse, marriage and family therapist, and owner/operator of a bridal shop. She grew up as the daughter of a grocer who became a pastor. I still remember the sound and smell of my Gramps’ mimeograph machine as it spit out the Sabbath bulletins. His churches provided great mid-week play places for my sister and me when we would visit.

Many missionaries influenced my life too: Uncle Roy and family serving in Taiwan; Uncle Joe and Aunt Nell in Germany; our friends, the Hornbergers, in Kenya (we had a Maasai sword and shield in our home, reminding us of them!); and countless missionaries who visited our church’s weekly prayer meetings, sharing slides and stories of their gospel work.

I was at home in my world so full of the life of Christ’s body, the church, and of His Word. That I welcomed it and continue to do so is most certainly due to God’s grace. A lineage of believing family and friends did not ensure the salvation of my soul, but it was surely God’s mercy toward me.

“For perseverance and progress”

Recently, while at the piano playing and singing through “Mercy Great”—a booklet of psalms my husband and I set to music about 20 years ago—I was contemplating God’s kindness in granting His Holy Spirit to bring about, through the years, my repentance and confession of sin and my perseverance in faith through various trials, struggles, and griefs. Despite the tears generated by the memories and the music, I had to smile as I thought of the gifts and joys God has brought my way.

When I was in fifth grade, I wrote in a little autobiography, “When I grow up, I want to be a missionary.” In high school, my friend Penny and I were discussing our futures; we both decided that being pastors’ wives would suit us (although there was not a college major by that title and we were not dating pastors). After some faltering post-high-school steps—like dropping out of Lancaster Bible College following just three days of classes—I ended up at Geneva College, mainly because a friend, Kathe, decided to go there. I became a music major and would later switch to biblical studies. On my first day at Geneva, I met Tim McCracken, a senior. We started dating when I was a junior and he had returned to the States following a mission trip to Haiti and six months in Australia at a church plant. We married in my senior year. He worked several years at Geneva as an admissions counselor, and then we moved to the Reformed Presbyterian Theological Seminary, where Tim earned his MDiv. He became a pastor, and I became—a pastor’s wife. (Penny did as well. She and I had married within three weeks of each other, and her husband became a pastor too.)

How did a Baptist girl with Mennonite forebears manage theological differences to become a Reformed Presbyterian pastor’s wife? Beyond my love for Tim as a motivation, I would add through providence, teaching, and time. For those coming from a background like mine, I recommend Dr. R. Scott Clark’s free online “Curriculum for Those Wrestling through Covenant Theology and Infant Baptism.”

God has been very good to me. Despite my indecisiveness, my sins, my naiveté regarding ministry life (even though I had been in proximity to it), my shortcomings in raising children and young adults (God blessed us with three children—Jenny, Kaylee, and Connor—two sons-in-law, and seven grandchildren)—despite all my lacks and insufficiencies both real and felt, God has granted an abundance of grace and mercy.

In what ways have I progressed in faith over the years? What has God used to accomplish that, and in what areas do I most need continued growth?

Sometimes I find myself wondering if I have made any progress at all. I especially wonder this when fear concerning a medical condition or the spiritual or emotional well-being of someone I love grips me. Years ago I experienced anxiety that came out of the blue—a genuine panic attack, I think. After an exper­ience like that, it’s easy to begin to fear fear itself. To this day I don’t know what caused several seasons in which I battled such sensations. Some contributing factors were at times recognizable: hormonal changes during my three miscarriages followed by three full-term pregnancies, an extrapyramidal reaction to the anti-nausea medication Compazine, and vertigo for some unknown reason. Sometimes I couldn’t pinpoint a trigger. Through it all, I was given a new empathy for people who battle such intrusions into their peace and equilibrium.

I wish I could say that I discovered a simple cure for such trouble (beyond taking Benadryl after Compazine), but I believe instead I was called to endure without knowing when it would end or how. I read Scripture, reminding myself of God’s goodness and His care, and I had a most tender and compassionate husband. Yet at times, anxiety would still sneak up on me, sometimes waking me in the night with a racing heart and sense of dread. I’m so thankful that God saw fit to bring that season to a close and to restore a more typical experience of daily life rather than having constant anxiety as my normal. I find, however, that I have come to value peace and calm so much that I sometimes bury my head in the sand a bit, choosing avoidance of stressors rather than facing fear through a growing familiarity with God, “our champion in the battle” (from an endorsement of Edward Welch’s helpful book Running Scared: Fear, Worry, and the God of Rest).

Reading and studying, which I love, have been invaluable to my growth in the Lord. I cherish early morning hours in God’s Word (I am currently using Robert Murray M’Cheyne’s plan), recognizing that this season in my life allows for far more uninterrupted time than when I was raising little ones. As I’m making my way through the Bible yet again, I find myself encouraged as I see God’s sovereignty, power, goodness, and great love for His people.

I have been reminded to pray—for myself, for Tim, for our children, grandchildren, and the generations following, and for the people whose lives we will touch—that the God of hope would fill us with all joy and peace as we trust Him, so that we may overflow with hope by the power of the Spirit (Rom. 15:13).

Lori McCracken and her husband, Tim, live in Fresno, Calif., where Tim pastored the RP church there for almost 29 years before becoming, in 2017, regional director for Metanoia Prison Ministries.