High on Hope

High on Hope

by Nanci Cosby Johnson
High on Hope

High on Hope

by Nanci Cosby Johnson

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Overview

HIGH ON HOPE tells the gripping story of a young girl trying to find herself in the destructive world of teenage rebellion, drug addiction, and alcohol abuse. To make matters worse --or better --she is a preacher's kid! Will she completely reject the faith of her parents or will she somehow find her way back home? And what will be the price of her rebellion? At what cost, will the prodigal return? Nanci Johnson's highly personal and deeply honest testimony will make you laugh and cry at the same time, break your heart with empathy, and lift your spirit with hope. A must read for all teenagers struggling with peer-pressure and sin; a survivor's guide for parents with prodigal teens. It is Nanci's conviction born of hard experience that the only true high --the only "high" high enough --is an exciting and amazing life with Jesus Christ!

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781468540772
Publisher: AuthorHouse
Publication date: 02/23/2012
Pages: 128
Product dimensions: 6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.30(d)

Read an Excerpt

High on Hope


By Nanci Cosby Johnson

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2012 Nanci Cosby Johnson
All right reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-4685-4077-2


Chapter One

As a preacher's kid, you are both blessed and cursed. Blessed with the love, prayers, and support of a church family but also cursed by the stereotype that comes with it. Everyone expects you to do the right thing at all times. A typical Sunday morning for me when I was a child: "Nanci, where do you find that in the Bible?" my Sunday school teachers would ask; "I bet Nanci can name all the disciples," my classmates would say; "We want Nanci to be on our team for Bible Trivia," my friends would plead. They soon learned that just because I was a preacher's kid did not mean I knew the Bible front to back! In fact, I was much more interested in what my girlfriends had in their purses, or what kind of snack we would be having that day, or what my mom was making for lunch. Heck, I probably didn't even have my Bible with me! But that was he typical perception of a preacher's kid, and I'm sure I was a disappointment to some of those sweet little Sunday school teachers.

Although I wasn't your "know-everything-in-the-Bible" preacher's kid, I was still very aware of God's love for me. Growing up I never really lacked for anything. I was the youngest of three and had a very loving family. One of the biggest blessings of being a preacher's kid is the support of your church family. My mom said when I was a baby I would come home from church smelling like a thousand different perfumes from all the ladies who had held me. I have this visual of being passed down the pews, from one lap to another, being prayed over by each and every woman. My mom says, "In a way, Nanci, you were everyone's baby." I was lucky to have so many people who cared about me. I was loved and cherished by both my biological family and my church family, and was very blessed to be raised with a foundation of faith.

I was born in Borger, Texas, and lived in Amarillo for the first five years of my life. My dad pastored Trinity United Methodist Church, and my mom was a stay-at-home mom. The parsonage was right next door to the church and even had the same pink brick. I don't remember very many details of the house since I was pretty young, but I do remember bits and pieces.

I know our house was really close to a busy street because I remember hearing the traffic outside. I'll never forget one night: Two men on a motorcycle were hit by a car and ended up in our yard at the side of our house. Both were hurt and bleeding, and my dad ran inside to get blankets for them. I don't remember what happened after that—I was only four years old—but what an impact that must have had on me to remember it after all these years. I think what I remember most is my mom and dad's willingness to help someone in need.

That was just a good example of my parents' compassion. Not just my parents but my grandparents as well. My family believed that it was our job as Christians to show Christ's love and always help people in need. They loved God and were devoted to sharing His love with others around them—most importantly their three children.

My parents were always very supportive of me and believed that I would go far in life. I was born with a passion for people. God blessed me with that passion even as a child. I always stood up for the underdog, encouraged those who were in need, and wanted everyone I met to live life to the fullest. I loved life and wanted to grow and be the best that I could be. That was my attitude and that's the way I lived—enjoying every moment.

I think both my brother and sister would agree that we were all blessed to have a childhood filled with wonderful memories. I was very close to both my older brother and sister. My brother, David, is five years older than my sister, Carmen. Carmen is twenty-one months older than I. They were the people I looked up to the most. Even though there was an age difference between us, we still had so much fun together. We used to play soccer in the hallway together and outside on occasion. Dave would play soccer outside for hours. Carmen and I played out there as long as we could, but after a while—it never failed—one of us would say, "I need a drink of water." The other would follow with "Me too," and once inside the house, we had no plans to go back outside. Dave, however, didn't figure out our "escape plan" until much later! He still gives us a hard time about it to this day.

Carmen and I were typical sisters. We loved each other so much, but we fought quite a bit too. We were also pretty good at getting in trouble together. One day Carmen and I, along with our friend Jacy from down the street, decided we were going to spray paint our play house in the back yard. Carmen had left-over spray paint from her science fair project, and we had it all planned out. We had asked our mom if we could paint the house, and her response was, "No, wait until your dad comes home and ask him." We were disappointed because we had been excited about our project. Afraid dad would tell us "No," we went with the theory, "Forgiveness is easier than permission!" So we went ahead with our plan and painted the play house. When mom found out she told us that dad was on his way and that we would have to tell him what we had done when he got home. Carmen and I were scared to tell him, but we had no other choice. We waited in our room until he got home; he came and sat on the bed and we made our confession. Expecting him to be furious with us, we were pleasantly surprised when he took us both in his arms and forgave us. His words to us: "Jesus forgives us of our sins so we should forgive others." Funny, of all the times I got in trouble growing up, that's the one I remember most, and what a great lesson of love and grace that was for us.

After moving to Tulsa in 1985 and living there for two and a half years, we moved to Mustang, a town close to Oklahoma City. My dad had been appointed senior pastor at Mustang United Methodist Church. We moved in the spring of my first grade year. I was excited about moving to the city. Having never been to Oklahoma City, I pictured it like the New York City postcards with all the tall buildings. People who live in New York would probably crack up if they knew I compared Oklahoma City to New York City! The things you learn as you get older.

My new school, Lakehoma Elementary, offered a world of new possibilities. Wonderful teachers, who encouraged my involvement in class activities and projects, bolstered my esteem and love for the arts. Making new friends was never a problem for me as I was excited about being the new kid in first grade and had no fear of rejection. It was a time when I could be myself, outgoing and cheerful, eager to learn and live life to its fullest. Driven by perfectionism, desiring to do my best, I could have easily become an overachiever.

I also made friends with a girl at church named Christy. We had lots of fun. We played on the same soccer team and spent almost every weekend together. We were both bossy and thought we ruled her neighborhood. One time we were down the street at a friend's house and decided to play with the Ouija Board. We had forgotten the fact that we were going to have to walk back to her house in the dark! So when the time came, we held hands and screamed all the way home. She was my buddy. That's probably where my love of jigsaw puzzles came from—we would stay up all night doing puzzles on her kitchen floor. We cried when we found out she would be transferring to another elementary school. We stayed in touch, but I missed not having her there.

Fifth grade was probably my most memorable year. The last year of elementary school we had earned the privilege to participate in all the fun activities, such as safety patrol, hosting the school carnival and weekly D.A.R.E. visits from Officer James Ward. I was even selected by the art teacher to paint a ceiling tile for the cafeteria, an honor given to only two students from the fifth grade, a boy and a girl. I was the lucky girl that year! I painted a baldheaded clown with a hat. Why I chose that I have no idea. To this day it hangs in the cafeteria.

Even though I really enjoyed art and music, my favorite activity was the weekly visits from the D.A.R.E. officer. D.A.R.E. stands for Drug Abuse Resistance Education, a program offered to elementary students to warn them about the dangers of drugs. One of our class assignments was to write an essay for a D.A.R.E. project stating why we would never do drugs. The student with the best paper would read it at the D.A.R.E assembly later that year. I worked hard on that paper and hoped like everything that mine would be the one chosen. After a class vote, my best friend and I tied for first place. To break the tie, the class voted again. I voted for Melissa, assuming she would vote for me as well. Unfortunately, I was wrong ... she won the competition by one vote ... my vote! Just one of those lessons in life—sometimes you need to vote for yourself.

That D.A.R.E program was very important to me. I looked up to our D.A.R.E. officer and hung on his every word. Officer James Ward was the authority on everything, and I often told my parents, "Officer James Ward said this," "Officer James Ward said that." I'm sure they got tired of hearing how "wonderful" Officer James Ward was, but to me, he was a hero. Then one day, my dad and I were driving to the Western Days Parade and I saw Officer James Ward getting ready for the parade. Immediately I said, "Dad, Dad look! It's Officer James Ward. He's my D.A.R.E. officer, Dad look ..." Just then I noticed he was smoking, and it absolutely crushed me. All the excitement had left my voice and I said, "Dad ... he's smoking ..."

I couldn't help but be disappointed that day. One of my heroes, a man I really looked up to, was not the person he said he was. That would be one of my first hard lessons in life: Things are not always what they seem. Thankfully, I had been taught that, even though things change, God's love is sure and unfailing, not just for the person who's disappointed but also for the person who caused it. That was the message my parents and family taught me from day one—a message of hope and endurance. Two things I would desperately need as my journey continued.

Chapter Two

When middle school came around I was excited to be out of elementary school and on my way to the teenage years. I was eager to meet new friends and see all of my friends from elementary school and couldn't wait to see what middle school was like. We were going to have so much fun!

I met my best friend Nicole when I started at Mustang Middle School. I was assigned to a locker right next to hers, and we quickly became best friends. In fact, we were inseparable. If I wasn't at her house spending the night with her, she was at my house spending the night with me. We had so much fun together watching movies, doing makeovers, making home videos, and playing Barbies (even though we would never admit that to our friends at school!). We participated in many of the same activities like pep-club and mat-maids for the wrestling team. We also went to the same church. I often went to the lake with her family during the summer, and we would have a blast. (Feeding minnows to the fish they had already caught would often get us in trouble from her dad and his friends, but we felt sorry for them!) Nicole was very special to me, and I was very thankful for her friendship during my middle school years.

I had my fair share of pre-teen drama—broken hearts, arguments with friends, peer pressure, and all the other fun stuff that comes with being an adolescent. But for the most part, those were fun and innocent years I will forever treasure in my heart. In fact, one of my fondest memories was when I went on a summer mission trip with my youth group. We were on our way back home from Wichita, Kansas, and stopped at another Methodist Church to spend the night. Our youth group got settled in, grabbed our Bibles, and sat on our sleeping bags together as our youth pastor shared his message with us. I will never forget the Bible scripture he shared that night. "Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!" (II Corinthians 5:17). Immediately, I fell in love with that scripture. It spoke to me in a way that no other scripture had. It was like a revelation for me. It was more than a scripture memorized at Vacation Bible School, it was the Word of God falling on my ears, as if to say "Nance, this is your scripture." I had no idea at that time what my future held, but looking back now, it's very clear that God was preparing me. In fact, when I was in college years later, I had to do a report on my life starting with my birth. When I was doing research, I found the baby announcement my parents sent out when I was born. Right above the hand-drawn baby carriage, drawn by my dad, were these words "... behold the new has come." It was the same scripture I fell in love with on that youth trip. It was incredible to me that God had given me that scripture as a baby and has continued to bless me with it throughout my life. Several years ago, I was able to do an oil painting to capture and express my testimony using that scripture.

God also blessed me with a great youth pastor, Brian Minietta. I was very close to him and looked up to him as a role model. I loved going to church and being a part of the youth group. I didn't consider all of them really "good" friends, but we were all pretty close. We had a connection, something in common that allowed us to relate even though we were in different places in life. God was our common factor, and that's what brought us together. They were my youth family.

It was about this same time in middle school I realized not everyone had a strong support system like I had. And not everyone had the desire to follow God. Some of the kids I hung out with at school would tell me about everything that was going on in their home life. I was shocked. I couldn't imagine not having a peaceful home full of love and didn't realize how lucky I was. I was probably just a little naïve and innocent during those years, but my heart hurt for those people, and I wanted to help them.

When I was in the eighth grade, my family had its own reality check. My fifteen-year-old sister found out she was pregnant. Our family had never really gone through anything like that. I didn't know what to expect; I just knew it was a bitter sweet time. Although we were excited about little Kindall who was to be born the next spring, we were also heartbroken for my sister. We knew her carefree teen years would soon be replaced with the responsibility of being a teen mom.

It was hard on everyone. I'll never forget the night my sister told my parents. After hugs, tears, prayers, and reassurance that God would see us through, all five of us—my parents, my brother, my sister, and I slept in the same bed together and fell asleep with tears in our eyes. What a bonding moment for our family. We were determined to stick together and support my sister in every way, even though we knew it would be hard.

My parents felt they should be the ones to tell our church family about Carmen's pregnancy and to do it as soon as possible. Unfortunately, my dad had to be out of town that next Sunday. It was hard on my mom to stand in front of the church and share the news with the congregation, but the church unanimously offered love, prayer, and support.

A lot of things changed that year for Carmen and for all of us. Right before school started, my mom took us school-clothes shopping. Usually that was a fun experience for us girls, but this year was different. Instead of Carmen being able to buy the trendy outfits that everyone was wearing, she had to buy maternity clothes. Carmen was angry, my mom was upset, and I felt bad for being able to buy normal clothes.

Now you have to understand, by this time in our lives, Carmen and I didn't exactly agree on everything, and there wasn't much that we didn't fight about. But she was my big sister, and when she hurt, I hurt. Of course, we were all excited about having a brand-new baby in the family; who wouldn't be? But it was still hard for us to watch my big sister give up her childhood and prepare to become an adult at the young age of fifteen.

(Continues...)



Excerpted from High on Hope by Nanci Cosby Johnson Copyright © 2012 by Nanci Cosby Johnson. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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