Staff

C.B. Hedlun

My Testimony

In October 2024, everything changed.

I surrendered my life to God in a way I never had before. What followed was not gradual or gentle. It was a complete spiritual overhaul. I often call that season Holy Spirit’s Ascension Bootcamp, because nothing about it allowed me to remain who I had been.

Before that moment, my faith existed alongside years of unhealed trauma.

I was carrying grief so deep I avoided facing it. I was trying to survive the death of my child by suicide, the loss of my sister to addiction, the loss of my stepchildren through a broken relationship, years of fighting my brother’s addiction, and the isolation that followed it all.

I know what it feels like to be abandoned in the most painful seasons of life. To be overlooked when help is needed most. To be judged instead of supported.

I carried anger and unforgiveness—toward people who disappeared, toward systems that had no language for my pain, and toward religious narratives that left no room for grace in the face of suicide, mental illness, and grief.

At the same time, I was living with PTSD, depression, anxiety, and deep exhaustion from constantly fighting to survive systems that seemed designed to break people, to keep them small, to keep them controlled.

Even ordinary parts of life, like dating, became places of pain. It often felt cold, transactional, and unforgiving. I felt unseen, undervalued, and reduced to a liability instead of treated as a person.

This was when I finally surrendered. I tried living life my way. I tried living life the world’s way. I was strong, but the weight I was carrying was too much for me. I was tired, and I was broken. Therefore, I finally invited the Holy Spirit into my life. From that moment on, I was just going to live life God’s way.

God did not rush me past the pain. He walked me straight through it. There was no more running, hiding, or unhealthy coping mechanisms. What followed was refinement.

I faced intense spiritual warfare that targeted my identity and self-worth. I was confronted with fault, blame, guilt, shame, fear, and lies about my value. The attacks came against my mind, my body, my confidence—even my appearance—anything that could convince me I was broken or beyond restoration.

The Holy Spirit met me in those places. He taught me how to pray. How to praise. How to make room for Him within my temple. How to repent directly before God.

I learned obedience that cost me comfort. Trust in the face of impossibility. Surrender when I would have chosen control. Endurance without becoming hardened.

I learned how to walk the narrow path. I went through more than one dark night of the soul. God was burning away everything that could not come with me. Ego death was not theoretical—it was lived. Like Scripture describes, I was refined in the fire. And when that season passed, what remained was not who I had been, but who God was forming.

God confronted my people-pleasing. My fear of others’ opinions. My habits.
What I allowed to shape my inner life. I had to walk away from relationships—including friends and family—who tried to talk me out of what God was calling me into.

During this time, the Holy Spirit taught me how He communicates. I learned discernment. Biblical symbolism. Prayer as dialogue. How to recognize His voice and test what I was receiving.

There were moments of bold obedience without support or understanding from others. I learned what it means to follow God even when it costs approval, comfort, and credibility.

This refinement extended into every area of my life.

I was led to simplify my environment—letting go of belongings as an act of alignment, making room for God in my home, my life, and even my body. My habits changed. My dependence shifted. I had to unlearn survival patterns and trust God for provision.

The cost was real. I left my job. I lost my home. I had to rebuild stability more than once.

However, He led me to leave my job because He was calling me into something greater. Where the world tried to define my limits, God refused to put me in a box. He knew what I was capable of, because He is the One who placed it in me.

I didn’t just lose an apartment—God moved me into a house, reminding me that His provision doesn’t disappear, it transforms.

And yes, I had to rebuild stability. But this time, I wasn’t building on what could be shaken. I was building on the rock, with the Cornerstone.

But God did not explain everything in advance. He asked me to walk by faith.

I didn’t know what career He was leading me into. I didn’t know where I was going to live until a week before I had to leave. All I could do was trust—trust that He was carrying me through.

And that sounds a lot easier when you say it than when you live it.

As I previously mentioned, I have been walking through PTSD and anxiety, so stepping into that level of uncertainty—leaving my job, losing my home, and not knowing where I would land—felt more like danger.

I wasn’t just carrying my own life, either. I was the sole provider and legal guardian for my sister’s three children. Their stability depended on me.

Everything in me was wired to protect, to secure, to make sure they were safe. And God was asking me to move forward without knowing how any of it would work.

And no one in my family supported it. In our world, this isn’t what responsibility looks like. It looked like I was risking everything—not just my own future, but the well-being of the children depending on me.

So the pressure was more than survival. It was the weight of expectation, of reputation, of trust. If this failed, it wouldn’t just be a mistake—it would look like I had misheard God, like I had stepped out in faith without wisdom, without stability, without sense.

And I knew that if I fell, it wouldn’t just shake me—it could shake their faith in me, and even their faith in God.

But God did not let me fall.

He carried me through, and what came out of that season wasn’t just survival—it was stewardship.

He led me to map the trail I had blazed, not for myself, but to create a pathway for others. That became Manifesting with the Holy Spirit, along with tools designed to help others walk in surrender, repentance, obedience, and intimacy with Jesus.

These were not projects created from inspiration alone. They were forged through obedience, prayer, testing, and lived experience. Through it all, I learned to wait. To move only when led. To trust that fruitfulness belongs to God—not striving.

The only thing gentle about that season was God Himself. He carried what I could not. He broke what needed to be broken. He healed what trauma had buried. He stayed when everything else fell away.

Since October 2024, trauma no longer defines me or controls my life. I know who leads me. I know how to recognize His voice. And I know this: what God refines, He restores.