Two Revs Productions

Welcome to my first post in the “Remarkable Lives” series. I wanted to do a series of blogs to share the incredible stories of individuals whose lives have profoundly impacted mine. Through their experiences, I hope to inspire and uplift others. Each story is a testament to resilience, faith, and transformation. Some stories will be deeply personal, while others will highlight those uniquely touching my life. Today, I begin with one of the most significant influences in my life: my mother, Dawn Payne.

I cannot fully encapsulate the profundity of this story, and it remains a subject of continual exploration within my life and ministry. Nevertheless, here is my attempt.

Dawn Payne’s Story

Early Life
My mother, Dawn Payne, was born the first child to an alcoholic family in 1956. Her mother was a non-practicing Christian Scientist, and her father was a Jehovah’s Witness with roots going back to the early teachings of Russell and Rutherford. Despite being born with hydrocephalus and requiring a VA shunt, she was one of the first to survive this condition. Dawn was one of four children and witnessed her parents’ struggles with alcoholism. Despite the chaos, she deeply loved her parents and would often describe her childhood as good, though the cracks in her story were evident.

Her father, although a good provider, struggled to reconcile his faith with his addiction, ultimately being excommunicated from his faith community shortly before his death at the hands of his addiction. My mother faced near-death experiences due to early onset type 1 diabetes, complications from hydrocephalus, the tragic loss of my older sister, who she carried to term, and multiple car accidents. I could elaborate extensively, and I’ve already deleted a lot. These traumas left deep scars on her, though she tried to live beyond them.
I have learned that we cannot escape our past; God must transform it.

During my formative years, we endured considerable financial hardships. Poverty was a constant companion, often depriving us of basic amenities. My parents navigated these challenging circumstances with utmost resilience. Life was far from easy; our family lacked the means to improve our situation. This experience has left an indelible mark on me, not as a judgment upon my parents, but because I intimately understand the essence of poverty—sleeping on a loveseat bed in a fifth-wheel trailer with no kitchen and only a curtain for a bathroom door. These memories resonate deeply within me and undoubtedly leave a lasting impression on my mother.

My parents were well-meaning and supportive, although I did not grow up in a religious household. My father, by his admission, was a lapsed Southern Baptist. At the same time, my mother was influenced by her early upbringing as a baptized Jehovah’s Witness, primarily due to my grandfather’s influence. However, after my grandfather’s excommunication, marrying my father, and years of not engaging with the doctrines of the Watchtower Society, my mother maintained a nominal association with Jehovah’s Witness beliefs without adhering to its core tenets. She celebrated Christmas, was open to blood transfusions, and cherished birthdays.

Despite her insufficient grasp and apparent contradictions, this paradoxical adherence to Jehovah’s Witness beliefs reflected a conflict within her—her beliefs on faith were works-based and incongruent with a doctrine that could ‘abandon’ her father in his time of need. Yet, this was the extent of her religious understanding.

Challenges and Struggles

The challenges my mother faced profoundly affected her both personally and spiritually. Her life was marked by trauma and struggle, yet she remained resilient. I love sharing my mother’s conversion story, but it also reveals the poverty, addiction, and struggles that still touch my life. It is also out of this story that my story begins. In many senses, our stories are intertwined.

My faith journey began with a friend’s invitation to a Baptist church, where I found solace and community. I share this because my newfound faith often put me at odds with my mother, who clung to Jehovah’s Witness beliefs without fully understanding or questioning them.

When I first came to faith, I immersed myself in scripture. This isn’t to boast but to set the stage for what happened next. After my conversion, I prayed for her, argued with her, dragged her to Bible studies, and went to great lengths to prove orthodox faith to her. Within a year, my mother and I were constantly at odds because she didn’t share my faith in the triune God. She didn’t understand the assurance of heaven and believed, at best, she would inherit the earth, a Jehovah’s Witness belief she didn’t even truly hold.

This only led to more tension, and even the Jehovah’s Witness door knockers found their way into our home during this time. One Jehovah’s Witness named Nettie scared my mom so much that she never said no to the weekly Bible studies suggested. Our arguments seemed to escalate, and my mom grew increasingly distant from the idea of faith- in part because of me.

My relentless efforts to “save” her eventually wore me out. It felt impossible because I was trying to do it through my power. A friend and mentor advised me to simply pray and let God take over. With a few hiccups here and there, I did just that for over a year. That’s when something amazing happened!

Faith and Transformation

“Transformation often comes in the most unexpected moments.”

My father’s knee replacement surgery in Las Vegas turned into a pivotal event for our family. My mother and I drove there, stayed in hotels, and did our best to support my father in his recovery. Back then, knee replacement wasn’t a quick two-day procedure; it took nearly a week, even without complications. Unfortunately, my father faced some issues that required him to be on the oncology floor rather than the recovery floor because there wasn’t room.

While dealing with his care and medication interactions, I often found myself retreating with my mother to a small waiting room/storage closet down the hall. It was there that I met a family experiencing the loss of a beloved father, grandfather, and brother. Over time, I got to know them well, especially the eldest female family member. We shared deeply about our faith and often had Bible studies in the waiting room.

One day, she told me her brother and nephew desperately needed to hear the gospel. As someone who has never been shy- I took up the challenge. With my NASB Bible in hand, I shared the gospel with them, speaking about the power of Jesus’ life, death, resurrection, and the transformative power of his salvation. I remember seeing a tear in the man’s eye when he realized he could have this gift of salvation. He asked if he needed to go to church to start this journey, and I told him he could begin right then and there. Before I could pray with him, his nephew expressed the same desire.

So, led by an awkward teenage boy, two men received salvation that day. There wasn’t a dry eye in the room. Anyone passing by might have been taken aback by the sight of a large, awkward, sobbing white kid embracing two sobbing black men—tears not of sorrow but of joy and new life. My mother witnessed all of this. She was there for the Bible studies, the prayers, the faith, the tears, and the testimonies. Yet, when we finished and began discussing finding a local church and the new life in Jesus, she quietly slipped out of the room. I vaguely noticed but didn’t think much of it.

Later, after my father had recovered, we gathered at a friend’s house for a Bible study. Unexpectedly, my mother began to sob, overwhelmed by her desire to accept Jesus. She revealed that she had desperately wanted to say yes to Jesus while at the hospital but didn’t want to interrupt the special moment between those two men. That night, she finally embraced Jesus, understanding grace and salvation through Christ. Leading my mother in prayer as she accepted Jesus was a moment of profound joy. Just like before, there wasn’t a dry eye! My mother’s transformation was evident – she became a new creation in Christ.

My mother’s transformation deeply impacted our family and community. She became a staunch supporter of my call to ministry, an example of faith, and a staple at her church. Despite her imperfections, she embraced her newfound belief with vigor, unafraid of death because she knew her destination. Her favorite scripture, Revelation 21:3-4 (NIV), was proclaimed at her funeral, symbolizing her journey from pain to grace:

“And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, ‘Look! God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.’”

I share this to tell you of one remarkable moment. Some months later, she encountered some Jehovah’s Witnesses after her conversion. When approached by Nettie, the persistent Jehovah’s Witness evangelist, my mother confidently declared her new faith, saying, “I am a born-again Christian; I would love to tell you about it!” This transformation was a testament to the profound change in her life. My mother’s move from fear and confusion to clarity and conviction is something that I will remember all my life. It may not be the story of a great martyr of the Christian faith, but it is a story of brokenness made whole; it is the story of someone afraid of the past being changed in the power of Jesus; it is the story of trauma finding healing. It was a transformation that could only be attributed to the power of God’s grace and love.

Dawn Payne’s story is a testament to the power of faith and resilience. Her journey from struggle to triumph serves as an inspiration to all who knew her. Through this blog series, I hope to keep her memory alive and share the remarkable lives that have touched my heart and soul because I think the church needs the reminder of the power of Jesus. The one who changes us and brings dead things to life!