Testimonies

Letter From The Fire

by Robert Coskrey
09/19/25
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Normally, my testimony would involve surviving many years of extreme bullying, barely passing my classes, and becoming a Christian in the midst of it. While becoming a Christian saved my soul, it didn’t save my grades. I still failed my classes and graduated on a wing and a prayer.

 My experiences in school proved to be just the tip of the iceberg of what my life would entail. I would face trials unlike any I could have imagined. Trials that sound like something out of fictional television series with events that can’t possibly exist. 

 Over the years, my Christian walk suffered—not just in practice, but in spirit. I was cut off from church, my Bible studies faded into silence, and my prayer life collapsed under the weight of fear and confusion. I stopped writing about Jesus and began documenting the violations of my legal rights, trying to make sense of a world that felt increasingly hostile.

 I faced repeated encounters with authorities who seemed determined to find fault—searching for any reason to lock me away. In those moments, I didn’t just feel abandoned by society—I felt abandoned by God. The silence was deafening. I questioned my worth, my calling, even my salvation.

 It was during a hospital stay—when I felt most fragile and forgotten—that I began to see differently. I wasn’t abandoned. In that sterile, quiet place, God stirred something in me. I found myself comforting others, listening, praying, even when I hadn’t prayed for myself in weeks. People opened up. Healing happened—not just for them, but for me.

 It was there I realized: God hadn’t stopped using me. He hadn’t stopped speaking. He was simply waiting for me to notice that even in brokenness, I was still His vessel.

 I found myself dealing with systems and people that mislabeled me, dismissed me as a fool and threatened my autonomy . I was left out of plans for my own future and the quality of my life. Originally I had intellectual disabilities. Later I suffered from mental health problems. And, finally I was mentally incapacitated. 

 When psychiatric medications and therapy failed to help me, another explanation started to emerge for my behaviors. In early 2014, I learned about Asperger’s syndrome however it fell apart after it was removed as a condition and replaced with Autism Spectrum. Once again, having an explanation for my condition was up in the air.

 Long before I had a word for it, I knew something didn’t line up. I could sense patterns others missed, feel emotions that hadn’t been spoken, and lose hours in creative flow while the world rushed past. But I also struggled—social cues felt like riddles, noise overwhelmed me, and small disruptions could unravel my entire day.

 When I finally recognized that I was neurodivergent, it wasn’t just a moment of clarity—it was a moment of grace. I didn’t stumble onto a label. I uncovered a blueprint. The traits I’d spent years hiding or apologizing for weren’t flaws. They were fingerprints. God’s fingerprints.

 I began to see that my sensitivity, my pattern recognition, my deep emotional intuition—they weren’t accidents. They were gifts. Not always easy to carry, but sacred nonetheless. And slowly, the shame began to lift. I wasn’t a failed Christian. I was a uniquely equipped one. God hadn’t abandoned me—He had been shaping me all along, preparing me to reach others who felt just as unseen.

 For years, I thought my struggles meant I was broken—spiritually and mentally. But discovering I was neurodivergent didn’t just explain my past. It illuminated my faith. I began to see that God had been present all along, shaping me through difference, not despite it.

 Learning of my neurodivergence has been the most emotional process I have ever experienced. It has silenced the lies of the past and proved me to be right the whole time. Though the years have been long and cruel for me, I stood my ground. Jesus said that you will know the truth and the truth will make you free.

Robert Coskrey