A testimony from Roman Kendzerskyy, and a link to his recent book.
ATTENTION GRABBING!
The first time Jesus truly got my attention, I couldn’t walk. Not metaphorically. Literally!
A spinal cord injury took my strength, my independence, and the identity I had spent years building. In a matter of seconds, the life I worked so hard to construct, fell silent. No more speed. No more momentum. No more distractions.
Just stillness.
That’s where I finally met Him—not as a concept, not as tradition, not as a background figure—but as a presence that had been patiently waiting my entire life.
I DIDN’T FIND JESUS — HE FOUND ME
I grew up knowing of God, but not knowing Him. Faith was cultural, distant, inherited. God belonged in ceremonies and holidays, not in my decisions or desires. I believed He existed. I just didn’t believe He needed to be involved.
So I lived on my own terms.
In my teens, that independence quickly turned into addiction. Drugs became my refuge, my rebellion, and eventually my prison. What started as numbing pain became a total loss of control. Addiction hollowed me out while convincing me I was stronger than I really was.
Eventually, I hit a wall. Rehab wasn’t a spiritual moment—it was survival. I wasn’t searching for God. I was searching for relief.
Looking back now, I see something I couldn’t then:
Even when I wasn’t looking for Him, Jesus was already reaching for me.
REBUILDING THROUGH WORK, NOT COMFORT
After getting clean, I entered construction. Long days. Heavy labor. No shortcuts. It was blue-collar, unglamorous, and exhausting—and it saved me.
Work restored dignity. It forced discipline. It rebuilt trust in myself one honest day at a time. Construction didn’t just put money in my pocket; it gave structure to a life that had collapsed.
At the time, I thought I was rebuilding myself. Now I know better.
God was rebuilding my foundation long before I knew how to thank Him for it.
WHEN SUCCESS BECOMES A NEW ADDICTION
Eventually, I transitioned from construction into business. What followed was rapid success—more money than I imagined, recognition, influence, freedom. I built something real. Something meaningful. Something admired.
From the outside, it looked like victory. Inside, something far more dangerous was forming.
I had beaten addiction—but replaced it with achievement.
I wasn’t chasing drugs anymore. I was chasing control, validation, and identity through success.
God was still in my language, but no longer in my center.
Faith became something I acknowledged, not something I surrendered to. As long as my life kept moving forward, I assumed God was pleased.
That illusion ended instantly.
SAVED FROM MYSELF
The motorcycle accident didn’t just break my body—it exposed my soul.
When the doctors told me the extent of my spinal cord injury, I lost more than movement. I lost confidence. Direction. Certainty. I could no longer distract myself with work or ambition.
I had nothing left to manage.
And for the first time in my life, I stopped running. I expected God to meet me with disappointment. Instead, He met me with patience.
Jesus didn’t confront me with guilt for the years I lived without Him at the center. He didn’t remind me how far I drifted. He didn’t shame me for loving success more than surrender.
He simply stayed.
THE GOD WHO WAITS
That’s the part that still humbles me most.
Jesus waited while I destroyed myself with drugs. He waited while I rebuilt my life through sheer willpower. He waited while success fed my ego. He waited while I mistook momentum for purpose.
And when everything was stripped away, He was still there.
Not angry.
Not distant.
Not condemning.
Waiting.
In my weakest physical state, my spiritual sight sharpened. I began to see how every chapter of my life—even the ones I thought I had authored alone—had been guided by grace.
Jesus saved me from addiction.
Jesus saved me through honest work.
Jesus saved me from being consumed by success.
And through my injury, Jesus saved me from myself.
REDEFINING STRENGTH
Recovery from a spinal cord injury is slow, humbling, and relentless. Progress comes in inches. Patience becomes essential. Pride has nowhere to hide.
But something unexpected happened in that process: I learned how to rest.
Not quit. Not surrender effort. But surrender control.
For the first time, I understood faith not as belief, but as trust—trust that God doesn’t waste suffering, and that strength is not measured by what we can do, but by who we depend on.
FROM CONTROL TO COMMUNION
My life had always been about control—controlling outcomes, growth, identity, perception. Jesus invited me into something radically different: relationship.
Not performance.
Not achievement.
Not proving worth.
Communion.
I didn’t arrive at faith quickly. I arrived honestly. And when I did, I realized something that changed everything:
God was never late.
I just wasn’t ready.
STILL BEING WRITTEN
My story isn’t finished. My body is still healing. My faith is still growing. My life is still being rebuilt.
But I no longer measure success by income, influence, or speed. I measure it by obedience. By humility. By who I’m becoming in Christ.
Jesus didn’t remove suffering from my life. He redeemed it.
He didn’t restore everything I lost. He replaced it with purpose.
And now I know with certainty what once I only heard in sermons:
God doesn’t abandon His children.
He waits.
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Roman Kendzerskyy. His book “Rebuilt: A Journey Through Pain, Purpose, and Power” is published via Amazon:
https://www.amazon.com/Rebuilt-Journey-Through-Purpose-Power-ebook/dp/B0G4BCQF1M
For those who use Instagram, a link to Roman Kendzerskyy’s account here: https://www.instagram.com/reel/DQVPH3NAfIQ/
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