Hi, My Name Is Marion Merriweather

Knowing Him is the only thing that matters.

Those words describe my life today.

But they certainly did not describe the young woman I once was.

My twin sister and I lost our mother when we were only three days old. As children, we were told that God had taken her because He needed her in heaven. I could not understand what kind of God would take a mother away from two newborn babies and three little boys who needed her.

That became one of my earliest impressions of God.

When I was twelve, my father became a pastor. Instead of drawing me closer to God, it only increased my resistance. I went through the motions of religion. I joined the church. I was baptized. I did what I thought I was supposed to do.

But I did not know Him.

Then, at eighteen years old, I made a declaration that would shape the next several years of my life:

“No one will ever tell me what to do again.”

Not my parents.
Not other people.
Not even God.

I thought that was freedom.

It wasn’t.

For the next several years, I lived according to one governing principle: I will do what I want to do.

I stopped attending church and lived in open defiance of God. Smoking, drinking, drugs, and my own choices became part of a life in which I believed I was finally in charge.

God allowed me to discover where a life governed by self could take me.

And then, in His mercy, He interrupted it.

My twin sister kept asking me to attend church with her. Eventually, I went—not because I was looking for God, but because I wanted her to stop asking me!

Something in me, however, had become just open enough to listen.

Afterward, I went home and attempted to negotiate with God. I told Him, essentially, “Okay. It can be just You and me—but I want to do this my way.”

Even my surrender had conditions.

Then I opened a Bible I had barely been reading and decided I would read whichever book it opened to.

It opened to Daniel.

I began with Daniel 1 and continued until I reached Daniel 12.

When I finished, something had changed.

The stories I had known since childhood were no longer merely stories.

There was Someone behind those words.

For the first time, I became conscious that the living God was speaking to me.

Years later, I would recognize something of my experience in Acts 7:2:

“The God of glory appeared…”

I deserved His judgment.

Instead, He met me with grace.

That was in 1975.

More than fifty years later, I am still discovering the magnitude of what happened when Jesus Christ laid hold of my life.

I once declared:

“No one is going to tell me what to do.”

Today, by the grace of God, I am learning to say:

“I belong to Him.”

That distinction has become increasingly precious to me.

My life is not my possession. My time is not my possession. My body is not my possession. My home is not my possession. The ministry entrusted to me is not my possession.

I am a steward.

Scripture says:

“This is the way any person is to regard us: as servants of Christ and stewards of the mysteries of God. In this case, moreover, it is required of stewards that one be found trustworthy.” — 1 Corinthians 4:1–2

That is the desire of my heart now:

To be found trustworthy with what belongs to Him—including me.

I haven’t arrived.

After more than fifty years of following Christ, I am discovering that there is still so much of Him to know, so much of myself to surrender, and so much truth in His Word that must become life rather than merely information.

That is why this ministry exists.

That We May Know Him Who Is True is not the testimony of a woman who has figured everything out.

It is the testimony of a woman who has discovered the One worth spending the rest of her life knowing.

Here we open the Scriptures together. We learn from faithful servants of Christ from generations past and present. We examine what we have believed. We ask questions. We pursue truth. And above everything else, we press on to know the Lord.

Whether you have known Christ for fifty years, have just begun following Him, aren’t certain what you believe, have wandered away, or are angry with God as I once was—you are welcome here.

I know something about running from Him.

I also know something about the grace of discovering that He was pursuing me.

So pull up a chair.

There is a place for you at the Father’s Table.

My prayer is that through everything shared here, you will not simply learn more about Jesus Christ.

My prayer is:

That we may know Him who is true.

And after all these years, I can tell you this with absolute certainty:

Knowing Him is the only thing that matters.