Does your life sometimes feel like a tangled mess? No matter what has transpired in the past friend, you are a work of art in progress. If you can’t see it in your story, listen to hers.
The simplicity of Sandi’s life on an idyllic 1,000-acre Kentucky farm began to unravel when she found a stack of magazines never realizing it would fuel her descent into an underworld of drugs, fast cash, and the global sex industry. In cities across the world, her hunger to be loved drove her into a suffocating web of adult entertainment. But rather than choking out her life, the tangled threads of her story were woven into a tapestry of restoration, one brave choice at a time. From stripping to spirals of alcohol and cocaine addiction – she emerges into surprising hope – 25+ years of sobriety, 20+ years of ministry, surviving breast cancer, and finally becoming a first-time mother at the age of 50.
Sandi Savage draws readers into an eyewitness experience of redemption through You Knit Me. She describes her disappointments and pain with brutal honesty as she shares her reflections with the voice of experiential wisdom. Intense, authentic, and reflective, You Knit Me is the story of resilience and overcoming extreme odds to live a beautiful, restored life – a story that can inspire anyone to do the same.
This book gives a real perspective through many stages of this womans life. Before, during and after giving her life to Christ.
I believe one of the most impactful things about this book is seeing that no matter how far you have gone - Jesus can redeem anything.
The atmosphere of that church felt so pure and life-giving. It cleared my senses, like breathing pure oxygen. I kept gravitating to it without fully realizing what I was doing. At first, it was just a relief to be in a spot where people weren’t constantly groping at me. But then I started feeling like it was a genuine sanctuary (ironically, no one in the church ever called the auditorium that) — a place of true rest.
Christmas was suddenly on the horizon, and I was excited to be back home with my family. But it wasn’t just about family either; there was definitely something different about this Christmas.
At some point, I realized that I was just… happier.
I was taking a deeper look at my heart and life. Much more than I had ever remembered doing before. I began asking questions about life and reflecting on how I had ended up on the paths I had taken.
I had the beginnings of some genuine friendships where we shared our hearts, not just drinks, parties, or a lifestyle.
I even started to ask serious questions about Jesus. What did this guy want from me? Most men in my life had always wanted something from me, so what did he want?
During the services, I would listen attentively to the words coming from the stage, and I never tired of looking around at people while they were singing songs. Greg’s cousin, Barbara, became a friend during that season, and we sat together most of the time. When Barbara was singing, she developed a mesmerizing look on her face — I think it was pure happiness. When we stood to sing during the service, she would stand beside me and lift her hands up to the sky. The first time she did it, I was totally confused and a bit worried.
Is she some kind of weirdo? What’s up with her hands? What does that even mean?
In time, it became a bit more routine to see her raise her hands during singing, so I decided to give it a shot myself. I made sure no one was looking and then I turned my hands up so that my palms were face up. I was curious to see how it would feel and was stunned when the floodgates of emotion burst open in me again. It was like touching a live electrical wire somewhere inside. Unnerved, I quickly dropped my hands to my sides, lowered my head, and tried to look casual as we sang along.
I remember one song in particular called “Amazing Love,“ which I couldn’t get through without weeping. It talked about Jesus being rejected and crucified but how He rose again for us. Out of love for us.
I honestly didn’t understand what some of it meant, but I couldn’t deny that it spoke to my heart in ways that my mind couldn’t grasp.
Months passed and I began to piece together what everyone around me seemed to understand: Jesus had been sent for all of us… including me. The well-defended walls I'd built up in my heart and mind started to come down, brick by brick.
However, the only way I knew to respond was to dive headlong into involvement with the church. Surely that was what Jesus wanted in return, right? It was time to do some serious volunteer work. All the people at the church that seemed close to God were volunteering, so wouldn’t it help me develop a better relationship with God, too? If that’s what could make me a Christian, then I was ready to work the plan.
I volunteered.
And volunteered.
And volunteered.
I even attended a class at the church about “spiritual gifts” that were supposed to help me serve even better. Apparently, everyone had them, and I was desperate to figure out what mine were. It turns out that one of the gifts was making music to God as a way of saying “thank you” and letting other people know what He has done for them. Incredible. I can use my voice as a gift? So I began contemplating joining the singing teams that served during the weekend services. As long as I didn’t have to raise my hands, I figured I would be in pretty good shape.
I knew that if I was really going to do this Jesus thing right, I was going to need the appropriate tools, so I decided to hit up a Christian bookstore. While sifting through a shocking variety of Christian gifts, I came across a set of tabs that are meant to be inserted into a Bible to help you in locating the different books and chapters. Yes! It felt like that would be so helpful since I didn't know where anything was in the Bible. Immediately, I snatched those Bible tabs up, convinced that this was going to help me learn. To be clear, I didn’t actually have a Bible, but I saw the tabs as an investment in the future. One day I was going to get a Bible — and I was going to be ready.
When the Easter series arrived that Spring, the focus of the services had turned to the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus. I knew I had heard some of the content before, but sitting in the services, it felt like it was truly registering for the first time. I was confounded by Jesus’ choice to be crucified in place of human beings and take on the punishment for their sin because I had experienced a lot of that sin up close and personal. I had known some folks that deserved what was coming to them — why would Jesus volunteer for that?
But then it started to dawn on me: I was included. Instead of giving me what I deserved for the choices I had made that separated me from God, this news about Jesus meant that I could have a relationship with him, and through that, my relationship with God could be restored. Perhaps there was hope after all, even for someone like me!
The pastor said, “Next week, I’m going to give everyone an opportunity to accept Jesus as their personal Lord and Savior and ask Him into their hearts.” I sat up straight in my chair.
That could be my chance!
I could not believe that something so important had escaped me in the past six months. I had assumed it was all about knowing more about God and Jesus, or even just serving more as a way to gain His good graces, but what if it was really about responding to His invitation that He had already given?
The next week, as I sat in the service, I prayed quietly,
Jesus, if this is my time to give my life to you, please let me know.
It was the first time I had attended both services and it was if God knew I needed to let it all sink in that I was about to change my entire life. Was I ready?
Yes.
As if in response, the pastor spoke from the stage during his sermon,
“You know, I have a friend. Let’s call her Sandi. And she asked me what her life would be like if she gave her life to Jesus, and I told her that her life would be incredible, amazing, and filled with worship.”
And my, how the tears started to flow.
In my heart, I knew it was for me; he had said my name! It was almost all I needed to hear.
Jesus, I will give my life to you in the next service. I would like to be there with my friends when I do it, and if this is really meant for me, please say my name again.
When the next service began, my friends, Greg and Barbara, sat on either side of me. During the sermon, the pastor was revisiting his points from before and got to the same point: “I have a friend, let’s call her Sandi….”
I knew that it was my time.
One of the passages from the Bible they spoke about that day was from Revelation:
“Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in…" (Revelation 3:20 NLT).
It was the picture I needed to bring all the puzzle pieces together for me. Although I had been getting to know Jesus for a while, my experience had been analogous to opening the front door of my heart, peeking out, and then quickly closing the door without letting Jesus in, all the while marveling about how amazing it all was.
But this time was different. When the invitation was given for me to give my life to Christ, I bowed my head and repeated words from the pastor that was on stage.
Yes, I believe Jesus died on the cross for my sin and that He is the son of God and was sent to save me.
Yes, I ask You for forgiveness of all of my sins —
past, present, and future — because You took
them all on yourself.
Yes, I receive the gift of Your forgiveness.
Yes, I ask You to live in my heart to lead my
life because I have made a mess of leading my own life.
In my mind, a clear image formed. It was me, kicking open the door of my heart from the inside and inviting Jesus in. As we embraced in the doorway, the door closed, but this time, He was inside with me. That deep, sad, lonely, empty place I had nursed for years was suddenly filled; I was embracing him, and He was embracing me.
Sitting there in the small church auditorium, I opened my eyes. Something was different. Perhaps everything was different. The room seemed full of light, and I quickly inhaled — my first breath on the other side of truly knowing Jesus. It was like breathing for the very first time.
I turned to Barbara and said to her in a small whisper,
“Barbara, I opened the door to my heart all the way and let Him in.”
We cried and we celebrated. She let me know that all Heaven was celebrating, that God himself was celebrating that I had finally come home, and that He could redeem everything in my past, present, and future.
It was April 27, 2003, approximately 12:10 p.m.
I had given my life to Jesus.