My Story

Home Group has been pretty amazing lately. We’ve been doing a study called Contagious Christianity that helps you become open about your Faith and teaches you how to easily talk about God. Last week we learned how to tell our personal stories of how we came to Christ, and then we shared them with each other. But I was sick and didn’t get to go, so Ben said that the group was expecting me to share my story this Sunday. I thought I’d do one better and share it with the entire blogosphere:

At age 15, I started my sophomore year of high school fairly confident in my ability to manage my life. I had chosen a good group of friends, family relations were going smoothly, and it was easy for me to get good grades. I had finally even found myself a boyfriend, and with that checked off the list, I didn’t think there was anything else I really needed. I was in control, and things were going exactly according to plan.

However, around Christmas that year, my plan started falling apart. My grandmother got sick, and my mom temporarily moved to Alabama to take care of her. I stepped in to pick up some of the slack at home, especially looking out for my little brother. It was a stressful time for the entire family, and I couldn’t do anything to make it better.

With the added stress at home, my honors classes also became overwhelming. I had been managing to hang on, but no matter how hard I tried I just couldn’t get the grades I wanted.

To top it all off, one of my close friends decided I wasn’t a good person anymore. I have no idea what I did, and she wouldn’t tell me. But she started a smear campaign and tried to turn my other friends against me too. Then my boyfriend moved away, and it wasn’t long before he stopped calling. There was nothing I could do to hold on to either of them.

I ended that year feeling completely out of control, wondering how everything had so quickly slipped out of my grasp. I had no idea how to get back on track. Then out of the blue, my best friend Shannon called and asked if I would like to go on a Mission Trip with her church youth group to do Bible camps for kids. It wasn’t something I would typically do, but then again, my typical choices hadn’t been working out so well. So I figured I didn’t have anything to lose and signed on.

At the Bible camp, one of the kids took to me immediately. His parents were going through a nasty divorce, and he was very angry and bitter. He was desperate for comfort, and for some reason, he looked to me to provide it. I was totally overwhelmed - how could I help this kid, when I couldn’t even handle my own life? So I told him that God loved him, and I shared the Gospel with him as I understood it. And suddenly, for the first time, I knew it was all true.

I realized I needed to let God control my life, because He had a good plan for me. I was flooded with an immediate sense of peace like I had never felt before, and the rush of relief was incredible. From that moment, life was never the same again.

Now, even though I still like to be in control, it’s not such a driving need. I don't feel so much pressure about my decisions anymore because I have learned to trust God and allow Him to be my guide. These days, being out of control is a good thing!

So what’s your experience? I would love you to leave a comment and tell your story too. Maybe God has changed your life like He did mine, or maybe you’re one of the many seekers who visit this site and are still trying to figure it all out. Regardless of your situation, we all have something to learn from each other. If you’re not sure how to comment, it’s explained in this post. You can even be anonymous if you want. So take a chance and share!

A Burst Bubble

Sometimes I need what I call a “bubble day.” That’s when I convince myself that the world is a kind and friendly place, where everyone gets along and the biggest controversy is over what to have for dinner. I mentally create my own sterile environment, and I hang out in there and allow myself to recuperate from the world at large. I really could have used one of those days today, but life kept coming at my bubble with an ice pick.

It all started off with a new chapter in our disagreement with the guy next door over dog poop. This has been an ongoing saga, of which I’ll spare you the details. Let’s just say I’m having a hard time loving my neighbor.

After church, we went to Pet Smart to buy some dog food, and our credit card wouldn’t go through. After an excruciating conversation with the Citibank customer no-service department, we discover that they have decided, without consulting us, to upgrade our account and cancel our old cards. They sent us new ones, which we apparently threw out with the fifty million other credit card offers we get each day. It wouldn’t have been such a big deal, except that of course, this particular card was the one we were using to automatically pay all our other bills.

Believe it or not, at this point, I was still hopeful of having at least a bubble afternoon. However, we had one more errand to run, and as we turned onto the main road I realized that the world was just not going to cut me a break today.

The street, probably the busiest in our city, was lined down both sides for at least a quarter of a mile with people holding up signs that said, “Abortion Kills Children.” Yep, the girl who wanted to spend the day pretending that the world was conflict-free found herself in the middle of a giant abortion protest. Yippee.

So finally I gave up, turned my brain back on, and checked out the scene. Several things stood out.

First of all, there were quite a few young children holding signs, which I found to be extremely disturbing. A 7-year-old boy shouldn’t even understand sex, much less abortion. There’s no way those kids could understand what they were doing. What kind of parent makes their child participate in something like that?

Secondly, I couldn’t tell what organization was sponsoring the protest. I’m sure it was some sort of church, but there was no info about that on any of the signs. It seemed kind of cowardly to me to stage such a bold demonstration but not own up to it.

But mainly, I just hated how it made me feel. It all seemed so self-righteous, and I felt that even though I’m not an advocate of abortion they’d probably condemn me just as harshly, because I would never stand beside them on the side of the road denouncing it either. I felt like I was in the middle of a drive-by judging.

So were any abortions prevented by the corridor of shame? I highly doubt it. But I do think at least one woman recognized the error of her ways today. As we sat at an intersection, I smiled as one of the protestors glanced furtively at her fellow demonstrators, shuffled a few feet away from the rest of them, and slowly covered her face with her sign.

When Faith Gets Overwhelming

Sometimes I feel like this God thing is a bit much to handle.

Earlier this week I sort of got backed into a corner by people who wanted to convince me that God was a joke. I couldn’t refute their specific arguments, (maybe more Old Testament knowledge would have helped,) but what really shocked me was that even if their points were valid, I didn’t much care.

Christianity is one of the most real things I’ve ever experienced, but it’s also the most preposterous. It’s completely illogical, but somehow I know it’s right. There’s so much I don’t understand, yet I still have peace and confidence. Am I crazy, or is that just how God works?

I was feeling kind of down about the whole thing, until I came across Psalm 71:14-15 where David says,

"But as for me, I will always have hope. I will praise you more and more. My mouth will tell of your righteousness, your salvation all day long, though I know not its measure.”

I felt myself summed up in those verses. I really don’t know the true depth or measure of God’s character or His sacrifice, but that’s okay – I don’t have to understand everything. I still have hope and joy, and I keep on praising Him through any doubts that may arise. Maybe I am crazy, but I guess I’m in good company.

I would be very interested to hear how others handle it when Christianity gets overwhelming, and I would love to get a dialogue going. I know I can always use some support, and I bet I’m not the only one. Your comments are much appreciated!

To Be Frank

I want to tell you about a man I once knew, who I’ll call Frank.

Frank was the quintessential mountain man. He mostly kept to himself, and was generally suspicious of other people. But as he warmed up to me, I found him to be a kind and generous man, quick with a joke and a smile. He was in his 60’s, but the sparkle behind his eyes made him seem much more lively and spry than his age would suggest. He called me “baby doll,” which always felt exactly like the term of endearment it was meant to be. I found him to be an all-around good guy.

Frank had not been successful in marriage, but he had several adult children with whom he remained close. He loved to spoil them, and there was nothing that good ol’ Dad wouldn’t take care of.

But one day, one of Frank’s sons decided to bring a fraudulent lawsuit against a company, claiming he had an accident for which they were responsible. Without any prior discussion, he involved his father in the case, saying Frank had witnessed the phony accident. By the time Frank found out what was happening, he was inextricably stuck in the case and could not avoid testifying.

When Frank got on the stand, he told the truth. He couldn’t help it – that’s just who he was. He knew that his honesty would likely cost him his son, but it was a chance he had to take. Frank was simply compelled to do the right thing.

A few months later, Frank’s daughter unexpectedly died. He was completely heartbroken. Of all his children, she was the one who simply loved him, never expecting anything but for him to love her in return. At her funeral, I discovered just how devastating Frank’s loss really was.

As the family filed down the center aisle into the chapel, I couldn’t spot Frank. After everyone was seated, I finally noticed him slip in inconspicuously through a side door and take a seat several rows back from the rest of the family. My eyes welled with tears as I realized what had happened.

Frank’s son had turned the entire family against him, except for his daughter who was now gone. He had lost everyone he ever loved, and there was no one to share his grief. He sat in his pew with head bowed and shoulders slumped, and the eyes that once held that mischievous sparkle were flat and empty. He was a broken man.

Frank’s story affects me deeply. This was a man who stood at a crossroads and took the difficult path, though he had everything to lose. I know that if he had lied he wouldn’t have been able to face himself in the mirror, but I wonder if it would have been worth it to keep his family. I wonder if the price he paid for integrity was just too high.

I lost track of Frank shortly after the death of his daughter, but I think about him often. I hold out hope that he has reconciled with his family, and that he won’t have to spend his last days alone. And I pray that if I’m ever in his shoes, I’ll have the courage to follow in his footsteps.

Eeewwww....

You know something? We live in a crude world, and there's something disgusting lurking around every corner.

For example, tonight I am relaxing in my den, enjoying an episode of Wheel of Fortune. No worries of anything icky popping up there, right?

But then it's commercial time, and an ad comes on for Serenity pads. No big deal - people need these things, and the commercials are generally discreet. There is a voice pitching the product, and there's this graphic of a field with a big daisy in it. Pretty typical. But then I take a closer look, and I notice - the petals of the flower are made of adult diapers! Big, white pads that unfortunate adults have to pee in. Do the people who need these things not already know what they look like? Do we really need to try to make them cute?

This commercial ranks right up there with the girl who plugs the hole in her date's rowboat with a tampon, and the cartoon bear who takes a crap on a tree and then discusses how much toilet paper it's going to take to wipe up. Who takes in these gross images and then thinks, "Oh boy - I gotta run right out and get me some of that."

Unfortunately, I think this yuck-fest is going to get worse before it gets better. Today we're listening to a philosophical discussion on the nuances of feminine odor, tomorrow I'll see some actor actually applying his Preparation H.

Wrinkles

I always planned to “grow old gracefully.” Let the gray hair and wrinkles come as they may – I’d take it all in stride with good humor, and embrace whatever face looked back at me in the mirror. Aging wouldn’t even be an issue.

Well, a few months ago I noticed the tiniest beginnings of lines around my mouth. That discovery immediately led to a more critical facial inspection, which revealed slight traces of lines around my eyes too. You have to understand, no one else would probably be able to detect even the smallest change - we’re talking miniscule lines here. But as I stood there looking in the mirror and puzzling over how this could have happened, I was suddenly hit with a stunning revelation:

“HOLY CRAP! I am going to get WRINKLES!!!!”

Thoughts of growing old gracefully went out the window. I just wanted to go out and buy the best miracle cream I could find and take a bath in it. How could this be happening to me? I guess my philosophy was really more like, “If I grow old, I’ll do it gracefully.” I hadn’t accepted that the “if” was actually a “when.”

It didn’t take me long to calm down and return to rationality. But I was still a little bummed about the whole wrinkles thing, until this weekend.

I was watching a re-run of Extreme Makeover, where “ugly” people get major plastic surgery to correct what they consider to be their physical flaws. During her initial consultation, this woman told the plastic surgeon that she was looking forward to “never having wrinkles again.” However he was quick to correct her, explaining that wrinkles come from showing facial expression, and that they would eventually come back unless she never smiled or laughed again. That started me thinking.

My life has been filled with happiness. Yes, there have been plenty of sad and difficult times, but I have spent considerably more time laughing than crying. There’s not a day that goes by in which I don’t have multiple reasons to smile, and I am grateful for it. And if wrinkles are the price I pay, then so be it.

So I will go right on living, loving, laughing and smiling, allowing all the joys of life to be written across my face. And I hope that when I die, I’ll have too many wrinkles to count and will have earned every one of them.

Does a Christian Have a Choice?

Check out my latest post on Purple Women & Friends - I'm pretty excited about it!