There's something hard about growing up in a Christian home. I know others who have said the same thing. You know the truth, you've heard it a hundred times. You live it out because it's what you think you're supposed to do, but in reality you're not living it out for God. I did the same thing. I accepted Jesus when I was seven years old, but after that it was like I was trying to ride on the coattails of my parents' faith. I tried to be good, I tried to stay out of trouble. I went to children's church on Sunday mornings and Missionettes on Wednesday nights. I earned badges and won awards, but in the end I felt so hollow inside. I was doing it out of fear and extreme belief that everyone around me was judging me.
I don't remember when my life started to slip out of my hands, but it did. I became so consumed with what other people thought about me that I began living in fear. I didn't talk to people unless I had to. My group of friends slowly started to shrink. I constantly put myself and the talents that God gave me down. I struggled with sin. I compared myself to others and always came up short. In college I was exposed to a frightening world that I had to fight to keep myself separated from, and I constantly felt like I wasn't good enough, no matter what my teachers, my peers, or my family said. I felt it in my heart that I was teetering on the edge of an abyss filled with darkness. All the lights had gone out. I had this unnamable fear that gripped my heart with fingers made of ice, and it was all masked by a façade that led everyone to believe I was okay, that I was a good Christian girl, perfect, nothing wrong.
When I graduated from college last year I moved back in with my parents, back to my hometown, and back to the church I grew up in. Here, I think, God tried to start working himself on my heart. I made myself go to church every week, and I tried to get something out of it. Even when I fell back into sin and fear I found myself seeking God out each week. But once Monday came around I started to slide back down my rope again.
I tried to make myself read a devotional every day, but sometimes I forgot, and a lot of times I wasn't really sure I was getting anything out of it. I couldn't find a job and there were times when I felt like God had abandoned me. Now I know that it was my own fears that were getting in the way. I was so good at being positive for others that I had no positive left for myself. But I kept trying. No matter how close I got to the end of my rope, even if my fingers were only grasping at a single strand of His goodness, I held on.
Last month, though, something...happened. It was a Wednesday night and our pastor was away, so our children's pastor, Pastor Matt, was preaching that night. He talked about how God told him that His people were living with evil spirits that they could get rid of. It immediately struck a cord with my irrational, unnamable fears, with everything I had been dealing with for my entire life. He called people down to the altar to come and get rid of those spirits. My fear glued me to my seat. It was really like I couldn't move. The altar? That had never been for me. What would people think if they knew I wasn't perfect? After the first wave of people went Pastor Matt said to not leave without that issue being resolved. And in that moment it hit me so quickly: I wasn't perfect, and it didn't matter. Before I knew what I was doing I was down at the alter, a place I've never been before, barely able to tell the elder that I "was afraid of everything."
That night I had that spirit of fear cast out and I was baptized in the Holy Spirit. I never intended to go down there for that last part but before I knew it I was freezing and burning at the same time, on my back and feeling like I had seen the face of God. He's still working on my fear, because healing takes time, but I can tell you that every time I think about that day, every time I think that thought "I wasn't perfect and it didn't matter," I laugh with joy. In fact, I've laughed countless times while I've been writing this.
It wasn't long at all before God decided to take it one step further, to test this new faith. Our church was starting a young adult group, The Pursuit, and the first get together was a week and a half away. I decided to go, but every time I thought about it my stomach would turn over. I could hear the voice of Satan trying to make excuses for why I couldn't go, but every time I would verbally give that voice a good dose of 2 Timothy 1:7.
A few days before the group I woke up with a sore throat, and it wouldn't go away. I've never had a sore throat that didn't develop into a cold so I knew that this was yet another attempt from Satan to keep me from going. Saturday night I felt worse and I had a slight fever, but Sunday morning I went to church anyways. During praise and worship I started feeling ill. I broke out into a cold sweat and it completely threw me out of the presence of God. I could have given in right then, but I started praying instead. I prayed for healing, I told the sickness to leave, and immediately I stopped sweating. I didn't feel sick and the pain in my throat dulled.
That night I went to Pursuit. I hung out with a bunch of people I barely knew or didn't know at all. I was nervous, sure, but I'm so glad I didn't miss it. It was another step on my journey out of fear and into the heart of God. It would take so much more space than this one blog post to hash out everything I've struggled with in my faith, but that's not the point. The point is that I felt like I would burst if I didn't tell the world what He has done to me. He has covered me in his blood. He has taken the skeleton of my soul, cinder blocks against a cold blue sky, and made it into His sanctuary. And it's beautiful.
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