The Journey of My Faith

     Lately, it’s been on my heart to talk about how I came to my faith. It’s a pretty standard way, almost like a typical direction. I always felt like I knew about God, because I went to church at an early age, but there still was something missing. I almost feel like it has been a long journey with my walk with God, from running from Him to eventually finding Him.

     I don’t know when it began, but early in my teenage years a part of me yearned for God, and wanted to accept Him as my savior. I just didn’t know how to accept Him. I know how silly that sounds, especially since I grew up with a church background, and was being homeschooled, at the time, through a Christian program. You may even think accepting God is one of the easiest things to do, but my journey took a difficult route. I always heard the phrase, “Accept Jesus as your savior,” “Ask Him into your heart.” The problem was, I didn’t understand it. How can you accept Jesus as your savior? How can you ask Him into your heart? “How? How? PLEASE, tell me HOW?” There were times when I did the “alter call” move, but was this how? I said the “Sinner’s Prayer,” but was this how? There were times when I pleaded with God, “Jesus, save my soul and take me to Heaven. If you do that, I’ll give you the biggest hug!” (By the way, that is a promise I’m still going to keep!) No matter how I begged God, or came to Him, I couldn’t understand the concept, and I was always wondering, “Is this it?” Unless you’ve been in a similar situation, you don’t know how hungry your soul can be, when it yearns to be reunited with its Heavenly Father.

     In November 2001, my great-grandmother discovered that she had a tumor in her breast. We spent that December preparing for her surgery. Though she was prepared to leave this world, I wasn’t ready for her to go. My first breaking point happened the night we scheduled to open our Christmas gifts (a day or two before she had to do the surgery). There was just something about her Christmas card that threw me over the edge, and I ran outside and cried. I wondered why God did this to her and to me. He knew she meant the world to me – one of the only few who believed in me and loved me – and yet He was going to take her away! On December 21^st, we all met at the hospital for her surgery and waited as her tumor was being removed. It was a long process and took the entire day. Around evening, we found out that our great-grandmother’s sister had died that morning, which shocked all of the grownups. That, of course, added more stress on my mother, as she not only had to think of a way to tell my great-grandmother that the surgeons had removed her breast, but also that her close sister had passed on.

     Needless to say, December was a very stressful month, and my mother and I spent restless nights at the hospital with my great-grandmother, and restless nights at home changing bandages and cleaning bloodied tubes once my great-grandmother was released. On New Years Eve, we chose to have a small celebration with just the family. It was a busy morning preparing for New Years, and the phone kept ringing. By lunchtime, my mother decided to see who had been calling us all morning. The constant phone calls were from a family friend that wanted my mother to know that her close friend had passed away. The friend was named Diane, and she was my mother’s best friend. Moreover, she was my very first Sunday school teacher. She died from heart failure.

     I don’t know why it took her death to finally do it, but sometime that January 2002, I finally stopped asking, “How?” and chose my moment of receiving Him. My mother’s friend was like an aunt, and it was her death, my great-aunt’s death, and my great-grandmother’s battle with cancer that truly broke me into pieces. In some ways, no young teenager should ever feel that vulnerable. Although, it put me in a state of mind where I was done with begging God to save me and then asking myself, “Was this it?” I was on my knees and burst out with tears, expressed how I needed Him to save me and how I never wanted to lose Him. It was during that moment that I felt like I never wanted to be separated from God ever again!

     Being a Christian doesn’t mean that life isn’t going to be hard. Living in this world means that I will go through many heartaches and trials along with good and happy experiences. When I say that I am a Christian, I don’t see it as some religion. You hear it all the time about “being born again,” but until you actually witness it, you can’t fully understand it. When a child is born, s/he is born within a nationality, race, and culture. In the same sense, to be reborn in Christ now means belonging to a new nationality, race, and culture comprised of many people from all over the world. I don’t feel extremely different. I’m not some weird person for believing in God. I’m definitely not self-righteous. I’m human, and I’ve made many mistakes. I’m me, and I have likes and dislikes and aspirations for my life. But, being a Christian means that I now have my friend by my side, and no one can ever take His love away from my heart.

     The point I want to make, in sharing this journey, is that when your heart is ready to understand, He’s there for you. You can’t be forced to know Him. You can’t be forced to love Him. And I can waste many lines telling you how much He loves you, but until your heart is ready to be opened and understand that, it’s only words. I was very fortunate to know of God beforehand, but I am truly blessed to know Him now. When there are times I feel hurt by another’s actions, He reminds me that He’s here. When I encounter rejections and fear the unknown, He reminds me that He’s got it under control. And, with that notion, there’s an undeniable trust that follows.