Many people are able to point to a date on the calendar and say, "This is my birthday in Christ." They have a before and after picture of what it means to be separated from God and then to feel the gentle waters of reconciliation washing away their stubborn nature but I don't have that luxury. I was raised in a Christian home under the knowledgeable care of my parents who loved the Lord and raised me to love Him as well.
My mother was raised in a family of ministry, both in missions in Colombia and in Minnesota, and her father was perhaps the most godly man I have ever had the privilege to know. My father was raised with a strong influence of God in his home as well. His upbringing along with the call of the Lord called him to take my mother and myself (at the tender age of three) to Belize in Central America for a short time as missionaries until a medical difficulty forced us to return to Iowa. I look back and realize that I can't remember anything about my childhood that predates the missions trip and am overjoyed by that. That's not to say that my life before then was bad, but how could I trade any memory for one of service to God?
My earliest memories of what it means to be a father were also forged during this time. My father loved the people he preached to and worked hard alongside them. At home, he played with me. He would let me make mistakes and learn from them, but he was always watching out for my safety. Two examples come to mind. One was a tarantula that I almost stepped on in bare feet. The other is a trip we took to the Mayan ruins. We returned to the US with that tarantula in a jar and I still remember the strong feel of my father's hand around mine as we climbed up the steep steps of the pyramids of the Mayan Ruins. My hand ached with such redness when we surveyed the landscape from the top of that pyramid, but it was an ache that reminded me that my father loved me enough to hurt me if that hurt would be evidence of his love for me.
It was about a year later that I heard the call of the Lord to be His. I remember kneeling in the bedroom I claimed as mine at my grandmother's home and asking Jesus to come into my heart. I then remember running into the living room and announcing what I had just done. I was so excited and happy at the time, but as the years progressed, I began to have my doubts. Was I old enough to make a transaction like that? Did I say the words right? What real sins did I have at that point that needed to be washed away? I re-said the prayer several times just to be sure there was no misunderstanding, but that only created new doubts. Which of these prayers of salvation was the one that "counted" and were the others invalidated? If my faith in the original had weakened, did it even apply any longer? As adolescence came upon me, I began a wrestling match with God that lasted nearly two decades.
I mentioned earlier the pain of my father's grip on me as he protected me from a potentially fatal fall. My Father in heaven kept a tight grip on me as well, as I was growing up and seeking the pleasures of the world. That just makes sense, doesn't it? He was still mine and I was His. Our Father protects us when we need it, whether we think we need it or not. And like the time my hand ached from the vice grip of my father's clutch, I didn't appreciate the protective grip of my Father, nor did I want it. I felt it was a curse at the time, but in retrospect, it was perhaps the greatest blessing of my life. The blessing of epilepsy, which constantly reminded me to fear the sensations brought about by drugs and alcohol. That wasn't enough, though, to keep me from experimenting.
Sex, limited drugs, alcohol and anger became the idols I worshiped at after moving out and living on my own. I was still His and He was still mine, but when I moved out of the family home and started to make my own way in this world, I had the feeling that I could just point to the savior when my time came, and thus had a green light to do as I pleased. Talk about missing out on the advantages of membership! Eventually, my sins led to a crossroads in my life. My girlfriend informed me that she was pregnant with loud sobs. She wailed on that she didn't know what to do now, and surprisingly, I was the calm one of that evening. I put my arm around her and assured her that all would be well. We had tossed around the idea of marriage, and in my mind, this was the event that would lead me to make a commitment. One part of that commitment was the self-prohibition of all illegal drugs and heavy drinking.
We were married in April and in August we were the parents of the most beautiful gift that a loving God could bestow on two sinners. We hadn't been going to church, as our religious backgrounds were very different and we couldn't agree on where we should go. Each year, our largely secular lives tolled on my heart and I knew that I was now responsible for more than just myself. The thing is, I had done it my own way for so long, I wasn't sure if I'd be able to release my grip on my destiny and turn it over to God.
After a few years, we visited a church that met in a school that was close to our home. There were many people there our age and Ben had other kids to play with in a children's church that took him from us. At first, that was great, as we didn't have to watch him. We'd pick him up on our way out of the church and see some little artsy craft he had worked on to pass the time while his parents were fed spiritual milk. He never got the message, though, that his parents were worshiping the Lord, because he never experienced nor witnessed it. As far as he knew, we went to the adult room to make our own paper and paste creations, for that is what church is, right? I began to wonder if this was the best arrangement for a family, but at least I was in a church and that was better than sleeping in before reading the newspaper in my underwear in the late morning.
I was also on a rotation to work in the media area from time to time. For the most part, I only helped set up and take down the equipment, and every so often I would get to advance the Powerpoint slides the pastor used in his sermons. I wasn't a vital cog in the church machine, but I felt like I was starting to be used by God and then Tina decided not to go to that church any longer.
The pastor had spent an entire message time informing the members that he had done the math and that he projected the average income of us at $8000 a year, based on a ten percent tithe. He wanted a new church building and we weren't holding up our financial end of the bargain. He suggested that we sell our possessions, including our homes, and giving the proceeds to the church. This angered Tina to the point that she refused to continue to visit that church and she frowned at my attending and helping out.
A month later, I was disgusted with a sermon and never returned. My family needed spiritual milk, but while we were ready for 2%, this was thinner than skim milk! The entire message was a comparison of the ancient Babylonians, Romans and Israelites and how only the Israelites are around today and this is because the Lord is on their side. I waited for a Biblical passage that could tie the message together and when that didn't arrive, I started looking for the punchline. When that didn't come, either, I walked out never to return. In my mind, God failed me and my family with a church that was all about entertaining our children while the parents could be seen in a socially acceptable upscale church. It looked like the local Chamber of Commerce in there, and deals were made before and after the services, just like they were made in the temple courtyard before Jesus chased away the money changers. I was glad to be free of that misguided den of social theology, but felt guilty that I had taken my son away from the only real church environment he had known.
A year and a half ago, I decided to read the Bible all the way through and let it show me some answers to the turmoil in my life. The anger was always just below my surface still and I knew that something had to give. The commitment to my family was, at times, all that held our fragile marriage together. Day after day, I read the Bible, and used the readers of my newsletter to keep me on track, for I knew that I would fail to continue on my own.
I read a daily passage, and somehow felt a little bit separated from it. This was very educational reading, but could the grace of God apply to even me? I got that answer from the Veggie Tales Jonah movie when I learned that God is the God of second chances. I was floored! I watched that movie a few times and started to enjoy the music that went along with it. The song that really stood out was "In the Belly of the Whale" performed by some group called the Newsboys. I explored their music for a bit and the song "Entertaining Angels" really struck a chord in me. God was patiently waiting for me to return to Him, calling on me to be His again in more than name. I am His creation and up to this point, I truly hadn't been walking His path. Part of that chorus says "by the time i fall to my knees, host of heaven, sing over me." Could it be? Would God truly welcome someone like me back? I had been a drunkard, a casual drug user, a sexual sinner, a liar, a thief and an idolater of my own making. Was God truly the God of second chances?
As I read the Word, I began to wish to attend a church again. As it turned out, we went to the church I grew up in. Tina said she enjoyed it, but I was unsure that this would continue. Then we went back the next week and she told me that she wanted to make this our church and we have continued to attend and placed our claim to the church as truly ours in church membership. Every sermon I hear is spoken like it was meant for my ears alone. Every passage from the Bible shows me something new about the nature of God. I am following Him now and it only took me thirty years to surrender to His providence.
I have a sense of peace now that I never had. Through most of this story I have been His and He has been mine, but until I stopped struggling with God, there was no peace. I don't have a "before I was saved / after I was saved" story. I have a "before I surrendered / after I surrendered" story.
Here's a bit of my sermon notes from a few months ago:
Surrender to God's plan. As we see in Luke 1:38, Mary surrendered to God's will. We don't truly follow until we surrender to Him. There are millions of legitimately saved people out there who still are following their own path, but that does not lead to any semblance of spiritual calm. Until we surrender, we're fighting a God who cannot lose.
Thank you for reading this testimony. The joy of the Lord is upon me now that I have surrendered. I pray that the remaining aspects of my life that are not Christlike will be repelled by the Holy Spirit as quickly as possible, but I understand that my growth and maturity in God is a process that will be done in His time, not mine.
My mother was raised in a family of ministry, both in missions in Colombia and in Minnesota, and her father was perhaps the most godly man I have ever had the privilege to know. My father was raised with a strong influence of God in his home as well. His upbringing along with the call of the Lord called him to take my mother and myself (at the tender age of three) to Belize in Central America for a short time as missionaries until a medical difficulty forced us to return to Iowa. I look back and realize that I can't remember anything about my childhood that predates the missions trip and am overjoyed by that. That's not to say that my life before then was bad, but how could I trade any memory for one of service to God?
My earliest memories of what it means to be a father were also forged during this time. My father loved the people he preached to and worked hard alongside them. At home, he played with me. He would let me make mistakes and learn from them, but he was always watching out for my safety. Two examples come to mind. One was a tarantula that I almost stepped on in bare feet. The other is a trip we took to the Mayan ruins. We returned to the US with that tarantula in a jar and I still remember the strong feel of my father's hand around mine as we climbed up the steep steps of the pyramids of the Mayan Ruins. My hand ached with such redness when we surveyed the landscape from the top of that pyramid, but it was an ache that reminded me that my father loved me enough to hurt me if that hurt would be evidence of his love for me.
It was about a year later that I heard the call of the Lord to be His. I remember kneeling in the bedroom I claimed as mine at my grandmother's home and asking Jesus to come into my heart. I then remember running into the living room and announcing what I had just done. I was so excited and happy at the time, but as the years progressed, I began to have my doubts. Was I old enough to make a transaction like that? Did I say the words right? What real sins did I have at that point that needed to be washed away? I re-said the prayer several times just to be sure there was no misunderstanding, but that only created new doubts. Which of these prayers of salvation was the one that "counted" and were the others invalidated? If my faith in the original had weakened, did it even apply any longer? As adolescence came upon me, I began a wrestling match with God that lasted nearly two decades.
I mentioned earlier the pain of my father's grip on me as he protected me from a potentially fatal fall. My Father in heaven kept a tight grip on me as well, as I was growing up and seeking the pleasures of the world. That just makes sense, doesn't it? He was still mine and I was His. Our Father protects us when we need it, whether we think we need it or not. And like the time my hand ached from the vice grip of my father's clutch, I didn't appreciate the protective grip of my Father, nor did I want it. I felt it was a curse at the time, but in retrospect, it was perhaps the greatest blessing of my life. The blessing of epilepsy, which constantly reminded me to fear the sensations brought about by drugs and alcohol. That wasn't enough, though, to keep me from experimenting.
Sex, limited drugs, alcohol and anger became the idols I worshiped at after moving out and living on my own. I was still His and He was still mine, but when I moved out of the family home and started to make my own way in this world, I had the feeling that I could just point to the savior when my time came, and thus had a green light to do as I pleased. Talk about missing out on the advantages of membership! Eventually, my sins led to a crossroads in my life. My girlfriend informed me that she was pregnant with loud sobs. She wailed on that she didn't know what to do now, and surprisingly, I was the calm one of that evening. I put my arm around her and assured her that all would be well. We had tossed around the idea of marriage, and in my mind, this was the event that would lead me to make a commitment. One part of that commitment was the self-prohibition of all illegal drugs and heavy drinking.
We were married in April and in August we were the parents of the most beautiful gift that a loving God could bestow on two sinners. We hadn't been going to church, as our religious backgrounds were very different and we couldn't agree on where we should go. Each year, our largely secular lives tolled on my heart and I knew that I was now responsible for more than just myself. The thing is, I had done it my own way for so long, I wasn't sure if I'd be able to release my grip on my destiny and turn it over to God.
After a few years, we visited a church that met in a school that was close to our home. There were many people there our age and Ben had other kids to play with in a children's church that took him from us. At first, that was great, as we didn't have to watch him. We'd pick him up on our way out of the church and see some little artsy craft he had worked on to pass the time while his parents were fed spiritual milk. He never got the message, though, that his parents were worshiping the Lord, because he never experienced nor witnessed it. As far as he knew, we went to the adult room to make our own paper and paste creations, for that is what church is, right? I began to wonder if this was the best arrangement for a family, but at least I was in a church and that was better than sleeping in before reading the newspaper in my underwear in the late morning.
I was also on a rotation to work in the media area from time to time. For the most part, I only helped set up and take down the equipment, and every so often I would get to advance the Powerpoint slides the pastor used in his sermons. I wasn't a vital cog in the church machine, but I felt like I was starting to be used by God and then Tina decided not to go to that church any longer.
The pastor had spent an entire message time informing the members that he had done the math and that he projected the average income of us at $8000 a year, based on a ten percent tithe. He wanted a new church building and we weren't holding up our financial end of the bargain. He suggested that we sell our possessions, including our homes, and giving the proceeds to the church. This angered Tina to the point that she refused to continue to visit that church and she frowned at my attending and helping out.
A month later, I was disgusted with a sermon and never returned. My family needed spiritual milk, but while we were ready for 2%, this was thinner than skim milk! The entire message was a comparison of the ancient Babylonians, Romans and Israelites and how only the Israelites are around today and this is because the Lord is on their side. I waited for a Biblical passage that could tie the message together and when that didn't arrive, I started looking for the punchline. When that didn't come, either, I walked out never to return. In my mind, God failed me and my family with a church that was all about entertaining our children while the parents could be seen in a socially acceptable upscale church. It looked like the local Chamber of Commerce in there, and deals were made before and after the services, just like they were made in the temple courtyard before Jesus chased away the money changers. I was glad to be free of that misguided den of social theology, but felt guilty that I had taken my son away from the only real church environment he had known.
A year and a half ago, I decided to read the Bible all the way through and let it show me some answers to the turmoil in my life. The anger was always just below my surface still and I knew that something had to give. The commitment to my family was, at times, all that held our fragile marriage together. Day after day, I read the Bible, and used the readers of my newsletter to keep me on track, for I knew that I would fail to continue on my own.
I read a daily passage, and somehow felt a little bit separated from it. This was very educational reading, but could the grace of God apply to even me? I got that answer from the Veggie Tales Jonah movie when I learned that God is the God of second chances. I was floored! I watched that movie a few times and started to enjoy the music that went along with it. The song that really stood out was "In the Belly of the Whale" performed by some group called the Newsboys. I explored their music for a bit and the song "Entertaining Angels" really struck a chord in me. God was patiently waiting for me to return to Him, calling on me to be His again in more than name. I am His creation and up to this point, I truly hadn't been walking His path. Part of that chorus says "by the time i fall to my knees, host of heaven, sing over me." Could it be? Would God truly welcome someone like me back? I had been a drunkard, a casual drug user, a sexual sinner, a liar, a thief and an idolater of my own making. Was God truly the God of second chances?
As I read the Word, I began to wish to attend a church again. As it turned out, we went to the church I grew up in. Tina said she enjoyed it, but I was unsure that this would continue. Then we went back the next week and she told me that she wanted to make this our church and we have continued to attend and placed our claim to the church as truly ours in church membership. Every sermon I hear is spoken like it was meant for my ears alone. Every passage from the Bible shows me something new about the nature of God. I am following Him now and it only took me thirty years to surrender to His providence.
I have a sense of peace now that I never had. Through most of this story I have been His and He has been mine, but until I stopped struggling with God, there was no peace. I don't have a "before I was saved / after I was saved" story. I have a "before I surrendered / after I surrendered" story.
Here's a bit of my sermon notes from a few months ago:
Surrender to God's plan. As we see in Luke 1:38, Mary surrendered to God's will. We don't truly follow until we surrender to Him. There are millions of legitimately saved people out there who still are following their own path, but that does not lead to any semblance of spiritual calm. Until we surrender, we're fighting a God who cannot lose.
Thank you for reading this testimony. The joy of the Lord is upon me now that I have surrendered. I pray that the remaining aspects of my life that are not Christlike will be repelled by the Holy Spirit as quickly as possible, but I understand that my growth and maturity in God is a process that will be done in His time, not mine.
