Where were you on May 2, 1999? I will never forget where I was!
Do you remember what you were doing at approximately 12:15 PM on May 2, 1999? That is a moment I will never forget.
I was sitting in the Worship Center at a large church in the Chicago suburbs during the 11:15 service, surrendering my life to Jesus Christ! I am still amazed that He picked me up that day and turned me around and placed my feet on solid ground! (You’re welcome for putting “I Thank God” from Maverick City Music in your head!)
No, I’ve not “always been a believer”. (That’s not biblical anyway.) I was raised in a church-going, moral home, but not a home that lived for Jesus. We lived the typical middle-class, suburban life, in which we attended church on Sundays. Our parents had us baptized as infants, and we were forced to go to “Affirmation of Faith” classes in Junior High. But no one had a relationship with God in Christ. To be frank, we didn’t even consider Jesus in our daily lives. I didn’t even know that was a thing.
That was all fine and dandy until I was about 10 or 11 years old. That’s when my dad moved out. I won’t go into detail about all that was happening with my parents, but the events of that time definitely left me searching. I was a shy kid who was teased and bullied. When I had a chance, I became a bully in return. Home wasn’t the most happy and loving place. And then there was the abundance of fake people at church. I was especially left questioning the whole thing when I faced the Junior High kids who pretended to like me at church and then treated me like trash at school.
Suffice it to say that a lot of turmoil left me searching for something, and I was pretty convinced that what I needed wasn’t Jesus.
Throughout high school and college, I worshiped almost everything but Jesus. I drowned myself in self-pity (worship of self). I desperately looked for ways to make people like me (worship of others). I read about Eastern religions. I was interested in Wicca and pagan worship. I shopped and drank to find a happy place (worship of money, comfort, self-indulgence, etc.). I desperately wanted someone to “worship” me (worship of the ideal romantic relationship). I dove into science to “prove” that God didn’t exist (worship of human intellect). And all of this left me spinning and lonely and distraught.
I kept thinking that the “next thing” would make me happy. I graduated from college and took a job teaching high school chemistry in the Chicago area. I loved it, but I still didn’t fit in. I felt though that I had control over the little universe of my classroom, so I took refuge there. Then at the end of my first year teaching, my dad died, leaving many untidy, fraying ends in our relationship. After a sad and lonely summer, I went back to my classroom. At the end of that second year, almost a year to the day after my dad’s death, one of my students died of cancer. My classroom was no longer safe. I was not in control. That summer I entered a pit of despair. I didn’t want to go back to work in the fall, but I had no choice. I cried almost every day. I was seriously suicidal. By the end of that year, I broke, and near the anniversary of those deaths, one of my students caught the rage penned up in my brokenness. That’s the summer I finally sought help for my depression. I headed back to my fourth year of teaching far from whole, but humbled enough to know I needed something, someone.
As it so often happens, that’s when God began to show me what He was doing. God brought two young teachers to work with me, and both were on fire for Him. One was on my team and we had to interact every day. The other was a young man I found very attractive, and I somehow ended up volunteering to co-sponsor a club with him. These two were different others I knew. They loved me. They took my anger and kept coming back. They didn’t hold things against me. I had such a crush on Chip that I looked for any way to spend time with him. Kamesha and I began to talk every day after school. They both prayed for me. They answered my questions. They didn’t become defensive when I would put down their faith. They saw me as I truly was, a lost, desperate soul in need of God’s love, grace, and mercy.
Finally, just before Spring Break, Kamesha stopped our after-school conversation and said, “Oh, you’re already saved, you just don’t know it yet.” And with that, she left. She told me later that she thought she’d never get to see it, but she was so confident that I belonged to God that there was nothing more to say.
Chip attended a large, well-known church in the Chicago area. At Easter dinner that year, my aunt was talking to my mom about visiting that same church, but they left me out of the conversation. I understand why. I was the angry, anti-Christian. While they were not believers, they didn’t want to invite Miss Angry Pants into their pleasant discussion. So I made a plan. I’d show them and attend that church with Chip. I wanted to spend more time with him anyway.
Chip was so glad to have me join him and his friends at church. (I was not so thrilled about his friends coming along.) Little did I know that their pastor was starting a four-part series on the Case for Christ. I went the first week, and I came out angry. I went the second week, and I came out confused. I went the third week and came out with fewer questions. And then I went the fourth week, May 2, 1999. The pastor was speaking directly to me. I remember my heart beating in my chest. I remember the rest of the crowd fading away. I remember feeling like I was floating. I remember thinking that my questions were answered. Then I remember symbolically signing a little card they had given us as we entered. It was a way of declaring that we believed the Gospel. And then I remember standing when the pastor asked me to and realizing that there were several of us in that large auditorium doing the same thing admitting to our need for a Savior, and our surrender to Jesus Christ. When I turned to Chip at the end of the service, he was crying and said, “I’m so happy.” I responded, “I know.” (Han Solo much? I wish!)
It has been a crazy 25 years since that day. There have been tough years and peaceful years. I’ve made friends, lost friends, had cancer, been stressed out by my finances, had my heart broken, been hurt by friends, found lifelong friends, and discovered that I belong to the Family and Kingdom of God. He doesn’t promise that I won’t have trouble, but He does promise to go through it with me. And He’s been right here.
God has taught me that time alone with Him can heal so much. He soothes my heart when I’m distraught. He guides me. He loves me. He lavishes me with His grace. Oh, His grace! He reminds me that there is “no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” (Romans 8:1) I rest in His arms.
Thank you, Lord, for the last 25 years. The sweetest times of growth have been alone…with Jesus. I look forward to so many more!
“Hell’s lost another one, I am free, I am free, I am free.” (You’re welcome, again!)