a story
Over the summer, some events happened that made me question a lot about life (actually have I ever not done that) and made me feel God is real. My walk with faith is this: I was brought up Christian, but soon didn't see a point in waking up early and going to church every week in order to 'socialise' and listen to sermons that didn't really touch me. God loves little children, because they are innocent... But since I turned teenage, I don't think I ever felt innocent about being a Christian - I knew I wasn't a real one in the way others seemed to be.
So I left the church. I think my father and I share that - if we have to do something bad, at least we should state our points clearly and not be hypocrites about it. And find a way to admit that we are wrong, thoroughly wrong, and yes we are going to remain that way, and now I'll face the consequences. At least, he is the sort who wishes to admit to himself that he is thoroughly wrong, but I'm not sure if he was the sort who is extreme enough to want to expose anything he did wrong and face the consequences. He may believe people will accept his humanity, thus he need not expose himself.
Anyway. I left the church, and a book brought me back. The Case for Christ, by Lee Strobel. My mother bought it for me, cunningly. It was one of those days where Borders had a discount voucher in the newspapers, my mother clipped it out, asked whether I was going to town soon, and got me to procure a book for her. Except it wasn't for her; when I gave it to her, she said it was for me.
I put it in my room and somehow it meandered around the wilderness that is my desk and cupboards and the stack on top of the blue bench beside my bed. A while later, in the period that I estimate as after junior college and before university, I was free and wanted to read and came across it again. So I thought, I might as well read it.
And I did. Slowly. A few chapters at a time. I knew I fell asleep more than once while reading it at night.
As I read it, I felt for the first time in my life that Jesus Christ once walked the earth. In Sunday school, listening to Sunday school stories, with all the props and learning aids, I had thought of Jesus as a mythical figure from some faraway time. Later, growing up, I asked my mother some of the burning questions in me, and she didn't have proof that would satisfy me. And a while later, I told her, "I don't want to know. Even if I'm wrong, I don't want to know." I didn't dare, because of the things I would have to do, because of how he would know me.
And now as I read I knew he was real. And that he was tortured for me.
I think at that time I still didn't do much about it. I knew he was real, but I needed a step more. Knowing he was real, I could still reject him and choose eternal damnation. Knowing he was real, could he have been a psychopath who believed he was Christ, but who actually wasn't? There wasn't 100% proof that God existed, just that Christ walked the earth and died, he thought, to save my sins. But if Christ existed without God, if he was just another misguided human, there would be nothing to believe in.
A period later, I ventured up the stairs into what was then the storage room (used to be named the family room, but we never did anything family-like in it.) Looked through the bookcases, and came across The Case for Faith.
I read it too, bringing it down to my room furtively, not wanting to get my mother's hopes up again. She is quite perceptive though (or you could say she likes to snoop around my room), so she probably noticed it. The process was slow again, but at the end of it, I knew that there could never be total proof, and there would never be. Because God wished to preserve our free will, we must have faith.
I talked to a close friend about the church, then. And she said she was looking for a new church, because of various reasons. So we decided to look together.
We eventually found our way to one that satisfied us both. We only went for service, didn't join the cell group because initially we did not want to commit that much, and later because either of us never had the time and we wanted to start together.
I believed in God then, and knew that I wanted to be his, wanted to be saved, wanted to fill the gap in my soul. But as much as I knew it mentally, I never felt like I could act on a message from him. I knew it theoretically, but the real world was the real world. Could he really change things? If he said, throw everything away and run in surroundings that appeared safe and familiar, I wouldn't have.
I continued to feel despair with the world. A creature continually seeks to find out why he was created. I never felt loved in the way I needed. I never felt like I was created by someone who knew me before I was born, and yet who created me for my own good. I knew he existed, and I asked God for death. But it didn't happen. (And sorry to end this para in such a dramatic and anti-climatic way.)
I wanted to go to Canada, far far away, in the cold, somewhere I could fight things alone, somewhere I could find out who I was, what I really felt, whether I could live this life. I wanted to be alone on my birthday, I wanted just to be alone where no one could save me but myself or God.
Things happened this summer, to make me feel loved. Even if history isn't perfect, the reason why it happened the way it did, wasn't the worst I've thought of. People do try. And even when they fail, God can and does forgive. He is watching us all the time, because he cares for us.
I prayed in a group, for the first time in a long time, and God told me that he loved me. I recorded it here too, the first time I've been certain that I heard him. That's all he said.
It's late here, and I have to wake up early later, so I think I may not be putting this the best I can. But on exchange, I have prayed in some situations of uncertainty. Praying is not all there is, there is also trusting that he will actually do something. And it helps me put my fears and sins and grief away from me, to convey them to God, to rest on his strength. Although I still can't say, if I heard a voice in my head telling me to do something, whether I would do it or not, fearing it is Satan. I'm working on it!
Some may say that the same results could be achieved in just putting aside your uncertainties, and feigning confidence until you had it. But I wouldn't be certain about that, because the future only happens once for us. Right now, I believe that God exists and is watching over me, the way he does over even the simple creatures he has created. I want to stay with him, and I still have so far to go learning, so far to go in doing things he wants me to do, in carrying out his Word.
I suppose that is my journey with faith til this point. As you can see, it's hardly been ideal. I am so human, I fail physically and mentally and emotionally to progress quickly, it is difficult for even a 20 year old to change her ways. But I hope to walk with God for the rest of my days, and beyond until forever.
So I left the church. I think my father and I share that - if we have to do something bad, at least we should state our points clearly and not be hypocrites about it. And find a way to admit that we are wrong, thoroughly wrong, and yes we are going to remain that way, and now I'll face the consequences. At least, he is the sort who wishes to admit to himself that he is thoroughly wrong, but I'm not sure if he was the sort who is extreme enough to want to expose anything he did wrong and face the consequences. He may believe people will accept his humanity, thus he need not expose himself.
Anyway. I left the church, and a book brought me back. The Case for Christ, by Lee Strobel. My mother bought it for me, cunningly. It was one of those days where Borders had a discount voucher in the newspapers, my mother clipped it out, asked whether I was going to town soon, and got me to procure a book for her. Except it wasn't for her; when I gave it to her, she said it was for me.
I put it in my room and somehow it meandered around the wilderness that is my desk and cupboards and the stack on top of the blue bench beside my bed. A while later, in the period that I estimate as after junior college and before university, I was free and wanted to read and came across it again. So I thought, I might as well read it.
And I did. Slowly. A few chapters at a time. I knew I fell asleep more than once while reading it at night.
As I read it, I felt for the first time in my life that Jesus Christ once walked the earth. In Sunday school, listening to Sunday school stories, with all the props and learning aids, I had thought of Jesus as a mythical figure from some faraway time. Later, growing up, I asked my mother some of the burning questions in me, and she didn't have proof that would satisfy me. And a while later, I told her, "I don't want to know. Even if I'm wrong, I don't want to know." I didn't dare, because of the things I would have to do, because of how he would know me.
And now as I read I knew he was real. And that he was tortured for me.
I think at that time I still didn't do much about it. I knew he was real, but I needed a step more. Knowing he was real, I could still reject him and choose eternal damnation. Knowing he was real, could he have been a psychopath who believed he was Christ, but who actually wasn't? There wasn't 100% proof that God existed, just that Christ walked the earth and died, he thought, to save my sins. But if Christ existed without God, if he was just another misguided human, there would be nothing to believe in.
A period later, I ventured up the stairs into what was then the storage room (used to be named the family room, but we never did anything family-like in it.) Looked through the bookcases, and came across The Case for Faith.
I read it too, bringing it down to my room furtively, not wanting to get my mother's hopes up again. She is quite perceptive though (or you could say she likes to snoop around my room), so she probably noticed it. The process was slow again, but at the end of it, I knew that there could never be total proof, and there would never be. Because God wished to preserve our free will, we must have faith.
I talked to a close friend about the church, then. And she said she was looking for a new church, because of various reasons. So we decided to look together.
We eventually found our way to one that satisfied us both. We only went for service, didn't join the cell group because initially we did not want to commit that much, and later because either of us never had the time and we wanted to start together.
I believed in God then, and knew that I wanted to be his, wanted to be saved, wanted to fill the gap in my soul. But as much as I knew it mentally, I never felt like I could act on a message from him. I knew it theoretically, but the real world was the real world. Could he really change things? If he said, throw everything away and run in surroundings that appeared safe and familiar, I wouldn't have.
I continued to feel despair with the world. A creature continually seeks to find out why he was created. I never felt loved in the way I needed. I never felt like I was created by someone who knew me before I was born, and yet who created me for my own good. I knew he existed, and I asked God for death. But it didn't happen. (And sorry to end this para in such a dramatic and anti-climatic way.)
I wanted to go to Canada, far far away, in the cold, somewhere I could fight things alone, somewhere I could find out who I was, what I really felt, whether I could live this life. I wanted to be alone on my birthday, I wanted just to be alone where no one could save me but myself or God.
Things happened this summer, to make me feel loved. Even if history isn't perfect, the reason why it happened the way it did, wasn't the worst I've thought of. People do try. And even when they fail, God can and does forgive. He is watching us all the time, because he cares for us.
I prayed in a group, for the first time in a long time, and God told me that he loved me. I recorded it here too, the first time I've been certain that I heard him. That's all he said.
It's late here, and I have to wake up early later, so I think I may not be putting this the best I can. But on exchange, I have prayed in some situations of uncertainty. Praying is not all there is, there is also trusting that he will actually do something. And it helps me put my fears and sins and grief away from me, to convey them to God, to rest on his strength. Although I still can't say, if I heard a voice in my head telling me to do something, whether I would do it or not, fearing it is Satan. I'm working on it!
Some may say that the same results could be achieved in just putting aside your uncertainties, and feigning confidence until you had it. But I wouldn't be certain about that, because the future only happens once for us. Right now, I believe that God exists and is watching over me, the way he does over even the simple creatures he has created. I want to stay with him, and I still have so far to go learning, so far to go in doing things he wants me to do, in carrying out his Word.
I suppose that is my journey with faith til this point. As you can see, it's hardly been ideal. I am so human, I fail physically and mentally and emotionally to progress quickly, it is difficult for even a 20 year old to change her ways. But I hope to walk with God for the rest of my days, and beyond until forever.
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