I was recently having a conversation with a friend who
shared his testimony- his story of redemption in following Christ after living
a devastatingly destructive life.
And my reaction to his testimony was surprising to me- I was envious.
And I said as much. Almost as soon as I said it I wished I could take it back,
and I felt the need to qualify the statement. I wasn’t envious of the life he’d
lived or the experiences that had brought him to the place he is now. I was
envious of the story- that powerfully
engaging story of how he came to know Jesus. I felt like I didn’t have much of
a story: it was boring, run-of-the-mill, the same as most of the
Christians-since-childhood that I knew.
Oh my. First of all, everyone has a story. No, they aren’t all tales of horrors
faced and demons overcome. But everyone has a past. Everyone has had trials and
tribulations and overcome great, or small, odds.
I had a feeling that my words were going to come back to haunt
me, I just wasn’t sure how or when.
Well, Friday night it happened.
In a wonderfully terrifying moment, the Lord gave me a rundown of my
past, sort of like the cliché of your life “flashing before your eyes.” Only this was the highlight reel of my
sins- those I committed physically and those that occurred in my mind. I
rehashed events that I thought I had long since buried, thoughts that I was
convinced only I knew about. I
recalled sins that I had willingly committed, KNOWING that they were sins, and
felt no remorse for them at the time. Because I knew God would forgive me, I
figured it wasn’t a big deal. There have been times that I’ve been haunted by
these past indiscretions. When I’ve felt that if anyone knew the full extent of
my past thoughts and deeds that they wouldn’t love me anymore; that they would
just walk away. That the Lord would walk away.
A little heavy for a Friday night, I know.
In the aftermath of this little mental slide show, I was
left wondering what on earth to do with this information. I’d just unearthed
the fact that I do, in fact, have some stuff to tell. But I don’t want to tell
anyone. No. one. But I started with telling God. I knew that He already knew, but I felt like He needed to
hear it straight from my heart. I’m not Eve cowering in the bushes, afraid of
the wrath of God. I’m the adulteress who looks upon the Lord for judgment and
waits for the first stone to be cast. The stone that never came. (John 7:53,
8:1-11). (The distinction in my
mind is that the adulteress knew that she was guilty and expected her
deserved punishment, whereas Eve didn't know what to expect.)
But, Jesus is not like the people we know. This should not
be news to anyone. However, I am guilty of putting human limits on Christ- limits
on His compassion, limits on His love for me, limits on His mercy. I can’t
fathom His unlimited compassion, love, and mercy- for me, for
the adulteress, even for the guy that murdered all those people in
Colorado. We can’t earn that love, we don’t even deserve that love, but
nonetheless it is ours if we just ask.
I was a little afraid when the Lord pressed upon me to write
this blog. I was afraid that He
wanted me to air all my dirty laundry for all to see. Then I understood that it
wasn’t the nitty gritty details that He wanted me to share. It’s the story of redemption that is
important, you see, not the details.
My story of redemption:
I’ve known about Christ for as long
as I can remember. I’ve also known sin as long as I can remember; I just may
not have always known that’s what it was called. I “accepted” the Lord as my savior
when I was just a little girl. I use quotations because I’ve always said that,
but now I doubt that was actually true. I said all the right words, prayed the
right prayers, but didn’t accept Him in my heart. Fast-forward a few years and as I got older, I strayed
further from the Lord. The sins got bigger, my boldness in committing them
grew, and my relationship with God was nearly non-existent. Oh, I prayed. But
they weren’t prayers seeking the Lord; they were lists of desires and requests,
with a little bartering thrown in for good measure. I only went to church out
of obligation. I didn’t crack open my Bible. But, I figured that I was still a pretty good person and I
prayed that prayer as a child, so I felt like I was covered. Only, every now and then, I would think
about those things that I’d done that ashamed me. Those thoughts, that if
anyone knew… 'Well', I would think, 'better not think about that right now. I mean, no one will
ever know unless I tell him or her.' I felt like a hypocrite though- a self-described
“Christian” who was a shameful sinner and had some pretty big doubts about the
whole Jesus-dying-on-the-cross thing.
It was quite honestly easier to just not think about it.
And then Easter of 2010 came around. I made
the obligatory visit to my grandmother’s new church home, but this was
different than any previous Easter. This one hit home all the way to my soul. I had
heard the resurrection story many times, but it was like I was hearing it for
the first time. Jesus died on the cross. For me and my sins- He was willing to
do that to pay the price for those sins that I had willingly, knowingly
committed. And the only thing that separated me from God was believing in that
truth. I felt such a rush of
emotion- shame that he paid such a high price for sins I was so cavalier about,
sadness that I had spent so many years running away from God and the truth that
should have been so easy to accept, and unabashed joy that I had the
opportunity to start over with God. I wish I’d had the courage to step forward
that day and tell everyone what a miraculous change had occurred in my heart,
but I didn’t. I just sat in my seat with tears in my eyes. I’d love to tell you
that my days of knowingly committing sins ended that day, but I’m afraid that
would be a lie. But I can tell you that little by little the Lord is chipping
away at my old life, my old fears, and showing me the way to build my
relationship with Him. And the more I seek Him, the more I find Him. I now know He that was always there, just patiently waiting for me to ask.
