I grew up believing in the God of the Bible. Every word about Him. Through the experiences of years my knowledge gained deeper perspective and understanding. But intermittent seasons were spent squirming under the concepts of God’s sovereignty over my life and “having Christ as Lord, not just Saviour.” What did that mean, and how did I do that?! I recall the terror of midnight thunderstorms when I would wonder, “Is this the judgement day? Do I really belong to God, or am I fooling myself?” Mostly, I wondered if I really, deep-down believed enough to have it count as “saving faith”.
Reading accounts of the early Christians under persecution I envied them the opportunity to just stand before the arena for once and for all and affirm Christ, die, and have all doubt removed. What would I answer? I couldn’t even stand in the face of my peers; surely my lack of real belief would be revealed. But even that would be a final, resolving answer.
In my later teenage college years I denied Christ in thought, word and deed. And still God loved me -- and drew me back, over and over again. Sometimes I struggled and was weary of the work of repenting and believing -- but the scary times were the times I didn’t. Sometimes I wasn’t even scared. Bit-by-bit the work of being an adult obscured the struggle and I became preoccupied with survival in the stages of childrearing and wealth building. God was with me in the nitty gritty, and I grabbed on to His principles and promises on a regular basis.
Looking back over these recent ten years of financial hardship, damaged relationships, loss of so many loved ones, trauma, physical pain, and battered faith, I stand believing in the God of the Bible. Every word about Him. I believe He holds me in His hand and not a hair can fall from my head apart from His will. I believe He set His love on me and that He formed me in my mother’s womb -- and that all the days ordained for me are coming to pass. I believe that He is unapproachably holy -- but that He made a bridge so that I, unworthy in myself, can be reconciled to Him. I believe that He is continually working all things for my good and His glory.
Surprised, I realize that I have said “YES” at the door to the arena, over and over and over and over again.
I come across so many articles these days entitled “Why Millennials are Leaving the Church” and other such catchy phrases. They seem to all boil down a list of do’s and don’ts -- as if by following them churches and families can avoid this heartache. Hmmmm. That’s me, all over again, mustering up just enough faith to get me through the 10 seconds between thunderclap and lightning bolt -- eternity resting on my believing.
And yet, my faith, at the door to the arena, did not come from me -- it was given. It is not a virtue; it is grace. I’m human and fragile (and ignorant) enough to want to trade a day in Rome for the extended trials through which God is bringing me. But it’s for a different reason. "For I know Him whom I have believed, and I am persuaded that He is able to guard that which I have committed unto Him against that day.”
Reading accounts of the early Christians under persecution I envied them the opportunity to just stand before the arena for once and for all and affirm Christ, die, and have all doubt removed. What would I answer? I couldn’t even stand in the face of my peers; surely my lack of real belief would be revealed. But even that would be a final, resolving answer.
In my later teenage college years I denied Christ in thought, word and deed. And still God loved me -- and drew me back, over and over again. Sometimes I struggled and was weary of the work of repenting and believing -- but the scary times were the times I didn’t. Sometimes I wasn’t even scared. Bit-by-bit the work of being an adult obscured the struggle and I became preoccupied with survival in the stages of childrearing and wealth building. God was with me in the nitty gritty, and I grabbed on to His principles and promises on a regular basis.
Looking back over these recent ten years of financial hardship, damaged relationships, loss of so many loved ones, trauma, physical pain, and battered faith, I stand believing in the God of the Bible. Every word about Him. I believe He holds me in His hand and not a hair can fall from my head apart from His will. I believe He set His love on me and that He formed me in my mother’s womb -- and that all the days ordained for me are coming to pass. I believe that He is unapproachably holy -- but that He made a bridge so that I, unworthy in myself, can be reconciled to Him. I believe that He is continually working all things for my good and His glory.
Surprised, I realize that I have said “YES” at the door to the arena, over and over and over and over again.
I come across so many articles these days entitled “Why Millennials are Leaving the Church” and other such catchy phrases. They seem to all boil down a list of do’s and don’ts -- as if by following them churches and families can avoid this heartache. Hmmmm. That’s me, all over again, mustering up just enough faith to get me through the 10 seconds between thunderclap and lightning bolt -- eternity resting on my believing.
And yet, my faith, at the door to the arena, did not come from me -- it was given. It is not a virtue; it is grace. I’m human and fragile (and ignorant) enough to want to trade a day in Rome for the extended trials through which God is bringing me. But it’s for a different reason. "For I know Him whom I have believed, and I am persuaded that He is able to guard that which I have committed unto Him against that day.”
Yes.
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