Hey, It's been a while! I was thinking about Testimonies (actually a long story that I will for now, skip) and realized, I don't think I've ever shared my testimony on this blog. So, here it goes!
I was born in Nairobi Kenya where my parents were
missionaries. I lived there for five years and honestly don’t remember a time
when on some level I didn’t know who Jesus was. By the time I was five I
understood two things: Jesus loved me, and he wanted to “live inside my heart.”
Now this second part made little sense to me—my heart was a small place! But I
remember thinking, if that’s what he really wants then I wanted to give it to
him, because I wanted to make him happy. Faith of a child. Sometimes I wish my
mind still worked that way. “Jesus, I don’t get why you want what you’re asking
of me, but if that’s what you want then that’s what I’ll do—I just want to make
you happy!”
As I grew older, I learned what it truly meant to have Jesus
“live in my heart.” I learned more of who he was and is, and what he expects of
me. My first major test of faith came when I was sixteen. For the first time in
my life I considered the possibility that maybe God (and by extension Jesus)
didn’t exist. After all, you can’t see God (and I can already hear some of you
rearing up to argue with me, but for my sixteen-year-old self, I had never seen Him.) What if the whole thing had
just been one giant delusion! The struggle lasted somewhere around four months
and it was agonizing. My whole world felt as if it were crumbling. Ironically,
a few months prior to this spiritual crisis, I had accepted a summer counselor
position at a Christian camp. I was too scared to tell anyone about my
struggle—I was the pastor’s kid after all!—so when summer came, I packed my
bags and drove to camp. The whole week of training I was at war with myself. I
wasn’t sure if I believed any of this—how was I supposed to mentor kids? On the
final day, I decided I really needed to go talk to the camp directors, explain
everything, and quit. Naturally, this was the day God stepped in. I no longer
recall what he did to convince me he was real, but I know it was during a camp
fire service the staff were having. At
the end we sang, “Amazing Grace,” and for the first time that song had deep
personal meaning: Amazing Grace how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like
me. I once was lost (I had been lost for the past four months!) but now I’m
found, was blind (yep that too,) but now I see. I guess you could say
that became God’s and my song.
My second major faith trial came in College. Depression.
I’ve discovered over the years that this word is somewhat overused and, for
those of you who have never truly experience it, vague. Allow me a moment to
flesh out what I mean. In a matter of months my eating and sleeping habits
drastically changed—I slept all the time. If I wasn’t in class, I was
sleeping. My days became: get up, go to class, come back, sleep. Get up, go to
class, come back, sleep. Get up, eat, sleep. Ad nauseam. I also found it hard
to find food that was appealing. I would often go through three or four courses
in the Cafeteria trying to find something I could stomach. Emotionally, I
started by feeling like I had sunk into a dark, dank pit. (My artwork during
that time became extremely macabre.) I felt
dark, if that makes any sense. I remember standing in the shower one day
scrubbing my skin in an effort to scrub off the feeling. And speaking of
showers: they were my refuge. I could go and take an hour-long shower and sob
my eyes out, and no one could hear me. Eventually these tsunamic waves of
sadness subsided and left me with… nothing. I became a husk. I didn’t feel at
all. No pain, no happiness, no empathy, or anger, or fear. Just nothing. At
first this was the greatest relief! But as weeks turned into months, I began to
long for the pain I had once felt—just to feel something. During all this I ran
the gambit of reactions towards God. At first, I figured I must have done
something wrong to “bring this upon myself.” I begged God to just reveal what
it was, so I could repent and move on. Then desperation turned to anger. I
railed against God for His unjustness. How could he punish me and not give me a
chance to right whatever wrong I had done? Anger turned briefly to hate which
what then snuffed out by “the nothing.” In the end, I longed for death to come
and end me. (Just a side note to those
of you who have never experienced anything like this: While I was dealing with
all of this, I was screaming on the inside for help, but the words never made
it past my throat. People would ask if I was okay and my head would be
screaming NO! but my mouth would say, “I’m just tired.” When this all finally
came out, all my friends were utterly shocked. Depression is a silent killer.
And it takes someone with great perception or someone whose been there before
and knows how to spot it to intervene and help. Also, if someone does manage to
muster up the strength to admit they have a problem—listen to them and make
sure they get help! You have NO idea how hard it was for them to say something.)
Towards the end of that year, a Christian Camp reached out to me and asked if I
would come back that summer and work for them. My first answer was no. I knew
enough to know I was in no condition to lead anyone. But they asked again. And
again. And again. Each time I would say no, and each time they came back with
more fervor. In the end, they were begging, and because I didn’t have enough
strength to fight about anything, I
finally agreed. I remember thinking that this was the worst idea in the world.
But the day for staff training arrived and I packed up my car and left for
camp. (sound familiar?) When I got there, something miraculous happened. This
may sound crazy, but it was as if there was an invisible barrier and as I drove
through the gates my depression was stripped off me. I literally felt it
leave—as if something grabbed it by the scruff of it’s neck and pealed it off…
and it never came back. “Through many
dangers, toils, and snares, I have already come. His grace has brought me safe
thus far, and grace will lead me home.”
My third, and latest trial, began when I was around 25 years
old. This time, I came face to face with my own depravity. Up to this point, I
had viewed myself as a pretty good person. I mean, I tried to follow God right?
I did a lot of the “right stuff” and stayed away from most of the “wrong stuff.”
But that year, God turned on the lights and held up a mirror. For the first time
I saw just how deep my selfishness ran. I saw how I coveted my time, my stuff;
and how mad I got when one of them was threatened, or even touched. I saw all the
idols that I was enslaved to. Entertainment. Food. Attention. Even climate
control! I had built thick, retracting walls around my heart and if anyone
tried any kind of constructive criticism those puppers would come flying up. (I
think it was probably a side effect left over from my days with depression, but
anything that threatened my peace, anything that may possibly hurt me was
thrust away with bestial avidity—including scripture. I had begun to avoid the
parts that spoke of sacrifice. The lines that told me I would have trouble, and
be hated by some, and suffer.) I saw all this in me and more. And two things
happened. I became disgusted with myself yet terrified at the prospect of changing.
Like Gollumn in Lord of the Rings, I hated and loved myself. Thank God, for
God. He loves us through our self-loathing, yet He convicts us through our self-love.
It has taken years, but what I am learning is this: Selfishness never leads to
true happiness. Selfishness pushes others away till all you are left with is “self.”
And all the entertainment, all the money, all the success in the world cannot slake
your thirst for love. You cannot love yourself enough to fill that hole. But if
you follow God, if you give up your rights and serve Him and those around you,
yes you will get hurt, you will be taken advantage of, you will miss out on
things, you will give away what you wish you could keep; but in the end, you will find peace, joy, and love. And you will be
filled in a way that you could never fill yourself.
So, my friends, as Paul encouraged the Christians at Philippi:
Continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling. And as Lisa Chan
once explained: “Not work for your
salvation—that is a gift from God—but work out
your own salvation… for ‘it is God who works in you, both to will and to work
for his good pleasure.” Never give up on this, because the Kingdom of Heaven is
like a pearl of great value: It’s work giving up everything for!
