30 Days: Day 14- Why I Get Down With Jesus.

 I didn't grow up in church. I guess I was there a lot before my parents divorce at the ripe old age of 2. My dad was a leader, on his way to being a pastor, and then their pesky divorce got in the way. When my dad came out and the split happened, all of their friends, some of whom were more like family, completely turned their backs. Both of my parents ended up incredibly wounded. My dad didn't go back until I was in the 8th grade, my mom sometime during my high school years. That to say, I didn't have anything indoctrinated in me from a young age. I have no experience with felt board Bible stories. I didn't take up my cross because my parents told me so.

When my dad started attending church again he went on Wednesday nights, which was also when youth group was held. I don't remember if I got invited and then my dad ended up coming or if my dad went and I then I did. Chicken meet egg meet pre-dementia brain. All I know is that in the 8th grade I started attending church, more specifically the Upper Room youth group. I am not sure what I did or didn't know about God or Jesus at this point. I know my parents talked to me about it but I was already on the wrong path so to speak, so I certainly didn't have much real knowledge or understanding.

This particular youth group was pretty charismatic. Okay, really charismatic. It was a hands up, prayer language, spirit led environment and the kids there were completely sold out for Jesus. The youth pastor was this big, jolly white dude with this adorable petite wife, both of whom had infectious smiles and were quick to show affection. There may have been a mullet involved, but it was the 90s so no harm no foul.

I don't remember the moment, or even the particular night I responded to the salvation alter call. I don't have a specific memory of the instance in which I gave my life to Jesus. What I do know is that during the 6 or so months I spent at the Upper Room, I experienced God in the most tangible way I ever have to date. There has been but a few church experiences since then in which I have literally, heavily, inexplicably felt the presence of God the way I did there. Now, this is not to say churches now aren't doing it right, or I am missing it, or whatever else may come to your head when you try and wrap it around why I would have felt God so intensely in that place and then never again in quite the same way. What my feeble, insignificant, unable to grasp the greatness of God mind THINKS might be the semi answer to that is this:

God knew my beginning from my end. He knew where I came from and where I was going and He knew that in order for me to maintain/come back to relationship with Him, I needed that super intense, extremely tangible experience. Because, I cannot deny what that was. I cannot deny the weight of the Holy Spirit in the room so heavy you can hardly stand. I cannot pretend that never occurred and just move on to something else forever.

Because I did move on to something else. It was called High School. I traded Jars of Clay for Nine Inch Nails and wrote things like "God is dead" on the bleachers during gym class. I become as self destructive as I could figure out how to be and was enraged with my mother anytime she tried to tell me that her prayers would be honored and I would come full circle. I went back to that church every now and then, but only if I had on extra eyeliner and a Marilyn Manson shirt. I don't think I was pissed at God, I think I just lost Him somewhere in the mix of trying to find myself.

I stayed lost for all of my teenage years. Maybe I got mad at God about stuff, maybe I just figured if He couldn't show up when I thought I needed Him most He wasn't worth looking for. Maybe I was just too caught up in myself to even care. I think I started going to a service every now and again when I was 19. My mom had some close Christian friends at that point, who had kids who I hung out with sometimes. I was still a total loose cannon, but I sort of found myself wanting a Bible and reading it here and there, as well as going to some Bible studies with those other kids I knew. It was nothing major but certainly a step up from the "God is dead", permanent marker phase.

And then I got knocked up. And then I married the guy. And if I thought my life had been a hot mess before I was sorely mistaken. We were both so crazy. Mentally unstable by any definition of the term. His mentally unstable only served to make my mentally unstable even worse. There was a lot of alcohol and yelling and at about 6 months pregnant sitting at my kitchen table drawing, in my ghetto apartment in Florida, I casually breathed something along the lines of, "Help. I can't do this. I can't be a wife and a mom. I don't know how to make this work. I have no idea what I am doing. I need You."

And wouldn't you know, He just started showing up. I found a church, I got involved and pretty soon that lost little girl wasn't so lost anymore. It was strange how quickly I changed once I made the decision to move away from myself, away from my circumstances, and closer to Him. Don't get me wrong- it wasn't like life just drastically improved and I was worlds greatest mom and wife. There was A LOT of hardship to come, including a split from my husband for about half a year. But I just kept pushing and trusting God and He just kept showing up. Feelings and emotions that would have eaten me alive, didn't. Circumstances that would have broken me, didn't. I had joy and fun when I should have been feeling and having anything but.

And it hasn't stopped. I just keep growing and changing and despite whats happening or how I feel, I am okay. I am more than okay. I am triumphant. 

I don't follow Jesus because He gives me a happy, hurt free life. I don't follow Him because I don't want death to be the end. I don't follow Him because it makes me better and wiser and holier than you. I don't follow Him because it is easy. I don't follow Him because it is what I have always done or what someone told me I should do.

I follow him because I have seen Him work in my life. Things are and be and do that don't make any sense apart from Him. I follow Him because I have felt His presence, heavy like weights on my person. I follow Him because it makes me a more loving, selfless human. I follow Him because who could turn down the gift of a relationship with the Creator of the whole universe? I follow Him because although I see truth in many things, it all stems back to Him. I follow Him because frankly, I am a disaster without Him. I follow Him because He loved me, even when I wrote about how he was dead on the bleachers.