my testimony
“Can I get baptized now?” I ask my dad, jumping with joy, having just received my salvation. My aunt had sat me down after the sermon and guided me through the Scriptures—something clicked for me.
“No, I’ll baptize you when we get home,” Dad responds. He beams with fatherly joy and pride.
Of course, I have no idea what I or he said back when I got saved. I remember the moments, not vividly, but well enough. I remember how excited I was, finally understanding what salvation meant.
I liked telling the story of how we visited my cousins in Arizona for Christmas, and how I got saved as my aunt guided me through the passages, explaining each detail. It was all the testimony little six-year-old me had.
I will admit, I don’t remember much from that day. I just know how happy I was. After that trip, my dad (a former pastor) baptized me in a Hampton Inn pool. I wore purple Crocs and a t-shirt with some rabbit graphic pasted on cheaply.
And that was “my testimony” for a long time. I believe I was saved and that I received the Holy Spirit on that Sunday after Christmas. I mean, all the years after I tried my best to explain the Gospel and salvation to my friends. My big heart yearned for them to understand and to, hopefully, accept what saved such a soul as mine. I displayed some fruits that Christ had given me. Salvation is just that easy.
Uh-Oh
Until I fell into a trap at a very early age. Like any human being, I found my weakness. I fell into sin and kept it up for a long time, still “amening” to sermons and listening to CCM in the car. I was a kid. I didn’t see how it hurt me.
I carried this habitual sin around as I moved to a few different states. After missing my home so much, my heart began to break. I was sad, and eventually, lonely. I could go into more detail of why I felt so lonely and awkward, but that’s another story.
Shortly after we moved to Florida, which was shortly before I turned sixteen, I went to writing camp. Me and all the other campers walked to the recreational area to hang out, when my knee began to hurt. I just have bad knees, so I wasn’t surprised. My counselor told me to sit down and chill, joining me at a random table. We talked and everything spilled out.
Perhaps the Holy Spirit stirred me, or my aching heart did, but I confessed everything and called my mom that night.
I was saved already. I had my ticket to heaven and the Holy Spirit in my soul—I had everlasting arms to lean on and a God to wholly trust in!
But I wasn’t chasing sanctification.
What I mean by “sanctification” is this: I had the Spirit, my salvation—I had Christ! But I didn’t apply it. I didn’t consciously chase the fruits of the Spirit. Sure, I spread the Gospel and studied the Scriptures, but I wasn’t working on myself the way I should have been.
Once I realized I would benefit most from the Spirit if I actually chased Him, I redirected my path.
That process hit hard.
I struggled with loneliness and confusion as I climbed my way out of the hole that I had fallen into. I convinced myself that I wasn’t working hard enough, that I should be perfect by now. I thought, because I was still knee-deep in sin, that I would never climb out, that I would never be acceptable.
I nearly killed myself because I thought if I couldn’t be perfect on earth, then death would fix that. If I’m not here, then I can’t sin. If all I do is disappoint God, then what even is the point.
It was a burdensome mindset and thought-process. I carried that on my shoulders and let it slowly break me. Like Atlas, I carried the universe on my shoulders.
For the Better
But God reached out and let me know it wasn’t the end. He bluntly reminded me how much life I’ve yet to live, how much work I’ve yet to complete. He took that dark time in my life and changed it for the better.
In retrospect, that process blessed me beyond belief. I am grateful God brought me to the end of myself. That is the only thing that would teach me that He is enough.
Since then, I’m happier, more peaceful, and more zealous in my studies. I also have a purpose—a reason to exist, and a target for my passion.
God has given me so many stories to tell.
And then He made me a writer.
Now I’m here, a forever student of the Scriptures and an adamant Christian. I’m using that passion and determination I’ve always had and pointing it to Christ.