Every other Thursday night, a group of ex-patriots living in the Cuenca area gets together at the house of one of the pastors of Verbo Church for food, fellowship, and fun. With Ryan and I being the two youngest of the group by at least a factor of 25 years, it is almost a guaranteed unique experience especially when the conversation turns back the clock to the 70s and 80s when computers and the internet began to appear on the social scene. After listening to a few of these somewhat awkward remember-whens, we finally transitioned into Pastor Bob’s account of the story behind his coming to know and follow Jesus Christ. This was my third time at this so-called gringo gathering, and thus, my third time hearing what I am quickly understanding to be the precious and indescribably beautiful testaments of God’s faithfulness and sovereignty at work in the lives of my fellow brothers and sisters in Christ. Testimonies are not just given to receive a pat on the back and a job-well-done from one’s peers; as we share with others our own journey from darkness into light, the community of believers is built up and strengthened by the innumerable examples of the practical reality of God’s grace within each and every one of us. It might not be eloquent or polished or follow a beautiful script like today’s famous love stories, but that is okay, right? It is supposed to be sloppy and imperfect, full of our fallen humanity so that we, and the community of the church, can see more clearly the renewal that salvation brings into even the darkest and most secret corners of our heart.
All that to say that I myself oftentimes fail to delight in my own account of God’s redeeming love setting the sinner free. Part of that apathy can be attributed to my spiritual background which was forged at an early age in the church and thus was and has been graciously free from many of the trials and tribulations of the world. But that is not to say that everything has been perfect or that I have not undergone spiritual difficulties. I grew up with a head knowledge of the Biblical story and could pretty much answer any question that was thrown my way in Sunday school. In my very humble opinion, I had it all together and was well on my way to becoming the exact opposite of the rebellious label people place on pastor’s kids. But I knew not what it meant to know God, to hunger for His Word, to experience Him in a very tangible way; this wouldn’t come till my 6th grade year, and it would change my life forever, or at least I thought so at the time. That summer I went to youth camp and had a very real encounter with the living God during one of the times set aside for worship. As I closed my eyes in silent gratitude for what He had already done in my heart that week, I saw a picture of His face and every sense of my being was completely overwhelmed by the intense glory of that image. When I realized that this was only a glimpse of what is to come, I knew that I had no other option but to surrender my life and follow Him. And thus it began.
I was ravished by His manifested love and could not stop thinking about that moment, that time when I felt such freedom and peace beyond all understanding. I brought it up as much as I could in my conversations with my friends and even spent many sleepless nights reading and studying the Bible so that I could experience more of His glorious presence. He was all-sufficient and yet I couldn’t get enough of Him. I was in love with the beautiful maker of the heavens and the Earth, but oh how quickly that love, that passion, was diluted and tainted by the world. No sooner had I found an awesome community of discipleship and fellow passionate hearts in the youth group that my dad was called to California to take up an associate pastor position at the Newport Beach Vineyard Church. Unfortunately for my blossoming faith, I was unable to find a similar atmosphere of fellowship amongst the So. Cal. crowd, and thus my faith began to wane. One year later smack-dab in the middle of my 8th grade year, we were once again on the move, this time to the uncharted territory of Tennessee. There, I was greeted by the Southern culture that birthed conservative Christianity and quickly began to feel at home. But still I felt a deep disconnect from the life I had so abundantly lived not even two years prior. I was in the downward spiral and it seemed as if I was too feeble to escape its pull.
At the heart of this spiritual weakness was the lack of a spiritual community to call home. The little church my dad had started in our house eventually moved to a Super 8 Hotel conference room, then to a school, then rented out a church building for Saturday night services, and finally found its very own place to call home at its current location only five minutes from I-65 in beautiful Franklin, TN. And though our church experienced growth and stability, eventually becoming the big family that it is today, I never found someone my own age to ask me the difficult questions, to be my fellow companion on this trek towards Christ. I was, practically speaking, alone and isolated from the very thing that is so crucial in our every-day emulating of the life and works of Jesus: other disciples. Without the impact of this foundational aspect of Christianity, I floundered on the rocks in my life, giving into temptation and peer pressure at almost every turn. The scariest thing is not what I did but how I thought; my love and desire for the righteous things of God gave way to a begrudged following of the thou-shalt-nots as I explored the land before that so infamous fence of morality. I wanted so badly to heed the desires of the flesh that I disregarded the wisdom and revelation of the Word and replaced them with my own version of Christian-living that did not bar me from the things I felt were my right to do. I was the great pretender, thinking that I was walking towards the loving arms of the Father even as I began to put up the very bricks of my very own spiritual prison. I was blind.
But by the grace of God, now I see. After four years of immersion in the community of Lee University, I finally have begun to understand the necessity of surrounding myself with brothers and sisters in Christ, people who would sharpen me as iron sharpens iron in preparation for a life lived for the glory of God’s Kingdom. There were some with whom I spent almost every waking hour with, and it is their influence along with the redemptive work of the Holy Spirit that allows me to write this today with a radically different perspective of the Lord I serve. That isn’t to say that I have everything together and am completely free from the strongholds that so ruled my life in high school. On the contrary, I now recognize how great a sinner I really am and how desperately I need His grace. And each day brings me closer, rather than further, to that place of intimacy and rest that characterized my transformed life more than a decade ago.
This is my account, my testimony, of the goodness of God at work in my life, and I hope that through it we are all encouraged and reminded that we walk not alone through this Earth. With each step, He is there, along with the great crowd of believers, the bride of Christ, strengthening our weary legs and compelling us to run ever faster to win the prize of a life everlasting spent in unbroken fellowship with the Almighty and Living God. That is my hope, and I pray that you too share in that eager expectation. I may not know what the future will bring, but I now know through experience that God calls us to obedience so that we might have abundance. It isn’t a gospel of rules and regulations that we are to follow. Rather, it is a gospel that proclaims the possibility of a life set free from the captivity of sin, one that allows us, mere breaths in the great expanse of time, to enter into a timeless intimacy with the King of Kings and the Lord of Lords. That is undeniably good news indeed.
There and Back Again 