One of the first memories I can recall from my childhood comes from a summer day at Vacation Bible School held at the church I attended growing up.
I was probably in first grade.
I was sitting in a circle full of other kids my age, and our Bible School teacher was taking us through the “Christian,” ABCs.
Admit (you are a sinner)
Believe (Believe that Jesus is God’s Son, that he was born, died and rose again)
Confess (that Jesus is Lord of your Life)
After she finished teaching us the song and what it meant, she asked if there was any one of us who wanted to say their own ABCs and be saved.
Everyone around me raised their hands, so I did too.
We all closed our eyes, said a prayer asking Jesus to come make a home in our hearts, using the ABC method of course, and then we opened our eyes and went to the gym play kick ball, drink milk and eat cookies.
After Bible School was over that day, my mom came to pick up with in her blue Ford Explorer, along with all the other moms. She asked me how my day was, and after I told her it was fine but that I had spilt my milk, she asked me if I had made any “Special Decisions” that day.
Of course, the Bible School teacher must have already told her about my raised hand and closed eyes at the pick-up line, and so I told her what I could remember of closing my eyes and praying through my ABCs.
To my mom, this was the best news of her life. A day I’m sure she had been praying for. Me, on the other hand, it was just another day to be upset over spilled milk. I had no idea what I had done, what I was doing or what I had prayed.
I grew up in the church, and I went almost every Sunday and Wednesday night from the time I was in diapers to now. I was around it all the time, and when you’re around something all of the time, it creates things inside you. Both good things and bad things, and in me, the church certainly created good things,
but it also created bad things, and one of those things was cynicism.
Growing up in the church for me looked a lot different than it did for my peers. Church was always a family event for everyone around me. Kids would ride to church with their parents, sit with their families in the blue pews and then all go to lunch together after the service.
For me, church was lonely, at best.
My parents went to separate churches.
They had their reasons. My mom played in a worship band with another church, and my dad took me to church so I could be with my friends, but it was never a family event, from childhood into middle school and high school, I felt mostly on my own.
When I entered the youth group - cue “youth Sunday” transition here - it was huge! The ministry was thriving, and the youth minister at the time, who was there from my 6th grade year to the end of my 9th grade year, took a lot of time and effort to grow our youth group. He poured into teaching, music and the experience of it all, and he even created a “youth council” of promising kids who were smart and involved to be the leaders of the group.
I was not in the youth council, and It was about the time I hit 8th grade that I felt like I didn’t fit the mold of a “youth leader.” Or that’s what I thought at the time, but really I think it’s just hard to pour into each and every kid on a personal level when there’s 150 of us running around. But still, that lonely, isolated feeling continued and fostered.
So that’s where my cynicism grew. Lots of questions left unanswered, bitterness and jealous of what I saw around me and didn’t have, but still yet, the church remained constant. It was a staple of life, and it was good.
When the first youth pastor our group had moved on, our youth group shrunk.. kind of like televisions did from the 90s to now. It took the church a while to find someone to fill in, but eventually they made a hire and things picked back up.
It was in that season, between my sophomore and senior year of college that not only did life start coming at me fast, but so did the intentionality of our new youth pastor, John.
This was the season of life when not only was my cynicism was growing, but so was the sins of lust, lying and living for myself.
And as my questions and struggles with sin grew, so did the opportunities for me to ask questions and understand grace with the help and listening ear of John.
John met me every Friday morning for breakfast. He entertained all my questions and doubts and helped me understand it was okay to have those questions and that someone else actually cared about me. And that’s a big reason why I am doing what I’m doing today. Having an adult, that wasn’t my parents, care about me as a smelly teenager, was vital. And if I can do that for another kid on any level, then I think that’s important.
My biggest questions at the time were, what was that prayer I prayed that I barely remember from VBS? Did that count for anything? Does that count for everyone who closed their eyes that day? Is that salvation? And, we worked through those questions, and the more we did, the more I began to experience God’s grace through Christ for my mistakes, and that was salvation more than I had ever known.
Growing up in the Church can be ugly, but isn’t It beautiful?
The Church and leadership I grew up with had it’s brokenness, as we all do, but it also taught me much. It showed me who I was, Who I needed, and who that made me to be, in Christ.
-Cliff
Cliff’s Note: My story of rescue isn’t your story of rescue, but I hope you find it and tell it one day.