An Essay: Personal Narrative

Personal Narrative Essay

I grew up in the United Methodist Church. My life has been deeply enriched by the traditions, music, and fellowship of the church. There, I made numerous connections, many of which still remain today. Ever since my parents placed me in Methodist preschool, I have been instructed in the ways of the Bible. I have always had a “Bible habit” of reading from God’s word weekly at least. I have always tithed more than 10% and given even more to organizations outside the church. I have always felt different from my peers, as I was taught would be normal for a Christian. I went to church, studied the Bible, prayed, and made an attempt to respect my parents. Meanwhile, my friends slept in on Sunday, didn’t read much of anything, did not pray, and openly disdained their parents. I saw these differences as the ones Jesus talked about so much in the Bible. 

Because I was home-schooled since second grade, most people saw me as morally different. They saw a difference in the way I was raised and praised my parents for it. Many people, at least as they expressed with their words and actions, saw me as an oddity; I was respectful and loving and seemed to care about my parents. I received lots of advice presupposing the idea that I should learn from others’ mistakes to avoid repeating them. In my mind, a conclusion formed. I believed that I should take these people’s advice so that I wouldn’t turn out to be a terrible person. Because of course, that is what God is calling us to do right? We should try our best to be moral people, to follow the Bible, and to ask in every moment: what would Jesus do? Isn’t that the way? 

This conclusion is what led me through a particularly trying time. In the course of about a year, I joined my church’s administrative council, achieved the rank of Eagle Scout in Boy Scouts, and experienced the loss of my youth pastor. While on church council, I was ridiculed for speaking the truth which was evident to my eyes, and I was looked down upon for my age and lack of “experience.” The truth was never fully admitted. The one who lied, left the situation and the whole thing simmered to a lukewarm temperature, not dissimilar to the one found in Laodicea. During my Eagle Board of Review, I lied about some details of my project. Afterward, my conscience tugged at me and I could not let the lie stand. I typed an email to the Board admitting my lie and sent it. There was no response at first. But the opinion from some of my troop was that I should not have sent the email. They said that I should not have spoken the truth afterward. And even those who agreed with my actions made it clear that they would never have done what I did. I was grieved to see such a tendency for self-preservation amongst those who I had trusted for so long. The response was a thank-you for being honest. Nothing more. It was far from the vigorous adherence to the rules that had been exhibited in the original meeting. 

When Donnie, my youth pastor, passed away, it was evident that most people in my church are not ok with grief. It was not that I tried to share my grief, but the fact that I never did. Something so deeply ingrained in my heart said that I could not share that pain with the church. It was a normal, lonely time for me. Not any more lonely, just more sadness that I couldn’t share. All talk of Donnie’s passing ceased within a month of his death.

Throughout this very trying time, I found peace in the knowledge that I could not be good enough. The Bible says that we all fall short of the glory of God, and so I began to understand that truth intellectually. I saw all the pain and brokenness of the people around me and still, my deepest understanding was that I could do this. I could be like Jesus. Because of course, that is what God is calling us to do right? We should try our best to be moral people, to follow the Bible, and to ask in every moment: what would Jesus do? Isn’t that the way? 

In September of this year, I was invited by my father - “Pop” to join him on a retreat. This retreat was put on by an online ministry called Dad Tired which he had been a part of for years prior. I was looking forward to going but mostly for the time I would get to spend in the car with my Pop. The time in the car was fun and thought-provoking. It allowed us to bond, listen to Jordan Peterson’s podcast, and have conversations about it. But there was something missing. I had a longing in my heart that I didn’t quite know what to do with or how to express. It was a tugging on my conscience which I was ignoring well. We arrived a day early and were able to explore the truly amazing landscape, deep in northern Arkansas, within the heart of the Ozark Mountains, a tremendous resort settled in a small valley. As we explored, each of the eight cabins was revealed to be more elaborate than the one before. In all of this exploring and attempting to do some of the schoolwork which accompanied me, I was discontent. Something or someone tugged at my heart.

When the rest of the group began to arrive, I “assisted” with check-in. I stood close to check in while my dad did the assisting. I watched as close to one hundred guys from all across the country arrived over the course of a few hours. Converging on this isolated enclave in the Ozark mountains were broken men, and dads, who were trying to be better men and dads. Most came in honesty and sincerity, with open hearts. I was able to meet so many guys who have known my dad online for years, and he met them in person for the first time. But even as I was meeting these great people, I felt lonely. I felt that I was missing something. I was discontent. 

The speaker for the event was Chris Hilken, a teaching pastor and evangelist. He gave a thought-provoking series of four talks over the weekend. It was those talks that began the theological questioning of my salvation and revealed my discontentment to be more than just my “loneliness.” He talked about our human need for a savior. The fact is that we all fall short of the glory of God and will be judged by that same God. And as for our sentence? We are to be justly punished by eternity in hell. This didn’t sit right with my heart. I thought that we were saved from all that stuff. I thought we could go on to live good lives and follow the Bible and think in every moment ”what would Jesus do?”. That weekend I learned a very important lesson. It’s not about what Jesus would do, it’s about what Jesus did. He died on the cross to take away the sins which lead to death (Romans 6:23). For we all fall short of the glory of God (Romans 3:23). This message, I heard. All that I had learned in church about being a “good” person and following God’s plan for my life was meaningless in the face of the truth, rightly explained. Under this new light, the church as I knew it and all its “good people”, I saw now as either a product of salvation or a facade. I knew of God. And I knew He wasn't the one I was worshiping. I didn’t call him Lord. Even though I had asked for forgiveness of my sins, I had not confessed. I had not turned from my sins. I thought that as long as I was trying, going to church, loving my parents, and being different from the world, I would be saved. All these years in church and I had somehow missed the deadly seriousness of the whole thing. I forgot that my eternal life was on the line. I had been lulled to sleep by going to church each week and acting differently from the world. Of all the times I can remember being at church, I was never confronted with this question: Who is my Lord and Savior? I was then, confronted with that very question, presented in truth and rightly preached from the scriptures. 

          Regardless of how I act, I will always fall short of the greatness of God which is expected of me. So I heard this message and it began to work in my heart, as it still does today. The next morning, I decided to get baptized. Still, through my river baptism, I felt a call to go deeper which I was resisting with great difficulty. I still had yet to call Jesus my Lord. 

On the way home I was overwhelmed by the whole thing; all this foundation-destroying teaching had put me in a funk. I didn’t talk for the first hour or so. During that hour, I was talking to God. He was telling me to declare him as my Lord. He was telling me to tell my Pop. I sat beside my Pop, wrestling with God over this clear command. I could not do it. I begged him to change it or make it easier. In the end, at the end of the trip, I finally said it. I declared Jesus, not only my savior but also my Lord. It was scary because of the implications. I couldn’t be in charge of my life anymore. I had given it back to the One who made me. I was scared of where He might lead me.

It still scares me that I’m not in charge of my life, but there is also tremendous peace when I understand that I can’t mess up God’s plan. I will always sin because I am a sinner. It was only when I realized how much of a terrible, wretched sinner I am and how I deserve eternal death that the gift of eternal life meant anything. And how could I have received and trusted a gift which I did not truly understand? Now that I have, I can say that I am truly born again. I still fall back into taking control and giving into sin, but I trust that God has me now. I can say with confidence that Jesus Christ is my Lord!