Growing up, I was very different from my peers. In my tiny,
predominately-Baptist elementary school, I was the only one I can think of that
had a divorced mother (the horror!). I was mouthy (like my mom); my mother worked
full-time (dear GOD!); and we didn’t wear the nicest clothes (but my 7th
grade L.A. Gear kicks ROCKED!). I used
words that shocked my teachers (I once got a serious reprimand for telling a
bully to “drop dead”) and due to my chattiness, rarely saw the playground at
recess.
I didn’t fit the mold of a “good” Christian girl.
I never got into serious trouble; I stayed in school, went
to church, and for the most part, did as I was told…but I never fit in,
especially when it came to theology. When my mom married my dad (step-dad), she
was a Southern Baptist who married a die-hard Catholic…and they moved us to a
charismatic church. I went from hymnals to words projected like a movie on the
walls! People raised their hands! It was like a rock concert!
And there…
Was…
Speaking in tongues.
Oh. My. Lawd!
I was 8 years old, at the time of “the shift.” I was
water-baptized, had accepted Jesus as my Savior, and learned about the Holy Spirit
from amazing teachers and youth leaders. By the time I was 14, I spoke in
tongues (you have no idea how hard it is, for me to put that into writing,
because I know the flack I’ve gone through on this subject, and I know it’s
likely going to ruffle a few feathers now. But so what? It’s my blog, and yes,
I believe in speaking in tongues. There. I said it. Now pick up your jaw,
non-charismatic friends, and move on), and I stayed active in the charismatic
church until I was 34. I now attend what’s called a four-square church—I’m
still figuring out what that means, because it seems the same as my charismatic
church. It’s probably semantics, more than anything…
Both my high school and my college ascribed to the “tongues
are bad” rule of thought. The fact that I didn’t go to the evangelical,
Baptist, or independent Christian churches (I swear, they’re all alike—don’t
get mad about that. It’s true—small, minor doctrinal issues, along with that
whole once-saved-always-saved debate. That’s it), made me a bit of a pariah. I
argued with my apologetics teachers; I stormed out of my Acts classes
(Really?!?! You have someone teach Acts, who doesn’t believe in the current
usage of spiritual gifts?!? And that the Rapture already happened? So weird). I
rarely debated my friends, but I know I drove my professors nuts.
But we’re passionate about what we love…and I love Jesus.
I was raised in the church. Praying is, to me, an ongoing
conversation with the greatest of Friends. It’s normal—it’s my life. I’m not
saying that I’m some super-awesome-Christian woman; in fact, it makes me more
flawed, because I take it for granted. Half the time (okay, more than half) I
totally forget to even say an “Amen.” But it’s in my veins—no matter what I’ve
been through, no matter how angry I’ve gotten at God, I don’t think I’ve ever
doubted His existence. He’s there.
I’m a total screw-up…my mouth gets me in more trouble than I
know. I struggle with reading the Bible, and I always have…I’m more prone to
get an intimate peek at the nature of God while I’m on a hike, than when I’m
sitting in church (but I still go, because my husband says so, and because I’ve
learned to lean on the fellowship that knits us together!). I tend to think of
myself as a Christian hippie, as silly as that sounds: Love everyone, even the
ones that disagree with you, because fighting sucks, and is a terrible
reflection of the God you say you’re witnessing about.
(As I’m writing this, my biggest fear is that it will come
across as arrogant. I don’t intend to be. It’s just that in my life, God has
always been there. Always, even when I don’t see Him, and when I don’t think He
cares. He’s there—I’m the one that misses Him, not the other way around. It’s a
lifelong struggle for me, to embrace His love for me, because I feel like I do
the wrong thing so often…but I know He’s there, no matter how much I’ve messed
up. So please don’t think I’m sitting here like Sister Christian with my big
nose in the air—it’s not true.)
I’m a simple girl, who misses God when I over-complicate
things…when I worry, and when I don’t rely on Him…and when I try to figure Him
out ahead of His timing.
That being said, I believe in having an intimate
relationship with God.
I believe that Jesus is the Son of God…that He made a crazy,
ridiculous decision to come to Earth and to be born as a human being…that He
actually, medically died the most brutal death man could construct, and that He
was in a grave for 3 literal days.
I believe that Jesus rose from the dead.
I believe that He was the ultimate sacrifice that was
required to bring restoration to our relationship with the Father…to a
relationship that was destroyed when sin entered the world.
I believe in a literal 7-day creation.
I believe in Heaven; I believe in Hell; I believe in Satan;
I believe that Satan gets defeated and that this world as we know it will come
to an end.
I believe in the Rapture; I believe in the AntiChrist, and I
believe in the Tribulation…and no, I don’t think it’s happened yet.
I believe in Communion; I believe in getting baptized by
water and by the Holy Spirit (as evidenced by speaking in tongues).
I also believe that you have to accept the birth, death, and
resurrection of Jesus Christ in order to spend eternity in Heaven…and that
everything else is debatable, but not determinate of salvation.
I don’t believe that any of us have the answers…but I know
that my life without my relationship with God is not worth living.
I will listen to what you say; my goal is to make you feel
loved when you tell me your beliefs. I do not have to agree with you, but I do
have to respect you; I ask that you do the same, for me. I will not argue with
you, but I might ask you questions. I will try not to offend you with my
questions, and I ask you to understand my heart—I just want to know.
I will treat you with gentleness and respect (I Peter 3:15)
and I will ferociously defend you against people that do not do the same,
especially when they do it under the guise of “Christianity.” Bullying wins NO
ONE to a cause.
So this is it. This is what I believe. I’m used to people
not agreeing with me—it’s okay. Just be nice about it.
I promise to do the same.
I don’t know if I would tell you that my faith has evolved
much from when I was 8 years old. I knew what I was doing, when I got saved;
the pastor explained it, and it made sense to me. It still does—it’s not that
complicated. I know how my heart feels, when I talk to Him; I know what He
sounds like, when I listen. It’s a simple intimacy…it’s just simple. It was a
blanket-belief when I was 8 years old; almost 30 years later, I still hold to
the same belief. It’s tried, it’s tested….me and Jesus have been through hell
together, and He’s never left me. Trials and tragedies have fused me to Him; no
matter how far I run, He always brings me back. He never lets me get too far,
before His gentle conviction calls me back to His side. I don’t think I could leave Him if I tried (“Anybody
got a peanut?!?” LOL—get it?).
Recently, several of my friends have undergone radical
changes in their theology. I’m going to
discuss it in my next blog, because I feel like I have to—I have to process
this, because my heart hurts for them, though I know that’s the last thing they
want. We’ve all had things thrown at us; we’ve all had to sort out the whys and
hows of our faith. We each chose a different resolution, and I don’t understand…I
am struggling, with my friends’ decisions. I accept them; I love them. But I
don’t get it, so I have to write about it…this is how I process.
To Be Continued…
PS: I sincerely apologize for my over-use of semicolons in this piece. I mean, seriously--I'm normally really bad about it, but this is just ridiculous. Between the commas and the semicolons, I'm totally over-punctuated. But at least there are no technical run-on sentences. :)
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