Back Story: Part II

Once again, all original thought has left me for today, so I will attempt to entertain you with another section of my back story.

After that Easter night when I thought about killing myself, I lived in constant anxiety that I was not giving my all to God. How I coped with my anxiety that night was to tell myself that I would try to obey every little voice that might be him, but that was not really feasible, I found out. And so I lived in immense worry. My stomach was constantly in knots, rolling with acid. Every day, it was as if it was Judgment Day - I felt that I had to decide to give my all to God at that moment or go to Hell for all eternity. And why couldn't I do it? I loved him, didn't I? I tried to talk with spiritual leaders at my school about what was going on, but nothing they said could ease the overwhelming feeling of dread I walk around with constantly.

Then, at a meeting I was attending for a spiritual leadership position I held on my hall, one of my fellow dorm leaders announced that she had given her life to Jesus for the first time, though she had lived her whole life thinking she was a Christian. She said that people at her church had opened her eyes to see that what she had before was just service to someone she didn't really know or love. Then she decided to receive the love of Jesus instead of trying to give and everything changed. She knew that she knew him and her life was suddenly filled with peace. Now, when this girl said these things, I was immediately angry. Why did someone have to come with this as the answer to my worry. Why did I have to say I wasn't a Christian for anything to change? Reluctantly, I called her to my room very late one night and confessed everything that had been going on. I told her that I thought I didn't know Jesus - and I meant it. She convinced me to start going to church with her, which began a four month struggle to give my life to Jesus, though I had already done so when I was five.

I talked with several people from the church individually, though I made little progress toward the place I was convinced I needed to go. I felt a real hole in my life, a real unhappiness and unrest, but, the more I thought about it, I didn't want to give up control of my life to Jesus. As many good things as people said about him, he just didn't seem that appealing to me. There was good that came of this time, though. With encouragement from others, I started the process of learning to just be myself and let God show me he loved me that way instead of trying to be perfect and therefore earn his love. (As you can tell from other posts, I am still working on the perfection thing.) I didn't read my Bible unless I wanted to, and stopped praying superstitiously. It felt like quite a departure from God, but it also felt freeing. I could finally just stop.

Then, on February 1, 2010, I sat during worship at a college-aged service, and wept. I thought about how awful I felt all the time and how much I needed Jesus. I realized that all I had to do was ask for him and he would do it. Seeing my tears, the friend who originally brought me to that church told me it was time to receive Jesus. She said I could have him right then if I just asked. I told her I wasn't ready. She said that she knew I was, that Jesus had told her he was faithful to save me. Another friend told me Jesus had told her tonight was my night to give my life to him. Though I felt pressured, I finally agreed to take the plunge and prayed the "sinner's prayer" that night to be saved. When we lifted our heads, everything was the same. They all started hugging me and rejoicing, but I mostly just felt confused. No lights? No smoke? Where was the life-changing moment? And yet, when they asked me how I felt, I knew that something was different. Something miraculous had happened. I felt peace. And joy. And all my questions just stopped. It didn't matter anymore because I felt loved. I had Jesus in my heart...and I knew it.

I'm sure you'll be waiting with bated breath for the next installment of this thrilling tale!

Doing the Right Thing

Lately, there are just some people in my life that make me want to scream. I truly think that I hate them. I want them to suffer. All they have to do is open their mouths and I want to lash out both verbally and physically. So am I really bad deep down? Does this show my true self?

If I am really evil deep down, and in need of someone to wash me clean from my sin, why is my main desire in life just to be happy? That doesn't seem so sinister. Now, some people may claim that this desire just reflects our innate selfishness, which was the first sin in the Garden of Eden. But is the desire for happiness really so bad? Am I really supposed to choose the "good" over what makes me happy? I just don't get it.

What used to make so much sense in Christianity now seems like a burden. I used to want to do what was "right" and "good" just because it was so. Now I don't know why I put so much energy into something that made me miserable. Why should I live by any standard besides happiness?

When people do cry out to God, it always seems to be from a place of complete brokenness. So does that mean I need to feel even worse before God will help me? Before I will want his help? Why does a religion that is supposed to be about hope say you must be miserable before you "qualify" for assistance? This is what makes me afraid to be happy: the fear that is is truly a reflection of my evil heart, that I should really be miserable or else God will not reach out to me. I'm afraid of becoming one of those "godless heathens" who couldn't care less what God thinks. I'm afraid of losing my chance.

So what's the right thing to do? Go with my heart and ignore God, possibly damning myself forever? Or stick to my old principles and constantly try to incorporate God into my miserable life? Should I be happy or good? It doesn't seem like I can have both.

Back Story: Part I

I'll be honest. I have nothing interesting to talk about today. My day so far has consisted of shopping and not buying anything (I'm so cheap...) and pleading with Rosetta Stone to hire me as an online English tutor. So, in lieu of more interesting musings, today's post will consist of a bit of the story behind this blog.

Like most of the students at my university, I grew up going to church and wanting to please God. When I was five, I prayed with my mom to accept Jesus into my heart. To be honest, I think I was just terrified of going to Hell and being separated from my family. I don't think it was a real heartfelt desire to be with Jesus at that point. But, whatever it was, that moment marked my induction into the culture of Christianity. From that point on, I tried to live by the standards set out in Christian circles and do my very best to be pleasing to God. I was pretty damn good at it, too! (Hmmm...something seems ironic there...)


By the time I got to high school, my religion had become my main focus in life. I was the one organizing Bible studies with my friends and vowing to never drink alcohol (you all know how long that lasted) and, eventually, planning on going to a Christian college. Once I got to college, my dedication to Christian principles hardened into legalism thanks to a particular Bible study I chose to be a part of. I felt that if I didn't love God with every fiber of my being, there was no point in being a Christian at all. And any deviation from a life devoted to God was indication of the true evil state of my heart. Pretty much, I was doomed. As you can guess, this led to quite a bit of anxiety. I felt I had to give my all to God or else he would reject me. All of this culminated the night before Easter 2009.

That night, I was kneeling on my floor, praying, and I thought I heard God tell me to go out into the hall and sing and the top of my lungs. I was afraid - what a ridiculous thing to do! So I didn't go out, and immediately felt extreme guilt clench around my ribs. That was it. He had rejected me. I had finally proved my allegiance was to myself and not to him. Now there was no turning back. I was going to Hell. Frantic, I roamed the halls, looking for someone to comfort me. I finally holed myself up in a bathroom stall and thought to myself, "I'm already going to Hell... What would it matter if I just killed myself?" That was my lowest point. That was where religion got me...and yet I still held on to it.


Well, that should be enough for now... More to come in the future!