My Love Story With Jesus: Part 1 (The hard part)

4 years ago I believed I was going to Hell.

Maybe I should start from the beginning.

Growing up I had heard about Jesus and God and Christianity. I knew a small handful of Bible stories and knew some bible songs (Deep and Wide, This Little Light of Mine, Jesus Loves Me, Jesus Loves the Little Children, etc…). I knew that Christmas was when Jesus was born. I’m not really sure that I knew Easter had to do with anything other than bunnies and eggs, though. And that was about it.

My earliest memories of church involve being forced to go to Sunday school once or twice a year at my grandparent’s church. I did crafts quietly, didn’t talk to anyone, and hoped that no one asked me anything about the Bible, of which I knew nothing about.

Later, in middle school and early high school, I would occasionally go to church or youth groups with friends. I have a distinct memory of attending a youth group where they were supposed to have Bible verses memorized from the previous week. Obviously I didn’t have an assignment, but the teacher wanted to include me. So, she said she would give me an easy one, and I could look it up if I wanted (I had to borrow my friend’s Bible b/c I didn’t own one)

John 3:16

My thoughts: Crap, crap, CRAP! I don’t know ANY verses! How far in is John? Beginning, middle, end? 3:16? Are those page numbers?

My face burned as I aimlessly flipped through the book, trying to act like I knew just what I was looking for, already embarrassed because obviously this was a verse I was expected to already know. My friend helped me find it. Thank God.

During my junior year of high school, I determined that I wanted to go to church for real. I wanted to be a good person. Good people go to church, right? It just felt like a good decision. Since my family had never been church-goers, I decided to start attending with my best friend Hayley and her family. Soon after, I got my driver’s license and started driving myself to church. I went nearly every week. I didn’t get involved in more than sitting through a 1-hour service each week, but I felt good about going. I felt like I was learning to be a better person. I even started praying before bed.

At the end of one service, the pastor began the typical wrap-up where he asked any who wanted to be saved or baptized to walk to the front of the room and meet one of the staff members to pray and talk. To me, baptism was the next logical step in my journey. That’s what Christians do, right? So, logically, I did it. The lady asked me if I had already been saved. I had no idea what she was talking about. I fibbed. Well, lied really. Probably the worst time to lie. But I thought if I told the truth, she wouldn’t let me get baptized. So, I said yes. She asked me about it. I told her it was at a youth group meeting where they asked if anyone wanted to be saved, and I said yes. I guess that was all she needed to hear because she scheduled my baptism for the next month.

I was genuinely excited. I recognized it was an important step. I invited all my friends and family, and was proud to call myself a Christian. The church I attended had a baptismal pool at the front of the sanctuary, behind and above the altar, covered by a screen when not in use. There were several other baptisms that day. I remember waiting anxiously, hoping that I didn’t accidentally breathe in water and choke. When it was my turn, I cautiously lowered myself into the pool, surprised by how warm it was. I was told to wear normal church clothes, so I wore black dress pants and a sleeveless turtleneck top. The sensation of getting in a pool with my clothes on reminded me of a few wild nights at a friend’s house…ending up fully clothed and in her pool in the backyard.

I don’t remember much about the actual baptism part. I don’t remember what the pastor said, though I assume he blessed me in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. I know I was dunked because I remember emerging, dripping wet, and rushing to change clothes before heading back into the sanctuary to see my friends and family. I was 17 years old.

Several months later, I got a job working at Kroger and wasn’t always off on Sundays. I started going to church less often. That July I started dating my neighbor and friend, whom I had had a crush on since I was about 12. I threw myself into the relationship, trying to live out every dream I’d had about him, before he went away to college in August. On July 11, 2003 I lost my virginity to him, at a camp site, after drinking several brightly colored, test-tube shooters by the fire. I felt no shame, had no sense that what I was doing was wrong in any way. Apparently I hadn’t attended enough church to even know that pre-marital sex is a sin.

Our relationship did not end when he went away to college, as we originally planned. In fact, we stayed together (in a painful, on-again-off-again fashion) for 4 years. I came down to Georgia Southern to join him the following year, where I continued my practice of partying, spending every night with him, and giving absolutely no thought whatsoever to church, God, Jesus, or anything other than having “fun” and being “in love.”

As I started my sophomore year of college, my roommate Christine started dragging me to church. I told her I was a Christian—I mean, I believed in God…isn’t that enough? I had been baptized, what more did she want? First I started going to the Wesley Foundation on Wednesday nights. Soon after I started going to Bridgeway: The Church on Campus on Sunday mornings. Then I joined the leadership team. And I learned that all the fun I had been having was actually a sin. I couldn’t deny that I believed in God. I couldn’t act like it didn’t matter. But I also couldn’t stop what I was doing. My boyfriend wouldn’t agree to stop having sex. He was an atheist and just assumed that my Christian friends were brainwashing me or trying to change me for the worse. I didn’t want to stop drinking. My 21^st birthday was coming up. I had to get completely wasted. I mean, I was turning 21 for crying out loud! 

So. There was no other option. I was going to Hell.

(Please read the next part of this story when I post it! I promise it will have a much happier ending!)