I have a story to tell. It’s not that my story is better than
yours—or worse. It’s simply my story and I’m choosing to tell—to
share—it with you. Take of it as you
will.
Growing up, I never really had any
reason to worry about anything happening to me. I was safe and secure in my parents’ love and
protection as well as that of my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. I became a Christian at a very young age. From what my parents tell me, I was about
three years old when I accepted Jesus into my heart. While there are times when I wish I knew my
salvation birthday as so many others do, I have always been proud of the fact
that I accepted Christ so young and that I have never strayed from that walk
with my beloved Lord and Savior.
Has my walk been perfect? Have I been perfect and behaved at all times
as a proper Christian is expected to behave?
Good heavens, no! Can you honestly tell me, Friend, that you
have never done anything whatsoever to fail our Precious Savior?
No one can because the Bible says
that “ALL have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God” (emphasis mine)
(Romans 3:23, NLT). Even Christians make
mistakes. Even Christians aren’t
perfect. I wish that every part of my
life, every word out of my mouth, every moment of every day, everything I have
ever done has been exactly what He would have of me.
But I am human. I am fallible.
With all that being said, for the
most part, in my young life, I never came up against any true trials or
tribulations. I never experienced any
true suffering in my early years.
The first trial I really
experienced was when I was let go from a job that I loved. I had been working at the day care for the
church where I was also attending. I was
the after school teacher for the five and six year olds. At the time, I was in college, around 19 or
20 years old, studying to be a high school English teacher; I loved those
kids. I can still tell you many of their
names and I think of them with great fondness.
I have great memories of those wonderful children.
I was blind-sided by the release
from the job. I was walking in to work one
afternoon after my morning classes when my boss was suddenly standing in front
of me. I had only stepped a few feet
away from my car, so not only was I surprised to see him appear, I was also
surprised to see him outside the building rather than meeting with him in his
office.
He proceeded to tell me that he
didn’t need me anymore and that he didn’t want me going to work that day at
all; he wanted me to get right back in my car and drive away. I was not allowed to go say good bye to my
kids.
I was heart-broken; I don’t think I
need to tell you. I cried for days. To this day, just talking about it still
makes me sadder than I can even begin to describe. Not only did I never go back to the day care,
I also never went back to the church.
It was my first crisis of faith (as
my college Religion professor called it).
I did not quit going to church; I
just quit going to that church. I have
also never graced the doors of a church of the same denomination again,
either. (Don’t ask me what denomination;
I won’t tell you.) The knife of betrayal
just went too deep and I couldn’t face my old boss any more, not even during a
Sunday morning service. Smiling and
pretending that my spirit hadn’t been crushed was simply an impossibility.
So I ran like the coward I was.
