For those of you who don't know...I grew up in a family that was highly involved in the church. I knew full well growing up that church was not just for Sunday. It was also for AWANA clubs on Friday nights and Jr. Choir on Wednesday later adding Youth Group and Biblestudy on Thursday nights. My whole family was fairly involved, if not very involved.
But don't let it fool you, that preface does not mean the rest of this story is a wishy washy brainwashing happy story. Through elementary and middle school I loved the church, the people, and the message. It truly was my second home. I loved everything about it. But that soon changed. I guess that's what happens when you ask God for a more colorful testimony...(which I did once upon a time, and I don't recommend it. haha)
Eighth grade I wanted nothing to do with the church, I only went because my friends were there. To the outside viewer it seems typical that a junior higher should rebel, but this was not a rebellion phase, this was because I was hurt. I was hurt by two youth leaders, and everything they were a part of seemed fake. To put a long story short I turned suicidal when the confusion wouldn’t end.
Through the bravery of a close friend I got through it, alive. Somehow I found myself returning to the church, despite my closest friends having nothing to do with God. Often times I wonder why didn’t I follow with them? Why didn't I stay in that crowd of friends. They were good friends of mine that to this day I still miss them. But somewhere we drifted apart, in a short span of time.
High school came around, and I met new friends. See that’s the thing about having such a big graduation class, I rarely got to see my middle school friends though we went to the same building every day. As I was part of the church again I brought those new friends to youth group...but it didn’t stick. My friends weren't against it, they just didn't care for it. So why did I? At this point the only good friends I had at youth group were one year behind and still in junior high. Why did I get involved in the high school Biblestudy; this place that hurt me, and only had but one friend there? It didn’t make sense.
Over time I came to be close friends with the older kids in youth group and once again I found a home at church. Confusion and pain left in the past, I was moving forward.
Until 2005.
It should have been my shining year. It was the year I went on an international missions trip, fear aside, without anyone I knew and I was only sixteen. It was a great trip, despite the two heart-wrenching funerals previous to my leaving, and I came back so energized!
But my excitement with the church didn't last when the rest of 2005 played out. Within two weeks of my missions trip, my Grandpa died. I questioned God but, remaining energized from my missions trip, I still found a home at church. Well, until four more funerals followed that is.
Going to a funeral nearly once a month for a full year, that will add fear and confusion to one’s faith. I questioned so many things and eventually told God I could do this on my own. He wasn’t helping any, so I would finally grab control. And without hope to calm my fears, I needed something to get rid of the pain.
I promised myself I would never turn to suicide again, so I had to find a different route. I knew running away wouldn’t solve any pain, but slamming my fist on a brick wall would help only occasionally. And that’s how it started. After that came punching my leg and slapping a rubber-band on my wrist, until that wasn’t enough. Next came the blade I carried in my pocket.
If, somehow, you’re still thinking it made some shard of sense for me to be in the church because I’ve grown to call it home...you’re wrong. I felt abandoned by my ignorant church friends and though I lost my knife at one point , I remember borrowing scissors AT church because that was the sharpest thing that I knew I could locate.
The church was once again a place of pain for me. The only reason I kept going to youth group during those months was to keep up appearances. I knew if I didn’t my parents would ask questions, and they were already in pain from my grandparents’ deaths I couldn’t let them know I wasn’t strong enough to handle it.
I should have made the dumbest decisions of my life in those months. And honestly I wanted to. I recall telling some of my school friends how much I wanted to and despite being shocked they were excited and waiting for open opportunities for me. But every time it appeared an opportunity arose, so did something that got in it's way. I assure you I would have taken advantage of those opportunities, but praise God I was never given the chance.
To people who ask how I got hope and found a refuge in God once more instead of hating Him and hating myself...I still don’t have an answer. One day, God came and met me where I was at. The addiction of cutting ended, and so did my depression. Was everything perfect? No. But this time, instead of finding a home at the church, I found a home in God.
The church can't save you, but God can. That's where you can, and should, put your faith. The church can and will fail you, after all it's comprised of sinners. God is where your faith and hope should lie. And I wasn't secure until that's where I placed mine.
Those are just the big stories in my life, there are so many little ones and so many details in these stories left out. Neither of those tragic paths should end up leading me back to God, let alone both of them combined.
So here I am, close to graduating from college. A Christian college. Not to mention, a Bible college where most of my classes were spent studying Scripture. Going through what I did and ending up where I am makes no sense without coming to one specific conclusion. I didn't do it on my own. God loves me even when I don’t love Him, He protects me even when I won’t let Him, and He exists even when I don’t want Him to.
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