Roots of Chaos and Hypocrisy
My journey toward Jesus did not begin in a vacuum. I grew up experiencing a quintessential 1980s childhood — climbing trees, riding Big Wheels, and coming home when the streetlights came on. Because one of my grandfathers and several of my uncles were preachers, I was required to go to church every Sunday, dress my best, and display my best behavior.
However, as I grew older, I began to notice things that my mind subconsciously cataloged: whispers in the pews, silent judgment, and gossip. People who called themselves “Christians” weren’t acting like it outside of church — most noticeably, my own mother. Once I reached an age where I could choose for myself, I stopped going entirely. I assumed all churches and Christians were exactly like the hypocrisy I had observed at home.
My childhood memories were heavy. I have vivid recollections — which I hid from my father for many years — of my mother driving me to a dangerous neighborhood at night to purchase recreational drugs, leaving me locked alone in the car. Being so young, I didn’t know how much time passed; I just remember being terrified. Other times, she would invite the UPS delivery driver into our home while my dad was at work, or take me along to see a man under the guise of a “playdate” with his children, staying for what felt like many hours.
By the mid-to-late 1990s, my home life made me deeply anxious; I dreaded being there. My mother had been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis and lost her job as an RN, and a destructive pattern took over. As a teenager, I couldn’t ignore it: she was abusing prescription medications, using recreational drugs, and engaging in another extramarital affair.
Desperate for an escape, I was blessed when a family friend offered me a job at age 15. I worked there for three years, saving every penny to buy my first vehicle all by myself. I confided in my best friend and my cousin about the reality of my home life. My cousin urged me to speak to my grandmother and aunt. Thankfully, they listened, believed me, and stepped up — taking me into their homes on weekends so I could escape the hostility.
When I was eighteen, the pot finally boiled over. Whether fueled by her medications or something else, my mother completely lost control, put her hands around my throat, and tried to strangle me. My brother stepped in and stopped her. Right then, I packed everything that would fit into my car, went to work, and called my grandmother to ask if I could move in. I never lived under my parents’ roof again. My relationship with my mother was permanently altered, and I vowed that if I ever had a daughter, our relationship would look nothing like the one I endured.
A Glimmer of Peace
Thankfully, another aunt and uncle began inviting me to their church every Sunday. This community was entirely different. They accepted everyone. I heard no whispers and saw no silent judgment. I began to realize that what I had previously experienced was not the norm, but an unfortunate exception. I have now attended that very church for approximately 28 years.
It was during this time that I truly felt called to follow Jesus. In 1998, the uncle who had invited me to church became severely ill with a virus and was placed into a medically induced coma. Watching my aunt navigate this nightmare, I asked her how she could remain so calm without breaking down. Her response was simple: her prayers and her faith in Jesus.
That truth hit home. I wanted that. I wanted the supernatural calm and steady faith she possessed. After a lifetime of anxiety, I desperately wanted peace.
I chose her as my spiritual mentor, attended church regularly, and leaned on my family as resources. Yet, my journey wasn’t quick or simple. I still falsely believed I had to “fix” things in my life before I could fully give it to Jesus. I got in my own way, trying to operate under my own strength.
The Midst of the Storm
It took me thirteen years from my initial calling to my baptism. 1 Peter 3:15 instructs us to always be prepared to share the reason for the hope we have. Mine was not a straightforward path. I spent over a decade bypassing my Anchor, resulting in endless, unnecessary anxiety.
Ironically, my baptism didn’t happen when life was perfect; it happened right in the thick of it, just before some of our hardest years. After my husband lost his job, we entered a grueling season. He was battling a heavy, undiagnosed illness alongside the loss of his livelihood. He believed in God but lacked a personal relationship with Him. When he declined to attend church, my aunt gave me foundational advice: Continue to pray, and live in a way that shows him God is the light in the darkness.
I prayed every night. I carried immense spiritual, emotional, and financial pressure of our family on my shoulders because I hadn’t fully handed the reins over to God. There were weeks when, after paying bills, we had only $10 left in our bank account. When I calmly pointed out that at least the bills were paid, my husband asked how I could remain so steady.
In that moment, I realized I had finally found the supernatural peace I had envied in my aunt years prior. I was releasing control.
Our pastor often warns that becoming a follower of Jesus does not mean smooth sailing. Ephesians 6:11–12 advises us to put on the full armor of God because we carry a target for spiritual attacks. Our family felt those attacks deeply, but through the trials, God provided absolute miracles.
The Radical Truth of the Gospel
I am far from perfect. I am a flawed sinner who daily seeks God’s forgiveness. But I am further along than I was in 1998.
I wasted thirteen years trying to pay a spiritual switching cost because I falsely believed I needed to iron out my wrinkles before giving my life to Jesus. But the beautiful, radical truth of the Gospel is that Jesus specializes in messy lives. Scripture demonstrates that He actively sought out the tax collectors, the outcasts, the Samaritans, and the broken to prove that the Kingdom of God is defined by radical inclusivity. Anyone is welcome, regardless of their baggage.
He doesn’t require a software update before He accepts you. You cannot fix the house while refusing to let the Builder inside.
If I could go back to that young girl in 1998, I would look her in the eyes and say: “Stop waiting. Stop trying to fix your life and present a flawless version to the Creator of the universe. He isn’t looking for your perfection; He wants your surrender.”
The Great Commission calls us to make disciples using the lives we actually lead, not the imaginary, perfected lives we hope to have someday. Your life doesn’t need to be perfect to be saved — it just needs to be His. The next generation is watching how we handle our storms, so let’s show them a faith that doesn’t hesitate. Stop trying to control the outcome, let go of the steering wheel, and just be still.
To quote the Casting Crowns song “Nobody”:
“I’m just a nobody, trying to tell everybody all about somebody who saved my soul.”
