I grew up in a Christian home and went to church every Sunday and, for the most part, whenever the doors were open. For as long as I can remember, I’ve always believed that Jesus is God’s son and that Christ alone can save me from myself and from Hell. There is no memory of five-year-old me walking down the aisle.
Like most Christians, I’ve had my share of doubts, some about God, but mostly about if I’m really saved; these started when I was about 7. I would sit in the shower for long periods of time praying prayers something along the lines of “Lord, if I’m not saved please save me, Amen.” I would repeat this prayer maybe 10 to 30 times. I would burst into tears randomly at home and other places because I was so overwhelmed with guilt and fear. “What if I’m just faking it all? What if I’m just afraid what my parents would think if they thought I wasn't a Christian? What if I don’t really love God and I just don’t wanna go to Hell?” As I cried into the pillows on my bed these thoughts would run through my head. Thankfully those particular doubts don’t bother me much anymore; but every now and then a few come back up to bother me. An older Christian told me that doubt never completely goes away because we’re not perfect, but that we have to trust God to help us get through them.
My family and I live on about 30 acres of land, with my Uncle living beside us and my Grandmother behind. Because of this and the fact that we have quite a few animals, my friends claim that I live on a farm. (Even though we do have a large garden, we don’t technically live on a farm.) Anyway, the chore of feeding the animals was often left to me. To complete this chore, I had a 1 to 2 minute walk down a hill, through a very long and very dark barn, and to a stable. That might not sound like much; but even though I have been doing this since I was little it can be scary. It was most often after dark, and I would only have a dim flashlight (if one at all) and a memory of a certain brother telling me that there were mummies at the ends of the long barn too far away to see, and a certain sister telling me stories of ghosts in the stable’s hay loft. I knew from the first that these were lies made to scare me, but stories like that have a way of working their way into you so that even though you know they’re not true...you wonder. Living in the country, there was also the realistic fear of wild dogs or coyotes, snakes, and my Uncle once said that he had seen a panther not far from our house. I’m not sure where I got the idea, but ever since I was small I would sing when I was afraid. It couldn’t be any old song like “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” or something I had heard on the radio. Songs like that didn’t work. It had to be a song praising God! Something that reminded me that He was watching over me. If I do get hurt or die it’s His will, and it’s for the best and for His glory.
Like most people my age I struggle with my attitude, with being respectful to my parents, and most of all with anger. I know I’ll never be perfect, but I’ll do my best while I’m still here on earth.
