I was born into a Christian home. My mother and father had decided not to have any more children, but God changed their hearts and they had me. After two boys, I was the answer to my mom's prayers for a girl who would talk to her! Before I was born, the doctors realized that there was a problem with my kidneys. They were ready when I was born to transport me immediately to a bigger hospital for emergency surgery, though that did not prove necessary. I believe that God set me apart for Himself from my mother's womb. My parents prayed for me and shared God's love with me from my earliest age. One of my earliest memories is of my mom rocking me and singing, "Holy, Holy, Holy."
When I was 5 years old, I understood that Jesus had died for my sins. I knew that my sins separated me from God and that Jesus' cross formed the "bridge" back to God and eternal life. I knew that this was a free gift that could not be earned. All I had to do was receive it by trusting that He did that for me. And yet I do not remember being profoundly emotionally affected by it. It was good news, and when you are a happy child, good news makes you even happier, but it doesn't make you cry tears of relief. Especially since for me, it wasn't really "news." It was something I had known all of my short life. I sang myself to sleep with "Jesus Loves Me" and "Happy am I, Jesus loves me; He took my sin and He set me free! Now I'm singing a glad song - so happy am I!"
As I grew, it began to concern me that I had not yet "gotten saved." By this I would have meant "praying to ask Jesus into your heart." I had been told by my AWANA leaders that I needed to wait until I really understood. Consequently, I thought "getting saved" was a sort of a "rite of passage" that you could only do when your parents deemed you "old enough." Like every child eager to be thought "old enough," I was excited (yet a little nervous) when one day my mom sat down and went through a tract with me, and asked me if I wanted to pray. I did, and I think that that time and my baptism passed in kind of a haze for me, as I imagine I may feel when I say my wedding vows someday. It was something I had been waiting for for so long, that as I said the words it seemed unreal and far away. "Is this really happening to me? I'm 'getting saved'!"
My parents were godly, faithful believers who desired to raise me to love and honor the Lord with my life. We began every morning with reading the proverb of the day. I was taught to read my Bible daily and spend time alone with God in prayer. My homeschool curriculum came from a Christian perspective. We learned a new hymn every month, memorized Scripture together, and studied the character qualities that we should develop as we became more and more like Christ. I loved to read, and most of my diet of books was very moral in nature, and often explicitly Christian. There was one phrase that I heard growing up that really stuck with me, and that was the phrase "mighty in spirit." My ambition in life was to become mighty in God's Spirit. I didn't really know what that might mean, but I knew that was what I wanted.
I began to be interested in really studying the Bible at about age 9 or 10. I specifically remember using J. Vernon McGee's Bible commentaries as I read through the books of Luke and Daniel. I talked to the Lord instead of talking to myself (as I was the only child at home and had lots of alone time). I wanted to be a good testimony for the Lord. When I was 10, I had major surgery, and I remember telling the anesthesiologist just before I went under that I wasn't afraid because I was trusting in the Lord. That was not something my parents told me to say...it was something I had been thinking about on the whole ride up to Children's Hospital - I knew that it was a possibility that I could die and I was able to give my fear of death to God. I had such peace knowing that if I were to die I would be with Him.
I struggled to learn obedience to my parents, knowing that that was pleasing to the Lord, but I tended to be bossy and wanting to go my own way. I loved life and was full of zest and enthusiasm for whatever I did. I was a high achiever and a perfectionist. I would cry passionately when I made below a '90' in math, bang on the piano keys when I messed up on a song, and sometimes even slap myself across the face when I could not recite a Bible verse perfectly. I had a very strong view of right and wrong. I remember one year when I literally fought a certain boy at church every single week because he was picking on a little girl smaller than him. One time my older cousin took me to an Alabama football game and I turned around and yelled at some drunk fans behind us that they had better stop cussing right now!!! My cousin rescued me before I got myself hurt. By the age of 12 I had strong views on child training: a good old-fashioned spanking makes everything right!!! (Bear in mind that my parents never spanked me in anger or abuse - always in love and with the goal of restoring me.)
When I was 11, things began to change (as they often do at that age). I had my first "best friend" and my first experience of rejection, by that same friend. I could not understand why this girl did not like me anymore. Suddenly she just would not talk to me, would walk the other way when she saw me. It was not anything I had done that had offended her. She had just decided that I was annoying and chose a different "best friend." I was so terribly hurt. Before that, I had never really cared what anyone thought of me. But suddenly this girl's opinion of me mattered more than anything. I was annoying! There must be something about me that made her think that! Maybe if I could change myself then she would like me again. My mom told me that I should find other friends and leave that girl alone because she was not a true friend, but instead of listening to her, I foolishly stuck to my misguided loyalty.
I entered the youth group at church with the impression of myself that I was ugly, awkward, uncool, and annoying. I became extremely quiet and shy. The only time I opened my mouth was to answer questions about the Bible, because in that area alone, I could shine. I knew my Bible better than anyone. I would run to the bathroom half a dozen times in one evening at church to put concealer on my pimples. I tried to convince my mom to buy me clothes that were "cool," which at the time meant extremely baggy, ugly t-shirts and jeans. I also began to listen to the popular secular radio station behind my parents' backs. My goal in this was not to defy my parents, because overall I had a good relationship with them, but to prove myself to be a cool kid so that people would like me. I masked this deception behind a facade of responsibility - every night at 8 pm I would tell my parents I was going to clean my room. I would put on my headphones and clean VEERY SLOOWLY so that I could listen to the "Top 8 at 8." That way I would always know what the most popular songs were. But none of my efforts really worked. I didn't become cool or popular - just miserable.
When I was about 13, my parents and I went to a homeschool conference up in Knoxville, Tennessee. They had a track for girls ages 12-15 called COMMIT. Two people spoke at that conference to whom I will forever be indebted. One was a young lady named Christianna Reed. She was radiant. She had been very ill for about a year, and during that time of confinement, she said, she had learned the love of Christ more deeply than she had ever known it before. She urged us to live for "an audience of One." I was deeply touched by her words and even more by the beauty and light I saw in her eyes. I wanted what she had. The other speaker was Christianna's father. Mr. Reed talked about finding our identity in Christ. He took us through a list of Bible verses that told us who were were in God's eyes - beautiful, accepted, beloved. Every word was precious! God began to deal with me strongly about my desire for acceptance by my peers above my desire to please Him. I knew I had to leave the youth group behind. It was the most difficult struggle of my life to that date. I remember being on my knees weeping because I wanted so desperately to cling to my pursuit of peer acceptance, and yet I wanted even more to know the joy and peace I had seen in Christianna. Honestly, it felt like God literally wrenched my decision out of me as I finally surrendered to His will.
