To Bear Witness – Part IV

As strange as it sounds, I was saved by a crush. I had been more or less going out with a Muslim guy for a little while and though he had told me that he would not give up his religion and that it was very unlikely that he would ever marry me, I kept going out with him in hopes that he would change. My own belief in God was so shaky at that point that if it had come to it, I would most likely have converted to Islam. I even took the Koran out of the library and read a bit of it to educate myself about the religion.

Then I met a new boy. He was entirely different than the guy before him. He was all-American. He hunted and drove a truck. His parents were bumper-sticker Republicans. But most importantly, he professed to follow Christ and went to church.

Because of him, I began to meet other people who were Jesus people and who were not caught up in the appearance judgment I had been raised in and which had been so stifling to me. I met a woman who became somewhat my mentor in a time when I disregarded all the authority in my life. With the influence of these people, my rebellion slowly began to deflate. I added colors other than black to my wardrobe. I began to strive for a gentle spirit.

I started volunteering, first as a camp counselor then a few nights a month at the Honeybrook Youth Center. I was thinking through faith and was making lots of decisions about what I personally believed. I had stopped wearing a veil and the relationship between my parents and me improved. I no longer felt as though I had to appear to be something I wasn’t and suddenly my behavior had to indicate that I was a follower of Christ rather than the way I dressed or what I wore on my head.

I also was convinced that if I was going to be a follower of Christ, I wanted there to be a relationship rather than a religion. If asked, I told people that I was a follower of Jesus rather than a Christian to avoid affiliation with the institution that had suppressed and killed in the name of Christ. I did not want to be ignorant about my faith, only going through the motions. I wanted to know the history, the weaknesses and the strengths. I wanted to know what I believed and why.

Although I was learning more-thinking more-there were still times when I felt utterly helpless. There were “dry times” during which I felt absolutely no connection to Christ so I would stop praying. I would become unbearable and depressed. Then I would pray again and it would be as if a breath of fresh air had swept into a musty room.

I wanted more, however, than just this cycle of dry and rainy seasons. But I had no idea what to do differently. I had no idea why God wasn’t answering my prayers.