MY CHRISTIAN TESTIMONY

The first 18 years of my life was spent in a small town in Colorado. There I faithfully attended a local Methodist church. I don’t remember being taught the glorious news of the Gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ—the truth of "salvation by grace and not of works." What I do recall was the list of "thou shalt nots," the oft-heard adage of "good people go to Heaven and bad people go to Hell, and that on a future Judgment Day, we would all be "judged according to our works." As a child, I often prayed I’d be good enough to go to Heaven, but could never find an answer to just how many good works were necessary to merit entrance into Heaven.

Our family did not encouraged in-home, personal Bible reading and thus my understanding of Holy Scripture was greatly limited. My mother did involve me in Sunday School and during my teen years I attended a class each Saturday where the minister would read from the Bible, periodically pause, and then ask the class if there were any questions. Being raised under the rule, ‘children should be seen and not heard’, no one in the class would dare ask questions. For me, the Bible was just a history book.

What really bothered me back then was that I didn’t have any certainty. Was God real or was He like other things I was conned into believing as a child—Santa Claus, Easter Bunny, ghosts, tooth fairy, etc. At the age of 16, I began seriously thinking about the subjects of God, Jesus Christ, and my experience with church. I asked, "How did our small church fit into God’s divine plan, into His design for this vast universe and all humanity?" "What did we do at our church that would contribute to any lasting importance?"

Each Sunday seemed repetitive—Sunday school, adult worship service, hymnal singing, some musical solos, the offering, sermons, benediction, lingering awhile to visit and then going home. I was certain our church had somehow ‘missed the boat’. I was sure God had a much greater purpose for our existence. But how could I find out? Wouldn’t it be wonderful if I could meet the Lord personally and ask Him? I prayed often, but never with assurance that God heard me—like picking up the phone and finding no dial tone.

I did risk asking one woman in the church whether we could ‘know’ the Lord personally and her answer was "No, we would have to wait until the day we went to heaven." While I wasn’t satisfied with her answer, I didn’t risk asking anyone else. From that day forward, I vowed I was going to search and find out if I could meet God personally…but then I graduated from high school and left home to go to work. I didn’t want to be laughed at, so I never again shared my questions and personal search with anyone.

At the age of 21, I joined the Catholic Church as a concession to a boyfriend and his parents. That relationship didn’t last and I found myself stranded and confused. Shortly after, I met my husband-to-be in Washington D.C. during WWII. We were married (1944), and settled into the daily routines of living: employment, raising a family, and regular Catholic observances. Somehow my hope of finding answers to spiritual questions got pushed into the background and buried.

One day in 1969, our college-aged son came home and shared with us that he had become a Christian. I reacted to his message with anger. "What do you mean you became a Christian? We’ve attended church all our lives and we are Christians." But he said, "Going to church doesn’t make anyone a Christian", and then attempted to share the Gospel message and the great joy and excitement of his own conversion.

Tragically, our sinful pride blocked our understanding. My husband and I argued and refused to hear what our son had to say. We were deaf, blind, and shamefully hostile to the message of the biblical Gospel. It sounded so foreign to what we had been previously taught. Was it true that "good works" could not earn God’s favor? While outwardly I rejected our son’s words, inwardly I was tormented with uncertainty and doubt.

Alone late at night and in the early morning hours, I began reading a Bible left in our home by our son. I struggled to understand and arrogantly believed I could find answers by my own power and self-will. Again, my pride had me completely off-track! As typical, I was locked in the mode of having to have things on MY terms.

In March 1972, after intensely reading the Bible for more than a year, my frustration and anger reached a breaking point. I prayed to God, "I’ve studied your Word for all this time—and nothing has changed. I don’t understand anything I’ve read. I GIVE UP! If You want me to understand any of this, then You need to make it plain to me." Within moments, my mind was opened to truth (Luke 24:45) and I began to grasp the meaning of what I had been reading in the New Testament.

For 50 years I was spiritually "dead in trespasses and sins" (Ephesians 2:1). But, now I too was "born from above" or "born-again". Alone in my kitchen, I could sense the love of Jesus deep in my heart. New ‘spiritual’ life had come, and the Lord Jesus brought peace, happiness, and knowledge that I was secure—forever.

As important as it was, my "new birth" was only a beginning. Since my conversion, I have enjoyed various Bible studies and fellowship with other "born-again" Christians. While my new understanding brought assurance of salvation and Heaven, the problems of daily life didn’t vanish. We live in mortal bodies. I have had to learn how to leave my insecurities, fears, self-pity, etc. with the Lord. And, He can prove trustworthy to you as well.

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