When I hear people give their testimonies, most of them can point to a specific moment, sometimes even a date and time, when they gave their life to Christ. I can't do that. I guess I am a little harder to convince than a lot of people, and so it took me several doses of reality to finally accept my salvation.
I was born and raised in Canada. We were Protestants, but where we lived there were no Protestant churches, so each Sunday morning my mom, brother and I would gather in the living room and have church. My father was not a Christian, so he would sleep in. These times gave me a Christian foundation, but not a full understanding of why I needed Christ and how to accept Him. So I floated along being a generally good person but always wondering if I was good enough to get into Heaven.
We eventually moved to the United States and I began attending church, where I was baptized. I knew that was a step Christians took and I wanted to be sure I had done it. But I can't honestly say that my life changed much. As always, I tried to be a good person, and I believed in God, but I pretty much relegated His presence in my life to Sunday mornings.
But the move from Canada, a death in the family, and a lot of other stress factors began to take a toll on my family, and things began to fall apart at home.
One summer day when I was 14, my mom and I came home from a shopping trip to find my father had packed his things and left. My mom didn't have a job, my brother was away for the summer, I wasn't old enough to work, we were stranded. That night, alone and unsure of the future, Mom and I read aloud from the book of Psalms, letting David speak for us in asking God to protect and provide for us.
Suddenly God became a much stronger presence in my life. For the next several years, with the three of us living on Mom's $5 an hour job and whatever else my brother and I could bring in, I watched God provide for us daily. At night, I would read His Word, talk to Him, ask Him questions, thank Him for providing for us. But we still had our struggles, and sadly we had several bad experiences at church, and so I was still not yet ready to completely trust Him.
Once I finally got through the stressful teenage years, the next big blow came when I got a call at work that my grandfather, suffering from cancer and liver problems, needed to go to the hospital right away. Grandpa, the only strong male role model I had, was a profound influence on my life. For the next week, I spent countless hours alone with him, both of us knowing that they might be the last. A faithful Christian, he told me he was ready to go to Heaven. I was amazed that he was so unafraid, and so certain that he was going to Heaven. Yes, I knew he would be in Heaven, but I still had this nagging feeling that I wasn't quite good enough. I wanted the quiet, contented confidence that Grandpa had. I wanted that peace, even in the face of a painful death. When I watched Grandpa die he had a hint of a smile on his face, and I knew then that I had to completely trust Christ to have that peace.
With a renewed faith and joy, I began to hunger for daily spiritual nourishment. I took a second job at a Christian bookstore. I used to think that the people who worked at Christian bookstores were the cream of the crop, the ones who really had it together. I was certainly no poster child for the Christian faith. Even though I was given a good foundation, I considered myself a brand-new Christian. I eagerly interacted with the customers, learning from them. When there were no customers, I read and read and read from the books and magazines and study Bibles. The more I read the more I wanted to know.
I was working at the store one day when a man came in and paused at the counter. I greeted him, then looked away. He still paused. When I looked at him again, I realized it was my father. Until then, he was a presence in my life only when he wanted to be. I didn't know where he lived and I didn't have his phone number. So I only heard from him when he called, which was not often. Now, ten years after he had walked out of my life, I somewhat awkwardly showed this virtual stranger around the bookstore, pointing out some of my favorite books. To my surprise, he seemed somewhat interested. After that visit, he began calling me, occasionally with questions about Christianity.
As Christmas neared, I bought him a Bible and even imprinted his name on it myself. I couldn't wait to give it to him. But I didn't hear from him at Christmas nor for several months after. Finally, close to Father's Day, he came back into my life. He came to church with me on Father's Day and I gave him the Bible. Again, he started calling me, asking questions. He started coming to church with me. Eventually, he began looking for a church nearer to his home.
As of this writing, he still has not accepted Christ. But he is attending church and he calls me with questions and asks me to pray for him. While I have yet to see my prayer completely answered, I see that God has once again been good to me.
I guess for me it's hard to pinpoint when I became a Christian. My salvation came when Christ died for me on the cross, long before I was born. I have known this for a long time, but it has taken several trips to rock-bottom for me to accept this.
One of the best descriptions I have found of Christ's relationship with believers is from a poem called "Footprints in the Sand." The poet looks back on his travels through life and sees two sets of footprints, where he and Jesus have walked side-by-side. But he notices that when times got really tough, there was only one set of footprints in the sand. When he questions Jesus as to why He left, Jesus responds that in those times of need, when there was only one set of footprints, "It was then that I carried you."