My faith isn’t something I talk about actively on here, mainly because I didn’t grow up in a church that put a huge emphasis on evangelism. So while I’m confident with what I believe, I’ve always felt like it’s a fine line between witnessing and shoving things down people’s throats. And honestly, I’m not perfect. And sometimes I feel like if I talk about it, I’m not representing Him as well as He deserves. Therefore, I tend to not mention mention until I feel like the time is right. And right now, the time is right.
I grew up in church, for as long as I can remember we would go every Sunday. I’d run down to Children’s church with my “angel sister” and spend one day a week up there for choir. I LOVED it and can even remember sitting on my school bus, staring out the window wishing it was Sunday so I could go to Sunday school. In third grade, it’s a big tradition that the church presents each third grader with their own bible. Mine was worn and ragged within a year, because I loved reading all the stories.
I’m United Methodist, and in our church we are confirmed in sixth grade. It’s like a second baptism, except you’re simply declaring before the congregation that Christ is your Savior and you accept His teachings. Right around then was when my parent’s divorced, and for me it just didn’t feel right. I didn’t feel like it had truly been placed on my heart to confirm myself, and I didn’t feel right going through confirmation unless it was truly what I believed. In seventh grade, I had a friend invite me to church camp with her. It was a crazy week. My first time sleeping away from home, fights, drama and a prayer ceremony that opened my heart. That next confirmation season, my eighth grade year, I was confirmed.
I know everyone says it, but high school was a trial. Sophomore year, everything changed for me, everything felt ten times harder, everything felt like I was fighting an uphill battle no matter how many times I thought I had won. Church became my saving grace. My place of refuge, my place where I could tell everyone exactly how I was feeling and what was going on without fear of repercussions. No matter how hard things were during the week, there was something about walking into Church that had a healing power. There was something about prayer that made me feel whole.
Every Sunday, I would fill up a pew’s worth of Prayer Requests, and one of our ministers noticed. She invited me to join the Prayer Ministry team. I was the only youth, but it felt natural to be in there praying for an hour. They put on a Prayer conference, where there were classes on different ways to pray. The one I remember better than anything was Praying in Color. Basically you dictate your prayers through markers, paper, and doodles. Doing that was how I let go so much hate and anger I had built up through my struggling. It was how I learned to forgive the ones who had hurt me the worst.
I have little reminders of prayers all over my room. Prayers from bulletins that touched my heart, reminders of things to pray for, and a prayer box to physically place what I want to pray for in there. Last night I was so stressed about finding a job, how I was going to figure out how to pay for everything coming up this month. Today, I got calls for interviews.
At the end of the day, people are going to believe what they want to believe, regardless of what I ask them to believe. I can sit here and tell you more examples of how He’s changed my life, how prayer has saved me time and time again. And I will, if you want to hear it. But if it’s not something you’re open to, or ready for, I truly do not think any words I have could penetrate that wall. For me, my beliefs are firm in Christ and in the power of Prayer. For me, those beliefs are what have helped keep me solid, and able to stay fully present in reality. They’re what hold me together.
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