My Testimony - "Religious Nuts"

By the sixth grade, I was a deeply depressed, God-hungry Amy Grant fan. The sexual abuse of my childhood had just ended and I was flunking school. I wasn't sure if I believed in God, but an old fifth-grade teacher prompted me to take a leap of faith.

She was a pretty young teacher, about the age that I am now, with a gentle disposition and the patience of a saint. As a fifth-grader, I clung to her like glue. I had maybe two friends, who were also school nerds that got picked on every day, and I either huddled in a corner with them at recess, pretending to be homeless (what a fun game!) or I sat alone, making snot balls out of rubber cement slathered on my hand. I was the only girl in a bra at the time, and I was a little butterball. That teacher, however, always saw the good in me and I loved her.

In the sixth grade, I went back to elementary school to visit her all the time, and during one such visit she announced that she was pregnant with her first child. For the first time, I decided to ask for a little divine intervention for someone other than me and my own demise and I started asking God to take care of her and her baby, and make sure that they were both healthy, happy and OK. When her son was born later that year, it was like a faith shot in the arm. I was still young enough to have some childlike faith, and I gave God the credit for everything working out nicely.

The summer after sixth grade, new neighbors moved in next-door. They were a couple in their mid-thirties with three kids. The oldest was a bit older than me, but the two youngest were still small. Hoping to land myself a babysitting gig, I quickly introduced myself and it wasn't long before I was swimming in their pool and - as planned - watching the two youngest. I loved them dearly; I was always welcome in their home. They never turned me away. Over time, I opened up to them about my struggles and their house became my home-away-from-home. When my family was in turmoil, I ran across the yard to join theirs, and I knew the door was always open.

Eh.. Just one little problem.
They were... religious.
Every time I saw them, they invited me to church with them, and sometimes they talked about God as if He lived there in their house, eating their Fritos and sharing the toilet and such. I wasn't sure what to make of that. I wanted to be with them constantly, and yet I felt the need to run home to pull the blinds and lock the doors and huddle on the staircase until they went away, or at least until they stopped talking about God. Mama done warned me about them religious nuts, did she not?!?

That God fella was hot on my trail, apparently, because that same summer, my parents agreed to send me out to San Jose, California to visit my aunt and cousins for two weeks. As it turns out, I was related to some religious nuts, too. My cousin, Jay and his wife, TJ had two young daughters at the time and they were so much fun to be with. Jay had a crazy sense of humor and his wife was cool and gorgeous and I loved playing with their kids. I tagged along with TJ and the girls one day to Vacation Bible School and found that I wanted to cry the entire time... in a good way. The more I listened to stories about Jesus, the more fascinated I became. I asked them to take me with them again, and I accompanied them several times during my stay, and made friends with the children's pastor, who was a very kind man who made me feel comfortable and welcome.

While in California, I went out and purchased Amy's "Heart In Motion" album on cassette. If you're a teenager and you don't know what I mean, look up "cassette tapes." They were horrible creatures that forced you to "fast-forward" and "reverse" - you couldn't just select a track and play it. And if you left them in your car in the sun, they'd melt. Those were the bad old days. In any case, I bought the album on tape and nearly wore it out listening to it. Poor Jay and TJ - I asked them to play it in their car every time we went somewhere, and they kindly did.

Jay was very forward about his faith, but not in a way that would have offended a non-believer. I recall a conversation in which we were sitting on the floor in his living room playing Super Mario Bros. on his Nintendo system (again, kids, look it up) and I asked him a series of questions about his life. I wanted to know if he and TJ were going to have more kids, if he was going to go back into music (he was in a popular Bay Area rock band in the 80s), all of which he answered with, "If it's God's plan for my life." Both of them talked to me about Jesus in detail, but that's the conversation that really sticks out in my mind, nearly 20 years later.

God help my parents - I came home from that trip talking up a storm about God. My parents didn't have a problem with me believing in God, because THEY believed in God in their own way. They just found it odd that a kid who never went to church was suddenly rambling on about God and asking for her own Bible. They said my cousins' beliefs were "weird" and that religion was a deeply private thing you didn't talk about with others.

As a burgeoning Amy Grant fanatic, I started listening to her older music after I became such a huge fan of "Heart In Motion", which led me to listen to other Christian music. I found the local CCM station - WJTL - and began falling in love with the music of Michael W. Smith, Petra, Newsboys and others. The more I listened, the softer my heart seemed to become. I still didn't know if or what I believed, but I wanted the stuff they were singing about. The idea of unconditional love, there for you 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, along with unending forgiveness was incredibly appealing to me. Who WOULDN'T want that? The question is, are you willing to believe in those things in the form of an omnipotent God you can't see?

Listening to Christian radio also introduced me to Dawson McAllister Live, a call-in show for people (at the time) 18 years of age and younger. Kids were calling in with all kinds of problems, many of them like mine - kids with family problems, sexual abuse survivors, teenagers with depression, etc. I started tuning in every Sunday night. On the show, they always mentioned their toll-free hotline for kids who needed someone to talk to, known as the "Hopeline," and I jotted down the number for future reference, though I never really intended to call it.

The people on the radio kept talking about becoming a Christian and "accepting Jesus" into your life. I had no idea what they meant, but I wanted to do that... whatever it was. I asked my parents what they thought that meant - my mother called her girlfriend, who told her I was on the cusp of joining a cult. Hmm, no help there!

Now, I feel like a goof going on about Amy Grant because I'm a grown woman and I know I sound like I'm sitting here with electrical tape holding my glasses together with Amy Grant posters all over the walls of my efficiency apartment. In other words: I sound like a dork. But this is how God worked in my life, so I have to tell the story exactly the way it unfolded.

There is a song on Amy's 1988 album, "Lead Me On" called "Saved By Love." I'm not going to post the lyrics here because I know Amy's manager and I don't want to break some kooky copyright law by doing so. (Eh hem.) The title is pretty self-explanatory. I don't know what it was about that song exactly, but one day, when I was 12 years old, it absolutely broke my heart for the Lord and I found myself on my knees in front of my bed, weeping and asking God to save me. I didn't know if I was asking the right thing or if I was asking it the right way... I just told God I wanted what my neighbors and my cousins and Amy Grant had.

When I stood up, I felt different... but I was still a little paranoid that I hadn't done something right when I prayed.

So I pulled out Dawson McAllister's Hopeline number, dialed it, and got a sweet-sounding lady named Ginny on the other line. She asked me if I was a Christian, and I said yes. She asked me how I knew I was a Christian, and I said I knew it because I had never killed anybody and I was born in America. ::::sigh:::: Long-story-made-short... she finally explained to me what being a Christian and "accepting Jesus" meant. And it had nothing to do with an American or being murder-free. She asked me if I wanted to ask Jesus into my heart (in the official capacity, I suppose?) and without hesitation, I said yes. In fact, I yelled it. She asked me if I was sure, and I yelled it even louder.

I asked Jesus into my heart.
It was May 4, 1992... the day before my 13th birthday.

In the next segment, we'll discuss my journey AWAY from God... Pin It