Chapter 3 ~SALVATION~

Growing up in a very Christian environment, salvation was at the center of everything. I was taught that to Christians, we experience that google definition…not physically, but spiritually. At home, at school, at church, and everywhere I went I was further learning about this faith, and the stories that shape it. The story goes that there is a God who created the entire universe. He created mankind and within it, the ability to choose. He gave his creations a choice…to believe Him, or not to believe Him. No parent wants their children to love them because they are forced to, or because they have no other choice. The first two people ever created failed the very first lesson ever given. They listened to Evil, which told them that if they disobeyed their Creator, they would actually become greater than Him…and so they believed and disobeyed the *one* instruction God had given them. God allowed evil to come into the hearts of mankind, resulting in a word we church people hear VERY often…sin. Now, it may not seem fair that the choice was made for all of us when Adam and Eve screwed up and chose to not believe, but through them exercising their ability to choose, I was taught that the entire human race (which had not yet come into existence, obviously) was cursed. Each person would now be born with what we called a “sin nature” and every person in the world would now face a battle within themselves of good versus evil.

If you’re still with me, I have laid the groundwork of the religion that I (and millions of other people) was brought up believing. I cannot close the chapter of my childhood without talking about salvation, because I was 9 years old, when I had my own “salvation experience.” I said that I was taught about salvation in every aspect of my life….at church, at home, at school. My pastor preached about it every single Sunday, and in morning chapel services that each staff and program kid attended each day. When I listened to my pastor, I was taught that God did love us, but He hated the sin in us. The style of preaching I grew up with was very much Southern Baptist (alot of yelling), with an emphasis on how desperately wicked our hearts were. As a child, I was used to “REPENT!!!!!”-styled church services, which culminated in dozens of teens and adults alike, facedown and kneeling at the altar. I honestly felt as though every time my pastor looked at me, he could see every bit of sin in me. It was only a matter of time before I would have my own experience at the church altar.
This is where my parents really come into the picture. As far as salvation goes, my mom and dad were very specific about what all of that REALLY meant. When I was very, very little I would often pray the “prayer of salvation” in Sunday School at church because I did not want to go to Hell. (Sheesh, little children should not be worrying about burning in a lake of fire, no?) In Sunday school, I would hear, “If you love Jesus, pray this prayer and accept Him into your heart. He will be your forever friend!” Of course I wanted that! My little heart loved the Jesus that I learned about. “If Jesus lives in your heart, you will go to Heaven when you die!” Yes, I wanted that! But thank goodness, my parents would always make sure that we knew that when we got older, we would have to make the decision for ourselves who our hearts would follow. You see, a five year old can love Jesus with however much their little hearts can comprehend, but kids that little only know what they are taught. They generally do not know the extent of evil, and how appealing wrong things can be.
When I was 9 years old, for the first time, I felt like God wasn’t near me anymore. I love, love, love my salvation story because I did not accept salvation in church because of my pastor. Maybe that’s a little bit of happy defiance in me, that I don’t owe that to him. Anyway, my story is actually kind of laughable.
Like I said, I was 9 years old. As many of you know, I have danced ballet pretty much my whole life. At the age of 9, I got my very first pair of pointe shoes…you know, the ones that let you go all the way up on your toes. I had really, really, strong ankles and feet at that age, and I started pre-pointe classes which were very very basic. We held onto the ballet barre for everything, and barely even went up fully on our shoes. My pointe teacher (not my mom) was extremely serious about us not putting our shoes on at home to try and dance in them because we weren’t trained yet, and we could seriously injure ourselves. She was right! But I did have exceptionally strong ankles, remember? So, 9 year old Mary would secretly put her pointe shoes on at home and twirl across the floor. On a Tuesday in the spring of 1996, I wore my pointe shoes at home (again) and successfully turned across my entire living room up on pointe! Sorry, for the non-dancers reading this and thinking “Whoopdie Doo…” but that’s a big deal!
I went to class that night, and my teacher asked us all pointedly, “Have any of you been wearing your pointe shoes at home unsupervised?” Everyone in class vehemently said, “No!” Including me. Instantly, I felt awful. This proves what a soft, soft heart I had. I felt terrible that I had not only disobeyed my teacher, but now I had lied too. I went home that night in tears. (I know, it seems silly now.) I got home and went through the motions of eating dinner with my family, and I remember it was my night to help do the dishes. As I cleaned up, Billy Graham was preaching on the small TV that has always been in my mother’s kitchen. Anyone who has ever seen a Billy Graham crusade knows that when people were invited to come forward for prayer, they came by the thousands. My little eyes had seen countless altar calls in my own church, I had even seen Billy Graham on TV tons of times before. This night, though, was different. I had disobeyed and I had lied, and as I watched thousands of people pour from their seats to repent, I caught the message from Billy Graham. It wasn’t the message I had grown up hearing in my own church of: “You are a sinner, God hates the sin in you. Repent, so you may enter Heaven when you die!”
Billy Graham’s words were more like: “God LOVES you. He knows that we can choose between right and wrong, and that because of our cursed nature as fallen humans, we will make wrong decisions. But He loved us so much that He made a way we could find redemption and forgiveness. That way was sending His only Son to die upon a cross. Through that act, He bridged the gap between fallen people and a Holy God. Come by the way of the Cross.”
Those words, even though I had heard them from my parents many times before, struck me as real for the first time. I remember tears running down my face as I put away the dishes, feeling and understanding that my actions grieved the heart of a God who loved me so much. There is a word for that feeling, and we Christians call it “conviction.” I had felt bad for being naughty obviously when I was younger, but that night…age nine…having lied about something as silly as pointe shoes…that was my first moment feeling conviction. And I am SO glad that God knew my heart enough to orchestrate Billy Graham speaking directly to me that night, and not my red-faced pastor who would no doubt scream a sermon about how wicked I was, and to repent so that I didn’t bring destruction on myself. (Obedience brings blessings, disobedience brings consequences…remember?)
So, that night as my mom tucked me into bed, I stayed as quiet as I possibly could. Quiet enough that hopefully, she would recognize something was wrong. Thankfully, she did! She sat on my bed and asked if I was ok. Finally, everything poured out of me. After I had explained it all, and cried my little eyes out, my mom just smiled. Now that I am a mommy myself, I can imagine how she probably wanted to bawl her eyes out! But she simply took my hand and said, “Do you want to pray and ask Jesus into your heart?” I had done this before, as I’ve said, but I knew somehow that this was different. I comprehended that my actions grieved the heart of The One who died for me. And it wasn’t a fear of judgement that propelled me to try and avoid Hell, or a shame that made me feel evil and awful, but rather a love for Jesus, who loved me enough to suffer to make a way for me to live free from sin. So I prayed. And things were different from then on, as much as they could be different for a little kid. My parents continued to raise us, making sure we knew that as we grew, things would continue to try and pull us away from God. There would be many more life-changing moments and prayers I would pray as I entered my teenage years in this place. But I know with absolute certainty that on that night, in my bed, as a nine year old, I was saved. From then on, I felt that little voice that guided me and helped me discern right from wrong.
I had MET the God of the stories I had heard for so long. Of course, before that night, I loved God. I loved the God I heard about. But once I prayed that prayer, once I experienced salvation, I entered into an actual relationship with Him, and started to love Him because I knew Him, I didn’t know just about Him.
So many church kids grow up loving the God of those stories, loving the God of their parents, but not actually meeting Him. I am so thankful that my parents constantly told us that their relationship with God could not be ours as well. We had to come to the point of salvation on our own.
So that is my salvation story. My life would take so many twists and turns down the road. I didn’t know then, at nine years old, just how much my heart would go through, how much pain my family would experience in that environment, how at times when I became older I would hate myself, how much I would be spiritually and emotionally confused, abused and taken advantage of. But God knew. He knew my story because He was writing it all along. And because of that little prayer I prayed at nine years old, I was His. Bad things would happen. Brace yourself for Chapter 4, because we’re going into my teenage years. AHH!
I know this was a very deep and heavy chapter, and I am well aware that many of my friends and people who know me are not Christians. You may feel that I’m insane or I’ve bought into something that I only believe because it’s all I’ve ever known. And I’m not over-dramatizing this story because I so vividly remember each and every detail about that night. All I can tell you is that it’s real. It’s all real. I had a supernatural experience with a supernatural God. He changed my heart that night, and continues to change it to this day. I have lived and I have seen evil people try to change other people in the name of God. I have seen people try to live by all the rules and earn God’s salvation by being good enough. Through it all, I can say that God did everything He did because of LOVE. It’s out of love that He allows us to choose Him, or not to choose Him.
I am not a pastor, nor am I the most spiritual person ever. I don’t have all the answers. I do know that God is real, though. I know because He has proven Himself in real ways, over and over again. I also know that He loves YOU….yep, you. In those quiet times, at the end of the day when you wonder about Him, I encourage you to simply talk to Him. There is no “right” or “wrong” prayer to pray. Be soft, be angry, be human…bring it all to Him. I know from deeply personal experience (again, not stories I’ve heard or instances I’ve conjured up in my head) that if you seek Him with all your heart, He will find you. He will find you and He will meet you right where you’re at, whether you’re a complete broken mess, or you’re a 9 year old with worn out ballet shoes.
Until next time. 🙂