Faith is the one word I would use to describe myself, which is convenient since it is my middle name. I could describe myself with words or adjectives based on how I see myself, how others see me, and my feelings; however, none of these could convey who I am since they tend to change and depend on any number of circumstances. Some days, I feel productive and organized, while other days, it feels like chaos is everywhere I look. I can be friendly or flaky, happy or frustrated, selfish or generous on any given day.
While other words to describe me are temporary and shifting, no other word describes who I am better than faith, which, in its purest form, is lasting, dependable, and strong. For me, it isn’t just a feel-good, fleeting emotion; it is a way of looking at my world and how I process it.
My faith is a solid foundation for my life, rooted in the permanent presence of God. That’s why the word faith is so essential to who I am. It is rooted in my heart, mind, thoughts, and actions.
I could list many times I have seen God be faithful in his promises to me and others. He has been my redeemer, provider, protector, hope, anchor, and fortress, and that is just in the past few months. Yet, I want to talk about something that happened nearly two decades ago instead, in a moment of brokenness when I saw God’s love for me in a very tangible way.
For a bit of backstory, I grew up in the church and was saved at a young age, but by the time I was 13, I saw leaders in the church, my father included, have affairs. By the age of 16, I was sexually assaulted while babysitting. By the age of 17, I was done with God, with a lot of anger towards him and others.
I still had moments when I felt close to God, but they were never enough to mend my hardened and broken heart. They certainly weren’t enough to change my lifestyle of self-medication mixed with self-destruction because of self-hatred.
By the time I was 29, I was exhausted in spirit. It had gotten to the point where my alcohol and drug use and sexual promiscuity led to a hard heart that somehow still experienced pain and shame.
One night, or rather, early morning, after the bars closed, I drove to the beach, feeling an irresistible urge to go there. As I sat on the beach, I knew that I could not live the same lifestyle anymore. I was exhausted in every way possible. I cried out to God, and he was there.
God met me on the beach that early morning when it was still dark, with waves crashing on the shore, mingled with the sound of my cries filling the air. In a state of mental exhaustion, the floodgates of all my guilt, shame, hatred, pain, and confusion broke loose.
I did not ask God any of the questions that had bothered me for years. I didn’t ask what would become of the ones who hurt me or what my life would look like after I left the beach. I didn’t ask God for a timeline of when I would feel complete again. I didn’t ask why bad things happen or if this moment would lead to a fundamental change.
I wasn’t concerned with anything other than letting God take hold of me and draw me close to him. All that mattered was that I was exactly where I needed to be to let God show me the freedom he had for me. On the beach and in the dark, right before sunrise, I let go and said to God, “I can’t do this anymore!”
It’s hard to describe the feelings of instant peace and hope, but as I continued crying, I felt free and healed. I was overwhelmed by God’s presence when the sun rose, bringing about a new and glorious day and, for me, a renewed faith in God.
In that moment, my faith became my own, filling me with trust and a love for God that I had never had before. That moment was incredible and is something no one can diminish or take away from me; however, what happened after that caused my faith to grow and remain grounded in Jesus.
After I desperately called on God and he met me on that beach, God continued protecting me by taking away all desires tied to my old life. In one moment, and every moment since then, I no longer needed drugs or alcohol, and the smell of cigarette smoke made me sick. I wasn’t held captive by the shame of my past sexual encounters or desirous of the false validation from men.
I knew that God redeemed me and that his grace was bigger than my sins.
Did I still mess up? Yep! Even though I no longer physically desired those things, I was still, in some ways, socially and mentally tied to my behaviors. Of course, any enjoyment I had in my lifestyle before was gone.
It was as if God had put a hedge of protection around me, keeping me from finding fulfillment in anything other than him. Even though my heart had changed, I still had to learn what it meant to live like a Christian in action and intention.
In all honesty, it took about a year after that moment on the beach before I stopped fighting the grace God gave me and relied entirely on him. Over that year, his Word became something I loved, giving me joy and excitement every time I opened the Bible. I listened to music that renewed my spirit, and my times of prayer were so precious and sweet that I didn’t want to leave his presence.
Since then, my faith has only grown more, whether in times of happiness, plenty, and good health…or pain, loss, and illness. Faith isn’t just a one-time monumental meeting with God; it is an intentional choice to trust God no matter what. Do I still get it wrong? Yeah, of course I do. Does that make God less worthy of my respect and trust? Absolutely not!
Hebews 10:23 says, “Let us hold unwaveringly to the hope we profess, for he who promises is faithful.”
A Wolfe Speaks 