Twenty years ago this past March, I was a shy, 14‐year‐old girl attending a weekend retreat with other teenagers hoping to find God. Instead, I met another girl named Holly who was apparently very popular. So I decided to change my name to “Charlie” to avoid confusion (a nickname originally given to me by my grandfather, the only one I’d ever had or could think of at the time). Everyone seemed to know the other Holly—and like her—and each mention of her name rang out as a personal rejection of me. Now as Charlie, I was bound and determined to be (or become) someone whom everyone also knew and liked.
I made significant decisions that day, beginning to live two separate lives, one as Holly and one as Charlie. Charlie was tired of being overweight and decided that anorexia was the answer; she lost 65 pounds in two months, exercising like mad, no longer eating. Sure enough, Charlie became more confident and bold, joining other teens from that weekend in various acts of rebellion—smoking, drinking, drugs, sexual immorality and the like. Charlie was a new person with many new friends…what could possibly be wrong with that? Charlie was living proof that a life could be transformed, right?
The old Holly kept up appearances, however; she was still the “good church girl” faking a life of faith, climbing the academic ladder, winning over the masses with her people‐pleasing ways. Behind that fair façade hid a lost little girl who didn’t believe God even existed, who felt dirty, alone, ashamed, and worst of all, imprisoned. She was bound by depression built on a lifetime of unforgiveness and anger.
I may have denied God in my mind, but somewhere in my heart, He was at work, walking with me every step and preventing me from any fatal mistakes, like suicide or STDs, etc. He saw every tear I cried, He heard every unspoken prayer, He knew me, even if I didn’t know Him. And He was never going to let me escape His grasp. He whispered instructions that I thought I’d come up with on my own, perspectives and considerations that led me to a certain college. His footsteps can be seen walking beside mine during numerous encounters, intertwined adventures, where I thought I was alone.
Finally, at age 18 I had to make a choice. God showed me what it meant to actually live as a believer, the real meaning of the word “Christian.” I was surrounded for the first time by “a great cloud of witnesses,” those who lived…differently…than other “believers” I’d always known. Their faith was living, breathing, being walked out in every decision, every moment of trust and perseverance. Through their testimony, I was rightly introduced to the Man, Jesus Christ, and offered the same new life. I invited Jesus into my heart, leaving Charlie behind and beginning one new life in Christ.
While initially invigorated by a new-fangled sense of joy and expectation, old habits and mindsets returned hastily, keeping my hope from escalating into change. The seeds of rejection, rebellion and resentment stood between me and freedom. I just wasn’t ready to break free. I didn’t even think it possible.
Would my bondage every be broken?
To be continued.
The Art of Choosing True Life 