My Faith Story—Part 1: Loved From the Start, Still Learning Why

How do you share 35 years of a life story in a single blog post? Well, I tried this morning. I let my fingers fly across the keys, and before I knew it—yikes—it was turning into a full-fledged novel. I tried cutting it, but it seemed to scratch out the beauty, and I want to tell my story well. It’d be a sorry shame to smash it all into just one blog post. God has done too much in me to cut corners.

So I paused. And spent time organizing my jotted-down notes. Deleting, rewriting, changing the pace…which parts do I speed over and which parts are important to really zoom in on? And so it is that my story will undergo 3 blog posts.

Here is part 1.

It all began in the central valley of sunny California. Born and raised.

I grew up in the church. Learning God’s word. Weekly church attendance, Sunday school, Bible memory star chart, church camps, church events, Bible Bowl competitions, all of it. My life was God. He was in the mix from the beginning.

I have an amazing family. My childhood was full of camping trips, singing performances, family gatherings, good food, swimming pools, airplane flights, fishing, hiking, exploring, boating, amusement parks, waterslides, sleepovers, pets, puppet shows, choreographed dances, trampolines, and birthday parties. All of it splashed with love from amazing parents. Yes, I did come from what they call a “broken home”—split marriage—but my life didn’t play out like the normal stories you hear of fighting, yelling, and horrible mess. No, my parents never spoke an ill word against each other. They lived just a handful of blocks apart. I got to see both of them every day. And the people they remarried…or…how the dating process was handled? Seriously incredible. My childhood was the best.

My sister, 2 years older than me, has always been my best friend—my protector, a truth speaker, my example of beautiful confidence, and one I can get really weird and silly with. And from the new marriages, I love how my family has grown. I gained 3 step-siblings who are an absolute hoot. And so loving. I gained a half-brother when I was in middle school, and though he probably doesn’t know it—he was the joy I came home to during some of the hardest and most shaping years of my life. When I was lonely and picked on, I had a baby brother to remind me it was all going to be okay. Now he’s all grown up, but being with him feels the same way—a joy.

I love my family.

6th grade rolled around, and the people around me started changing—makeup, boys, trends, gossip. None of that interested me. I liked my Barbies, my dolls, and SpongeBob. I wasn’t ready to grow up. And one by one, my friends moved on, and I got left behind. The library steps where I ate lunch every day, sadly, became my sole friend by mid-8th grade year. I wasn’t much of a looker, and I didn’t care. People were growing up faster than I was, and they were mean about it. I don’t hold anything against them…we were middle schoolers for goodness sake. No one knows what they’re doing or who they are. We were all just bouncing off each other trying to figure it out. I remember many days of going out to the trampoline when I got home, blasting the Lifesong album of Casting Crowns. There, the tears would fall. God was close in those raw moments on the trampoline. I felt His presence wash over me. He saw me in my hiding. And I knew with all my heart that He loved me.

But still things were confusing. Youth group was just a giant clique of the girls who scoffed at me. A constant reminder that I’m not enough. Did God really love me, or did He just need me to follow all the Christian rules? I knew I fell short of the Christian way constantly. I couldn’t seem to make it a habit to read my Bible or pray consistently. I couldn’t measure up. And I knew it. And since I didn’t think I could please the King, maybe having the eyes of a boy or the eyes of a crowd would be enough to make me happy.

The summer before high school, a girl took me under her wing. We really connected, and I was so excited to have a friend again. She introduced me to her group of friends, and there I met a boy. Curly-haired, goofy, and poetic. I began to wrap my identity up in him. Meanwhile, I was gaining beauty, popularity, and lots of friends.

Our volleyball team went undefeated. I lived and breathed club ball, traveling, tournaments, and honing my skill.

My elite choir travelled the world, singing in Carnegie Hall and for the President of the United States.

My sister taught me how to dress, do my hair, and find a style.

My world did a complete 180 from the bullying and loneliness of 8th grade. And I loved it. Maybe too much.

I was always still the sweet, empathetic little girl on the inside, but it was now becoming mixed with pride and callous. I loved all the new attention and started living recklessly, failing to consider or care about how my actions might affect others. God’s voice became muted in all the noise. He was a friend pushed aside. Though I still did all the church things, I was more in it for the social aspect and a brief taste of Him here and there. I didn’t realize how much He protected me in all my shenanigans. Kept me alive. Kept me safe. I imagine His heart was filled with sorrow every time I quickly checked in, yet then slipped away for other satisfaction. All along, He was patiently waiting for me to come home. To dwell and abide in what I was created for.

But now I lived for myself. And living for yourself is full of emptiness. I had to continuously make sure that I kept my world spinning. Keep the affection of the boy. Keep your spot on the volleyball team. Keep your 3 different friend groups intact. And at some point along the way of trying to figure out who I was, I got lost. Swept up in my own web of lies, trying to cover up the hurt I didn’t know how to face. One day, it all came crashing down—And I looked around, realizing how many I wounded, especially the ones I loved the most.

Verse one of a song I wrote for my mom years later sums up the weight of my teen years.

17… I lost my way,
In a web of lies, I’m gunna do it my way.
Mama, don’t you see
I got my dukes up, try to stop me
My poison built up and leaked all around
Against a love I couldn’t understand
It consumed me
I was in too deep

I guess I just lost sight. I knew God well. If you remember, I was constantly surrounded by amazing church community, God’s Word, and encouragement. But sometimes, understanding God intellectually is different than walking through dark places and finding out for yourself if that knowledge of Him is really true. God, are you really faithful? Do I trust you? Do you really love me? I didn’t know. And when you don’t know, it’s easy to get wrapped up what the world throws your way. I was striving to make the world love me. And the noise of it all filled the dark spaces of my thoughts. I believed lies and I lived out of them.

Funny how you can say Jesus died for me; He wiped away my sin. And yet not understand what that actually means. I knew He died for me but somehow always felt that He was disappointed in me for not measuring up. I do fall short. Every day. And though my desire is huge, I don’t measure up. But you see, back then, I didn’t yet grasp the full meaning of the cross. I didn’t understand what Jesus accomplished that day. His blood, His sacrifice? Covered every shortcoming. Every failure? Paid for. And now I can dwell; I can abide. As a beloved daughter—not because of how well I measure up, but simply because I am His.

I didn’t understand all of this yet—but I soon would. God wasn’t done with me. He never will be. I boarded a plane, left California behind, and enrolled at Northwest University in Washington State.

And that’s where Part 2 begins.