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A Wednesday night in 1986, we were wrapping up a study that our teacher called Sunbeam Charlie. It was an excellent story. Each Wednesday night Sunbeam Charlie would find himself in a predicament, and we would have to wait until the next week to find out what happened. I could see myself in ol’ Sunbeam Charlie. He was a church kid, always there, always trying to do what was right, but one Wednesday, Charlie realized his need for Jesus.
My heart pounded, my palms started sweating. I couldn’t wait to get out of the room. I waited in the lobby of our small church until the pastor was free. I stood at the door to his office and told him I needed to be saved. I remember kneeling beside the couch in his office and asking Jesus to be my Savior.
Here’s the strange twist to that otherwise precious story. I made sure to go over the words to my prayer in my mind repeatedly until we got home. I was also shy when I went to the parking lot and didn’t really want to tell anyone that I had just asked Jesus to save me. These two things are important to point out. I’ll break them down.
I was actually 5 years old when I first realized that I needed to give my life to Jesus. My parents called my pastor, and he came to our house. I knelt beside my bed which had a canopy and a red bedspread with little yellow flowers. I remember that, but you see I could never remember the words to my prayer.
Our little church had several revivals each year. The evangelists that came to preach always preached that you needed to be sure of your salvation and to do this you should remember the person who was with you when you were saved, the place, and the prayer. I could remember two of those but not the third and that plagued me. I worried about it day and night. I would cry myself to sleep at night worrying about it. So, this time, I would remember all of it. All the way home that Wednesday night I repeated the words over and over in my mind, and when I got home, I wrote them down. I folded the piece of paper and placed it in my dresser drawer. I can’t even tell you how many times I would begin to doubt, and I would search out that piece of paper to read over my prayer. But it didn’t cure my doubt, it only gave me something to go to when I did. I would watch the clouds in fear. What if Jesus came back, what if I didn’t pray the correct way, what if Jesus took all my family home to heaven but left me here. Every revival service I sat through I always worried, each church camp service I worried, when we would drive in the rain and it felt dangerous, I would worry, when we flew in a plane, I would worry… are you getting the picture? I worried constantly. I constantly wondered whether I had done things right. Eventually, even my prayer on the piece of paper didn’t comfort me. I had no peace, no assurance…
We were also taught that if you were truly saved, you wouldn’t be ashamed, you would want to shout it from the rooftops! But remember when I said I was shy that Wednesday night and didn’t want to tell anyone? That moment also plagued me. How could my Salvation be true if I didn’t want to tell anyone?
I’m 44 years old and I still vividly remember all of this. I remember the feelings, the fears, the worry… I remember it all, and it makes me sad.
Another very detrimental thing we were taught is something I mentioned in an earlier post. We were taught that you needed to keep all the commandments even the extra ones added by the church to stay in God’s favor. You needed to read your Bible every day, pray without ceasing, attend church every time the doors were open, etc. I worked very hard at all of this. I wanted to be a good Christian, I wanted to go to heaven, I wanted to live a life blessed by God.
I was 10 years old when we found out that I had a major birth defect. The doctors said I should never have been able to walk, but even worse, if they didn’t do surgery as soon as possible, I would never walk again. I had a 2-inch bone growing through my spinal cord, splitting it into two pieces. My spinal cord was tethered to my tailbone, my vertebrae were malformed, I had a form of spina bifida that wasn’t diagnosed as a baby, the list went on and on. The doctors knew if they didn’t do surgery I would certainly be paralyzed, but they weren’t sure they could successfully remove the bone without paralyzing me anyway. In a few short weeks, I was fitted for a wheelchair and at the tender age of 10, I was left to imagine what my life might look like after surgery.
What had I done, I wondered, to deserve this punishment? I must not be reading my Bible enough, maybe I didn’t pray enough… I was 10 years old, and these were my questions, these were my fears, what had I done for God to punish me in this way?
I would go on to have 3 more major spinal surgeries, all dangerous, all scary. In the end, I would be able to walk, function like normal, and even have children, but I would be left with daily pain.
Certainly, blessed but obviously punished.
A pastor would preach a sermon that would stick with me forever… you must be prepared before you take the Lord’s Supper… you must have everything worked out with God, all sins repented, no evil thoughts in your mind. To take the Lord’s Supper with any less preparation than this was dangerous… God didn’t take kindly to this…
This was it! This is why I was being punished. This is why I would endure 4 major spinal surgeries; this is why I would be left with daily pain, this is why I would spend months in the hospital. I figured all of this out when I was 12 because at the age of 12, I didn’t have much life experience and I honestly couldn’t think of anything else that would be bad enough to warrant this kind of punishment.
Can you see why deconstruction is necessary for me? How could I love and serve a God who punished me for not having my ducks in a row before I took communion?
I just told my dad this story this year. He was shocked and saddened by it. He had no idea I felt that way as a child. My parents were just doing what they knew to do and raised us in church. You don’t always know what a child is absorbing in an environment. My own kids have shared with me some of their takeaways from sermons, youth pastor lessons, and Sunday school classes and I’ve been blown away. My daughter began to doubt her salvation after sitting in a service where a pastor taught things similar to this, and her experience was in a Southern Baptist Church. Preachers should stop to realize how much weight their words carry, they should be careful not to play on people’s emotions. Just preach Jesus. Quit worrying about numbers… Quit manipulating
I know by now you are wondering if I will ever continue the story of the cute boy at the new church I talked about in the last post.
My third surgery required me to wear a full-body brace for 6 months. I was tiny, less than 100 pounds, and barely a size zero. This brace made me huge. It stuck out everywhere, and I looked like an alien. The kids at school called me broke back. I was ridiculed daily. This was just more of my cross to bear I was convinced.
What I soon realized at this new church was that not only did these new kids love and accept me, but this boy that I thought was cute also thought I was cute. One Sunday night, after we had been there for a few months, it rained, and the church parking lot flooded. I was worried about ruining my shoes. The boys began to pick up the girls and carry them over the water, it was a very gentlemanly thing for them to do, but I panicked. That cute boy reached down to carry me, and I said, “you don’t want to do that, I have this big brace on”. I will never forget what he said, he said, “I don’t care about the brace” and he scooped me up and carried me over the water. In that moment something in me changed. I felt that maybe I could be loved and maybe my punishment days were finally over. It was such a simple gesture, to most people it wouldn’t have had the same effect, but this was a life-changing moment for me. I married him.
God used little moments like that in my life to show me that what I was being taught about Him wasn’t what He was. Isn’t it funny that God would use something as simple as a puddle of water to show me His love? I could clearly see His love and mercy reflected through this puddle and also through this boy who could see past all my ugly and love me anyway. God wasn’t punishing me for something I had done, He was molding me and making me into something that I couldn’t see at the time. It would take me years to be able to see Him as a loving God, but He has continually and relentlessly pursued me and I am so thankful.
I can tell you that today I don’t have those doubts. God showed me that He is indeed a God of love, that He holds my salvation, and He loves me.
I no longer worry that if I don’t attend 3 to 4 church services a week that I will be punished, or that it means that I’m out of God’s will. I no longer believe that having a drink of alcohol will immediately send the person sitting beside me to hell. I no longer worry that not remembering every single word of the prayer I prayed will send me to hell. I don’t watch the clouds in fear anymore. My deconstruction process has been healing. It has taken away the religion that the church has added, and it has made way for grace. I’ve learned that God is big enough to handle my questions, my anger, my doubt. I don’t have to be guarded when I go to Him. It is so freeing.
Until Next Time,
Whitney
I sent this post, in rough draft form, to a very good friend of mine. After she read it, she asked me to listen to this sermon. It was a wow moment for me. I hope you take away as much from it as I was able to. Click on the link below to listen to the sermon.
How Does Our King Use His Authority?
Fellowship Bible Church Little Rock Arkansas
February 6, 2022 • Ben Parkinson • Mark 2:1–12