If you were a fly on the wall in my childhood home on a Sunday morning, this is what you would see: a girl with sun-bleached brown hair and skinned knees walking out the door with a huge bow in her hair and a Precious Moments pink Bible headed to church with her family.
That night, you would see me again with sweats, a tee, and blue Cubbie vest on, going to AWANA (a Bible memorization club) at church.
I was the youngest in the Claflin family, and growing up was awesome. Church was my second home, and Bible study on Friday nights in our house was the highlight of my week.
Once, I was doing a project for a geography class when I was eight, and I remember crying over all people who didn’t know Jesus. My heart was hugely zealous for people who didn’t know the Lord – the King of my heart and the One who had given me all I held dear in my little world.
But as I grew older, something changed.
No, I didn’t start sneaking out with my friends; I didn’t get hooked on drugs or drinking; I was never rebellious in my teen years. But the attitude of my heart changed – I started trying to be a Christian.
I did it all. In high school, I dressed modestly, obeyed my parents, didn’t date, had godly friends, started an accountability group, played my guitar in the worship team at school, got good grades, and went to AWANA summer camp.
After that, I attended a Christian college, and delved even deeper into Christian activities – leading worship in Chapel, being my class’ “Minster to Women”, mentoring younger girls, fasting once a week, even joining the evangelism club.
By all outward appearances, I was “the girl that had it all together,” but my private walk with God was full of shame, anger, and guilt.
Every time I would attempt to pray or worship, I always felt guilty and thought God was mad at me for not being good enough. Because of this feeling of guilt, I would go through seasons of being mad at God for his perceived anger at me. “Why do you make it so hard to know you?!” I would often cry out. It seemed as though God was hiding himself from me in a dark cloud.
It wasn’t until CORE Camp at Uplands Reach that the pieces came together in my mind about what was truly going on in my heart. Reverend Neal was preaching to the campers about true repentance and faith in Jesus Christ. I sat stoically in the back of the gym as he talked, glad that all the campers were hearing the Gospel, but not letting it sink into my own heart...until...
What was that? I felt a tug at my own heart. I tried to push it away, “this message isn’t for me!” I thought. “I’m a Christian and have been a long time. I mean, look at my life.” My prideful thoughts hindered my response that morning. I even prayed with campers who were excepting Christ. But all the while, my heart felt heavy within me and doubts flooded my mind. Did I truly understand salvation? I didn’t even know anymore.
That night as I talked to my husband Jake about my doubts and fears concerning my personal salvation, I was hoping that he would just shrug them off and tell me I was worrying too much – “Of course you are saved!” I wanted him to say. But, being the Godly man that he is, he questioned me further. “Read the book of Romans,” he encouraged me, “that’s the book that taught me what Salvation really is.”
I poured myself into Romans. I underlined and highlighted; I wrote notes in the margins; I discussed confusing passages with Jake. But one tension remained in my soul that chewed at my heart and kept me awake at night: what about all the good things that I had done all my life? Didn’t they count for something? That whole time I truly thought I was giving my whole heart to the service of God. Did all that time and service count for anything?
God answered my question in Romans 10:2-3, “For I bear [the Jews] witness that they have a zeal for God, but not according to knowledge. For being ignorant of the righteousness of God, and seeking to establish their own, they did not submit to God’s righteousness.”
If ever a verse was speaking to me, it was that one. In all my growing up years and beyond, my zeal for God was great. I would have done anything to prove that I loved him. What I didn’t understand was that my salvation isn’t dependent on my zeal or desire to please God. The only thing my salvation is dependent on is the work that Christ did on the cross for me. Nothing that I can do can make me good enough – it is only though Christ that I am made acceptable.
This realization drove me to my knees in repentance and acceptance of Christ’s cleansing blood to wash me clean. I can now enter his throne room knowing that God isn’t mad at me – for he sees a princess clothed in pure white robes; robes made white by the blood of his one and only Son.
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