Friendship Bridge // Bluebonnets // Relationships
A year ago, I would have thought that quiet times were a good idea, but I never would have done it. A year
ago, I
was still a baby Christian. I had been a Christian for almost thirteen
years
and I was still a baby Christian. My spiritual growth was nonexistent,
my faith
my weak, my prayer time was minimal, my religion was not really my own,
and my
love for the creator was something I didn't even know I needed. I was
the spitting image of a "good" Christian. A year ago my Bible used to
sit, unread, on the shelf next to my bed. The only time I would lift it
would be to carry it to church. Sure, occasionally, I'd feel like
reading it and I would feel really religious about it. I go the
spiritual highs from camp and felt the need to do daily devotions for a
week or so. I begged God to challenge me and I didn't understand why I
wasn't growing. I felt like a good Christian, but I wasn't in a
relationship with Christ. I went to Bible camp every summer. I had never
been kissed. I didn't curse, drink, party, do drugs, or hang out with
the wrong crowd. I was righteous when all I needed to be was redeemed.
Paul tells the Galatians, "You
who are trying to be justified by the law have been alienated from
Christ; you have fallen away from grace." (5:4). I was walking in the
law and not by faith.
I was seeking religion, instead of seeking faith. I was the Christian version of an adrenaline junkie. I sought the spiritual highs and didn't seek God during the spiritual lows. For years after camp and being saved, my soul yearned for God as I continually ran from Him. I sought every satisfaction, but Him. I found happiness, but little joy. A salvation founded on fear, kindled by guilt, and upheld by emotional highs, I often questioned my sanctification. When the emotions ran low and the guilt ran high, I would not question the veracity of Christianity, but the reality of my personal faith. I would pray to be challenged, but even after ten years in Christ, I was not as strong as some baby believers. My faith and moral standards would have crumbled under the pressure of trials. I have only really gone to two churches my entire life: Hill Country Community Church and Lake Murray Community Church. The summer before my freshmen year we went 'church shopping' and it was hard to leave the only church I knew. I fell in love with Journey Community Church, but my father didn't like it. He liked Lake Murray Community Church and so we went there. He sometimes comes with us, but not like he did to Hill Country. As I started high school, I also started a new church. I found the right crowd at school fairly quickly, but I hated my church. It wasn't until the summer before my senior year that I really fell in love with the church, but by then it was too late to really do much. I wasn't involved in my church and sought spiritual nourishment only once a year, then wondered why I wasn't growing.
It took falling from my pedestal to see that my faith was hallow and built on little more than my salvation. I had not grown past seeing God as the big guy up in the sky who saved me from hell. I still saw him as my Savior, but I didn't not see Him as someone who wanted my love or someone I could love. I completely crumbled one day. It was late October and I hadn't prayed in a while and though I read my Bible with some regularity, I was not opening my spirit to Him. It was late October and I sat wrapped in a thin blanket in the middle of a very cold night listening to another boy yell at me for screwing everything up. It was late October and I took a vow of silence because I had ignored His voice for so long. It was late October and I came back to Christ, not proudly as I had so often come before Him, but humbled with weight of the mistakes I had made. It was a journey, a fight that is not over. It was easy to fall into temptation, but crawling out of the hole I dug is a lot harder.
It may have taken a rough first semester and I suppose I did not really need to go through that, but I am a stronger Christian because of it. My strength is not my own. I do not claim to resist temptation because I had the strength to do it; it takes a love for my creator. It takes prayer every morning before I open my eyes. It takes reading my Bible before I get out of bed. It takes prayer before I hang out with a boy so I do not do something that is not glorifying to God. It takes serious quiet times in the afternoon. It takes regular fasting. It takes work. I am not a perfect Christian, I am far from it. I mess up. I forget to do my daily quiet time and I forget to pray as much as I should. Sometimes I seek affirmation and advice from others instead of seeking wisdom and love from God. I'm still learning and growing. I'm almost positive that if I were not at Houston Baptist, I would not have grown in my faith.
Today, I methodically grabbed my picnic quilt and my purse, filled with books and headphones, journals and pens, blank paper and my laptop. Friendship Bridge is traditionally the DTR place. The twenty-something college student with heads full of hormones and idle and hands sit on wood composite benches and benches of stone talking about the future as if they hold it in their hands. I come out here alone and lay my quilt out among a field of bluebonnets. The fountains are on in the pond or bayou (some small body of, perhaps flowing, water) below the bridge and so I hold out on my Pandora station of Classical music or Indie Worship music in order to hear the voice of God. The sun tickles the nape of my neck and the backside of my thighs. Wind plays at the hem of my dress, a bad decision to wear outside, but I didn't realize the wind was this strong. A couple, laughing quietly to themselves, in their own bubble, passes me on the gravel path that encompasses the water and the bluebonnets. I come out to Friendship bridge seeking a relationship. I call my time out in the bluebonnets "dates". Though I appear alone, He is with me. I read His love letter and I close my eyes, listening for His voice. Developing this relationship has been one of the most satisfying parts of being at Houston Baptist.
Being fully satisfied in God is a struggle for me because I jump at anything that glimmers, even if it's a knife. I am attracted to the pursuit, but learned to be still and be pursued. This relationship that I am developing with God, my creator, is what will create the love I share with my future husband. This relationship, falling in love with my creator, will be the template for the love that I have towards everyone else in my life. Without perfect love, what good is any other love?
I was seeking religion, instead of seeking faith. I was the Christian version of an adrenaline junkie. I sought the spiritual highs and didn't seek God during the spiritual lows. For years after camp and being saved, my soul yearned for God as I continually ran from Him. I sought every satisfaction, but Him. I found happiness, but little joy. A salvation founded on fear, kindled by guilt, and upheld by emotional highs, I often questioned my sanctification. When the emotions ran low and the guilt ran high, I would not question the veracity of Christianity, but the reality of my personal faith. I would pray to be challenged, but even after ten years in Christ, I was not as strong as some baby believers. My faith and moral standards would have crumbled under the pressure of trials. I have only really gone to two churches my entire life: Hill Country Community Church and Lake Murray Community Church. The summer before my freshmen year we went 'church shopping' and it was hard to leave the only church I knew. I fell in love with Journey Community Church, but my father didn't like it. He liked Lake Murray Community Church and so we went there. He sometimes comes with us, but not like he did to Hill Country. As I started high school, I also started a new church. I found the right crowd at school fairly quickly, but I hated my church. It wasn't until the summer before my senior year that I really fell in love with the church, but by then it was too late to really do much. I wasn't involved in my church and sought spiritual nourishment only once a year, then wondered why I wasn't growing.
It took falling from my pedestal to see that my faith was hallow and built on little more than my salvation. I had not grown past seeing God as the big guy up in the sky who saved me from hell. I still saw him as my Savior, but I didn't not see Him as someone who wanted my love or someone I could love. I completely crumbled one day. It was late October and I hadn't prayed in a while and though I read my Bible with some regularity, I was not opening my spirit to Him. It was late October and I sat wrapped in a thin blanket in the middle of a very cold night listening to another boy yell at me for screwing everything up. It was late October and I took a vow of silence because I had ignored His voice for so long. It was late October and I came back to Christ, not proudly as I had so often come before Him, but humbled with weight of the mistakes I had made. It was a journey, a fight that is not over. It was easy to fall into temptation, but crawling out of the hole I dug is a lot harder.
It may have taken a rough first semester and I suppose I did not really need to go through that, but I am a stronger Christian because of it. My strength is not my own. I do not claim to resist temptation because I had the strength to do it; it takes a love for my creator. It takes prayer every morning before I open my eyes. It takes reading my Bible before I get out of bed. It takes prayer before I hang out with a boy so I do not do something that is not glorifying to God. It takes serious quiet times in the afternoon. It takes regular fasting. It takes work. I am not a perfect Christian, I am far from it. I mess up. I forget to do my daily quiet time and I forget to pray as much as I should. Sometimes I seek affirmation and advice from others instead of seeking wisdom and love from God. I'm still learning and growing. I'm almost positive that if I were not at Houston Baptist, I would not have grown in my faith.
Today, I methodically grabbed my picnic quilt and my purse, filled with books and headphones, journals and pens, blank paper and my laptop. Friendship Bridge is traditionally the DTR place. The twenty-something college student with heads full of hormones and idle and hands sit on wood composite benches and benches of stone talking about the future as if they hold it in their hands. I come out here alone and lay my quilt out among a field of bluebonnets. The fountains are on in the pond or bayou (some small body of, perhaps flowing, water) below the bridge and so I hold out on my Pandora station of Classical music or Indie Worship music in order to hear the voice of God. The sun tickles the nape of my neck and the backside of my thighs. Wind plays at the hem of my dress, a bad decision to wear outside, but I didn't realize the wind was this strong. A couple, laughing quietly to themselves, in their own bubble, passes me on the gravel path that encompasses the water and the bluebonnets. I come out to Friendship bridge seeking a relationship. I call my time out in the bluebonnets "dates". Though I appear alone, He is with me. I read His love letter and I close my eyes, listening for His voice. Developing this relationship has been one of the most satisfying parts of being at Houston Baptist.
Being fully satisfied in God is a struggle for me because I jump at anything that glimmers, even if it's a knife. I am attracted to the pursuit, but learned to be still and be pursued. This relationship that I am developing with God, my creator, is what will create the love I share with my future husband. This relationship, falling in love with my creator, will be the template for the love that I have towards everyone else in my life. Without perfect love, what good is any other love?
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