My Story--part 1

Recently I promised an entry about going back to my home church. As I began to write, I realized that in order to avoid background tangents, I should share the history of my walk. My testimony. This might take a few separate entries, so bear with me.

I am what you might call a “Cradle Christian.” Simply put, I do not remember a time when I was unsaved. I do, however, distinctly remember a time when at 4 or 5 years old I was asked when I accepted Christ and I replied that I did it when I was 2.

My early church years were at a Missionary Alliance Church in Veneta, OR. I still know nothing about the theology of that church, just that I liked going and they were really good at missionary weeks. I still remember that you can tell the difference between an African elephant and an Asian elephant by how many toes they have.

At 9 years old we moved 30 minutes away to Eugene where my father worked. I transferred to Willamette Christian School (Assembly of God-affiliated). It was through my 5th grade oh-so-pentecostal teacher that I discovered the Holy Spirit’s role in my life and the joy of studying God’s word beyond just reading it for the nice stories.

We began attending First Baptist Church after we moved. I was baptized that year. At chuch, I got involved in everything I could—Awana, Camp Harlow, Student Leadership, even the handbell choir. The church was blessed with a large library and after Awana on Wednesday nights I would load up with Christian fiction (I loved Grace Livingston Hill) and generally have them read by Friday.

Church surrounded me with Godly people who mentored me in my Christian walk. I met my husband there (though at age 10 I wasn’t really looking for a life partner yet). I traveled on student missions trips to Mexico which I discovered minister more to the students going than to the people to whom we were supposed to minister. My closest friends in high school were friends from church. We studied and grew together. However, one by one, they fell away….to be continued.