Wacky Christian

     How would you describe yourself in two words? I have been officially dubbed "wacky Christian", and I love it. Recently, I stumbled through a conversation with an individual about the similarities and differences between various religions. Bound by the social niceties of polite dinner conversation, I listened attentively, offered a few comments, but never really touched a nerve, the kind of questions that burn inside me, aching to get out.
     How do you know what God is like, really? Why did God make you? Do you know where you will go when you die? Who is Jesus Christ, and what impact should He have on you? I can think of nothing more important than knowing the answers to these questions. Better late than never, I want to spill over now with the passion that drives me, how God answered these questions in my life, and why I will never be the same.
     My childhood was saturated in God talk. God sees you. God loves you. God sent His Son to die for you. All of these statements had Bible verses around them, and I memorized them and got my little Sunday school awards for doing so. To me, these were facts just as much as the earth is round and the stove will burn you. Although I accepted these words as true, they didn't make a whole lot of difference in my existence. The older I became, the more my parents and Sunday school teachers emphasized that sin was displeasing God, and I was a sinner. Knowing my propensity for screaming at bedtime, sitting on my brother, and sassing off to my mother, I wasn't inclined to argue the point. So what? I quickly learned that my sin had consequences, painful at times, yet my reputation as a cheeky, repeat offender clearly demonstrated that I had no concept of repentance, or turning from my sin.
    One Christmas season, my mother, a diligent soprano in the church choir, wore out the audio soundtrack for the upcoming Christmas cantata. Although she was learning the song lyrics, I was learning the story of God's plan for my life. As I listened to this tape, it finally clicked that God made me, the sassy, pain-in-the-neck kid, loved me, even more than my earthly parents, and that I hurt Him every time I disobeyed what He wanted me to do. For the first time, my mind wrapped around the fact that my sin deserved more than a swat on the bottom; it deserved eternal judgment in hell. To me the coolest realization was that God didn't want that for me, anymore than I wanted it for myself. He sent His Son, Jesus Christ, the perfect God-man to live a perfect life, doing all the things right that I always messed up. To my horror, it hit me that this perfect man, the one that everyone should have loved, was condemned to die a bloody death on a cross, because of me. True, I had heard these words many times, but God chose to impress on my heart that Christ died for my sin, and I had a decision to make.
   Would I trust that His punishment was enough, and that I was offered a free gift of forgiveness, or would I try to live a good life and make it on my own? Didn't have to think about that one too long-I knew what I could do, and perfection was definitely not an option. Did I get the whole Bible? Nope. Did I immediately become a saint? Just ask my brother. Did Christ clean me up, replace my sin with forgiveness, assurance of a home in heaven, and a burning desire to know my God? Definitely yes.
    Accepting Christ was only the first step, as this baby Christian learned to walk. I knew I needed to read all about God in the Bible and figure out what He liked and how I was supposed to live. Did I get my act all together and do everything right? Hardly. Do I know with 100% clarity that the second I take my last breath, I will be in heaven with Him? Yep. Do I know that my God created everything about me, loves me completely, absolutely, adopted me into His family, and has a plan to use me? For sure. Does knowing Jesus Christ change how I live, think, act? Well, yeah. Knowing Him, following Him is all that matters in my life.
    So, am I a wacky Christian? You betcha.