My Story of Spiritual Growth

7 years ago, I was an awkward freshman in college. I stepped into Trinity’s dim candlelit seeming room and secured a seat on the far right hand corner—safely two seats away from any other church-goer—or worse—a possible congregant.

I was scared. I was scared of being found out—that I wasn’t a Christian—or that I wasn’t sure if I was or wasn’t. Which was worse? I couldn’t make up my mind. I was terrified that somehow “they” would find out that I didn’t belong, that I didn’t know anyone there, and had no business showing up. I mean especially if I told them what was going on in my heart , in my life, and in my mind…what a mess. They’d surely keep away when I lingered self-consciously by the coffee pot for 5 minutes—and skidding out after standing there just long enough to feel that my cover had been blown. They knew I wasn’t waiting for anyone, that I didn’t have business—personal or otherwise being there. That was my head. My very 18 year-old self-centered, scared, and skittish brain.

Needless to say, I didn’t talk to anyone at church; with the exception of a few conversations that I over-analyzed and nervously distanced myself from. I can’t explain why I was so frightened or scared, I just know that I was. I was terrified of Trinity—partly because I realized how much I loved it—how much I looked forward to it every week. The only thing I hated about Trinity, was the fact that I felt that I needed it. I needed something from which they were talking.

The first 1 ½ of attending, I wrestled with what I know now was God. Those sermons early on would move me to react with tears, heart-break, conviction, and a desire to know Jesus more. At first, I thought I could play the part, say the right things and do the right things to convince God that I was worth it. I would volunteer at a Lazarus event, I would volunteer at my University, I would do anything I could to make God happy—except spend time with him. I dealt with a heavy heart and a lot of guilt, and it all came out in a lone seat on the far right side in the far back corner of Trinity. I couldn’t dash out fast enough with my mascara stained cheeks, looking down to not make eye contact.

Why was I so troubled? Well, I can look back now and see how it was related to me frustration on why my efforts and works to ascertain faith weren’t adding up and didn’t get me to God. I knew Jesus, I knew that I needed him, I had even accepted him into my life. But after all of that, I couldn’t accept that I would never be able to do it right, to get myself clean on my own, to earn God’s love and acceptance. In other words, I didn’t get grace—I just got the part that I was messed up and needed help—a lot of it.

I was told by a someone once, that different people grasp either the fact they are a mess and in need, or the fact that they need grace and it must be given freely and cannot ever be earned. I lived in the latter and couldn’t seem to connect the dots.

God did not give up on me, though as I edged toward graduation and the completion of college I was hiding more than ever. During this time, things got worse before they got better. I was in a serious car accident and was shaken up pretty bad, my mom was helping me tie my shoes, I was living back at home watching Bravo TV during my days, a pretty serious and long term relationship ended, and I felt more alone than ever. I couldn’t do any of the activities that normally made me feel like I was connecting to God—I was frustrated and pretty broken. As I opened my Bible to pray I would try to make sense of life and come up with some profound interpretation—God was teaching me something right? But instead, the Bible felt cold in my hands and the words read like trepid text. I wish I could say that was the end of this struggle, but it was just a chapter in a life long area I am trying to grow in.

But there I was…all I could think is “This is what you get”. I never tried to build relationships at my church and now here I was needing help and struggling—what was I going to do now? The idea of telling anyone or asking for help of any kind was out of the question.

To take a few steps backward, before I had gone through the above life altering events and my plans and terms of my faith had been thwarted, I had agreed to move into Vine City with two roommates. To say the least, I was excited, nervous, and afraid of myself, and the neighborhood. I lacked direction of any kind, and would be finishing school to face the question “What now?”I moved in and was thankful to be able to throw myself into a new place and a new home. I was also very starved for social interaction with someone other than a Housewife from Orange County. I needed a community and after feeling so lonely I couldn’t continue to live life without some real community. I had to face my fear—talk to people at church.

So I did, kind of. Instead of starting in the walls of Trinity—I started on Sunset Avenue. I walked to Drew and Diane’s house that following Sunday going over in my mind how I would say hello at the door. I wanted to be cool and not be too excited because it might scare them away. I came to my first ever pancake breakfast and remember feeling the weight in my legs and adrenaline in my chest as I climbed their stairs to the door.

All I could think after coming home from church was, “That was actually really fun”. Then a few weeks later I went on some runs with Diane and we started to get to know each other. I was back peddling in my mind, “Wait, I think I have made some friends at church?!” As I went to church each Sunday with kids in my car—I found myself introducing myself to people, carrying on conversations, and I wasn’t afraid of the coffee pot anymore (at least most of the time).

At the same time, my reaction to church was changing too. The looming tears were still often there, I mean I am pretty emotional, but I experienced moments of thankfulness, gratitude, and joy. That was new to the norm of feeling constantly broken. This is not to say that all of a sudden I worked through all these emotional lows well. I still grapple with nervousness to talk to people, my brokenness, and uncertainty about the future.

In the midst of this time, I had a memorable conversation with a homelessman while I was at school. I had an extra cookie and we were sitting there enjoying our cookies with each other. Over the course of sweet bites we shared a bit about who we were and where we were from. Then he started to talk about how he felt that “Atlanta healed him”, how it was changing him as a person, and how was grateful to God for this City and a new environment. I was really moved by his words, and just felt heavy on my heart that Vine City had healed me, doing what Atlanta, had done for him.

I had planned to move to Vine City with motives and hopes to “enact justice and change”; and yet another failed effort to earn my way into a relationship with God. But in reality, I arrived there a very heart-broken and fragile person and at a low point in my faith and personal life. For me, I have received more than I have given, I have learned how to build relationships, talk to people at church and on my street, to be honest about my brokenness, but also be able to embrace joy while feeling grateful.

My faith has taken many shapes here, and right now I am in a season of immense thankfulness. Since living here I have realized that God continues to heal me through the community and relationships that he was authored and blessed me with in my life. It is in these connections that I have my people have given me advice on dating and pre-marital counseling, helped me grieve the loss of my brother, walk with me as I grappled with almost losing my faith, laugh and pray at Big Girls and Little Girls Bible Studies, visited the hospital to see newborn babies, celebrated birthdays, holidays, basketball championships, graduations, neighborhood events, and soon to be a wedding. God has used Vine City and it’s people to change me, to help me work on my life long battle to understand and accept his grace; and the courage to face up to my brokenness.

I stood in church a couple Sundays ago, compelled to write this, to write my story. The story that although sometimes I feel like a loser for living in the same city, attending the same church, and going to the same school for over 7 years—I feel blessed. Blessed to see the church grow, to see a youth group form and new kids come and be baptized. To see people have babies, to see grandparents, parents, college students, artists with tattoos and accounts with pocket squares attend our church (not to say accountants don't have tattoos).

I was listening to Kris speak that particular Sunday and was so grateful that I could hear him share that sermon, because somehow I was proud. Proud to hear him preach, to say I was a member at Trinity, proud to say that I have been able to see the church grow, change, and age—just like me.

So although, at times I feel a little self-conscious that people have seen me at such lows in life, in my adolescent 20s; and I often wish I could press the restart button a lot and go backward and erase my transgressions and foolishness from their memory, especially the times they saw me ugly cry. But on days like today, I just find myself entrenched in gratitude, hope, and confidence that God is and continues to use Trinity and community to bring healing to my life and the lives of others.

-Cheryl