Father's Day

Father’s Day. It's a tricky day for me - a stark and cruel reminder, year after year, that I am unwanted.

I didn’t have a dad. Of course, I have a biological father, as we all do, but I don’t know or see him. It’s a mutual decision but, much as I deny it, it doesn’t make it hurt any less. My mum has been a wonderful parent but there was no mistaking the void I felt when my school friends would share stories about their dads, and the girls in my Brownie pack would spend weeks perfecting their Father’s Day crafts, pouring their heart and soul into every little pencil line. I would join in because, well, what else would I be doing?

I had a step-dad as a young child, but the less said about him, the better. No, my gifts were reserved for one man; my hero and the first man I ever loved – my Grandad. He is one of my most favourite people in all the world and there was nowhere I felt safer than nestled into his lap. Even now, twenty years after he gave them up, the smell of pipe tobacco instantly comforts me. Some of my best memories have been with my Grandad and I am so incredibly grateful and blessed to have and to have had his love and support throughout my life.

My husband is a fantastic father to our three small children but even this is something I’ve struggled with a little. Growing up without a father figure in my daily home life, I didn’t know how to navigate a two-parent dynamic; my Mum had been two parents in one and I was so used to seeing her juggling everything that I didn’t know how to split the role or ask for help. I struggled with relinquishing control and partnering in decision-making and parenting style. I feel fortunate that he is very patient and understanding with me and we navigate this path together – and hopefully we do it well!

I’m proud to say that I do have a wonderful step-dad now. He’s everything I could have hoped for, even if I had to wait twenty years to get him! There’s something about the decision to take on another man’s child (and a broken, adult one, at that) and choose to love her as your own. I can’t quite wrap my head around it, but I’m so grateful that he can, and does!

The truth is that we have all experienced this selfless love to an even greater degree when we became sons and daughters of the Father. In fact, we are given such an assurance that we are His beloved children, that we are encouraged to come boldly to Him and cry out to Him, calling Him “Abba!” – the very same name that Jesus Himself used for Him. For you have not received a spirit of slavery leading to fear again, but you have received a spirit of adoption as sons and daughters by which we cry out, “Abba! Father!” – Romans 8:15  

My story isn’t unusual. In 2019 the Office for National Statistics declared that 2.9 million families in the UK were lone-parent families. Many children today will be honouring their grandfathers, uncles, brothers, stepdads, single mums, and perhaps just as many will be feeling unloved and unwanted, fatherless and ashamed.

Psalm 68:5 calls God “A Father to the Fatherless” and that’s exactly who He is. Nobody is ever truly fatherless when we are adopted into God’s family. See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are! – 1 John 3:1  

I might not have had a biological dad who wanted me but I have a Father in heaven who chose me, and who blessed me with kind and generous men who love me because they want to, and not because my DNA dictates that they should. I would argue that that’s even better.

Father’s Day. It's a tricky day for me - a beautiful and poignant reminder, year after year, that I am wanted.

Eunice & Timothy - A Mother's Day Reflection

I was asked by my church to share a reflection for Mother's Day, focusing on a New Testament character. 

Eunice & Timothy

Ever since I was a child myself, I have held a very strong conviction that my reason for being here on this earth is to be a mother; to raise my children as disciples for the glory and kingdom of God. I’ve been planning and preparing for my “one-day children” for as long as I can remember, even so far as choosing my degree so that I could better understand their development, and praying for them before they were ever conceived. I even named them and made them an email address, years before they were conceived so that I could start sharing my hopes and prayers for them, stories and photos from my pregnancy and their early years.

There are many examples of wonderful women and mothers in the Bible, but one who seems to share my passionate convictions about the responsibility of motherhood is Eunice. You would be forgiven for needing a reminder of who Eunice is. She, along with her own mother, Lois, was only named once in the whole Bible; the mother of Timothy in the New Testament. “I am reminded of your sincere faith, a faith that dwelt first in your grandmother Lois and your mother Eunice and now, I am sure, dwells in you as well.” - 2 Timothy 1:5

Another parallel I am able to draw between myself and Eunice is that we are both believing mothers with an unbelieving husband, “Paul came also to Derbe and to Lystra. A disciple was there, named Timothy, the son of a Jewish woman who was a believer, but his father was a Greek.” (Acts 16:1). Just like my own three children, Timothy is the product of a believing mother and an unbelieving father. Just as my own children receive their biblical instruction from me, so Timothy is said to have learned scriptures from his mother: “But as for you, continue in what you have learned and have firmly believed, knowing from whom you learned it and how from childhood you have been acquainted with the sacred writings, which are able to make you wise for salvation through faith in Christ Jesus.” - 2 Timothy 3:14-15.

In his New Testament Notes, Albert Barnes said about Eunice that she, “The mother of Timothy was a pious Hebrewess, and regarded it as one of the duties of her religion to train her son in the careful knowledge of the word of God.” (From "The Second Epistle of Paul To Timothy” - Chapter 3 - Verse 15). She was obviously well versed in the Jewish scriptures and took to heart the instructions found in Deuteronomy 6:6-7 and Proverbs 22:6, instilling the ways of the Lord in the heart and mind of her young child, that he might know and walk in them all the days of his life. This is a wise instruction for parents of any era, and something I try to remember in the upbringing of my children, with the hope that they too will go on to walk in the Lord’s will even as they grow into adulthood and, the Lord willing, become parents themselves.

Eunice’s hard work seems to have paid off; Timothy went on to lead the church and make his mark on history as the first Christian bishop in Ephesus. This leads us to consider not only the effects that our obedience to these scriptures can have on our own offspring, but also the greater effects as they cascade throughout the future generations, the so-called “ripple effect”. Sometimes I worry that my meagre teaching isn’t enough. I humbly offer Bible stories and praise songs to my children in the hope that they will be interested and that a seed might plant itself in their hearts. I so desperately want them to choose the narrow path, but it is a daunting task alone.

I often wonder if Eunice’s unbelieving husband was supportive of her faith, perhaps he just didn’t accept it at the time but later came to salvation through observing the effects on his family (1 Corinthians 7:12-16 is my prayer!) I can’t imagine how difficult it must have been for her if she had to contend with and battle him on every decision. We know that Timothy was uncircumcised, which is strange considering that the tradition was for children to be brought up in their mother’s faith, so I wonder how that discussion must have gone. I am grateful that my own husband supports, even if he does not share, my beliefs, but with that said, I do find myself envying those families who have both a believing mother and father; who can share the burden of responsibility and spend time enjoying the word of God together, but then I am reminded of Eunice, and I think that if the Lord blessed her with the task of raising up one of the most prominent men in early church history, even in spite of her circumstances, then with the Lord as my strength and my song (Exodus 15:2), I can walk this path, too!

How Did I Get Here?

I have always said that I don’t have a testimony. I grew up in church from the age of two and there was never a time that I didn’t know God. I don’t have a life-changing revelation or epiphany to share, and I was always a little envious of those who did. My testimony might not be the immediate, exciting event of some other Christians, but I do have a testimony, and this is it.

 

I grew up in church and as a child I would proudly proclaim that I was a Christian. It was a very small community Baptist church in the UK, however when I was a young teenager, after some hurt from other members, my family moved to a Pentecostal church. I remember my first time there, they prayed for my mum and she fell to the ground and I ran outside in floods of tears, shouting, “you’ve killed my mum!” Some members of the youth came out and explained that she had been touched by the Holy Spirit. I didn’t know what that meant, and I was uncomfortable. The music was more exciting than our previous church and they had proper instruments: drums; electric and bass guitars; singers with microphones; even bongos. People freely danced all around the room and waved beautiful flags in a mesmerising pattern that I couldn’t avert my eyes from. Nevertheless, as I got older, I stopped attending.

 

I still called myself a Christian, believed in God, prayed occasionally, and upheld many of my morals and values, but it was very much in the background. As a teenager I had a significant interest in the occult. I had been searching online for ‘Witch’ schools, and, looking to understand some unexplained “supernatural” events through my childhood, I was very much interested in all things supernatural, but too scared to delve too deep in fear of God’s judgement.

 

I then found myself stuck in an abusive relationship with an unbeliever. Aged only 18, I had a mortgage and engagement ring, neither of which I wanted. I was afraid to leave him for many reasons, but mostly because I was afraid of what that would mean in terms of how God saw me – my virginity had been taken, it happened without my consent, but the fact remained that I wasn’t a virgin.  I felt that the Bible would consider us to be married and, in leaving the man that had “known” me, and potentially entering a different relationship in the future, I would be a sinner; an adulterer; an abomination to God. I felt like a prisoner with no way out.

 

I dug out my old Youth bible and started with Genesis. I wanted to read everything it said about premarital sex, and divorce, and being “unequally yoked”. I had so many questions and I wrote pages and pages of notes but when I got to Numbers, it all just seemed too much to digest and I gave up. I “Googled” my concerns and came across a Religion & Spirituality forum on Yahoo! Answers. I spent most of my days and evenings on the forum, asking and answering questions and participating in lively discussions. I developed a hunger to know more about this God that they were talking about, a very different God than the one I thought I knew in my mind. I began praying that He would show me He was real. I cried out to Him to show me His will in my situation, and to save me from the life I was living. I begged Him to revoke my free will and just have His way in my life. I believe that it was during this period that I became a Christian. I cried out to the Lord on my own, with my nose buried in the tear-soaked carpet, sobbing along to the only worship music I knew; Hillsong. I bought myself a new Bible and spoke to my mum about going back to church.

 

It was the summer of 2008 and the Pentecostal church we had attended a few years before were having revival meetings in the sports hall of the local college. I attended on Sunday evening with my mum and it was like nothing I had ever seen or experienced. The preacher was full of energy. He was jumping and shouting “FIRE!”, walking up and down the rows, touching people on their heads and blowing on them, causing them to visibly shake as if they had been electrocuted. I didn’t understand what was happening but I wanted to feel what they felt. There was some kind of cool-down time where the band were invited back to tinkle on the piano keys and play softly in the background, and the preacher started talking in a gentler way, inviting a response.

 

I was crying. I don’t think it was a spiritual response like they were trying to illicit, but I was called up to the front and he prayed for me. I was nervous, and probably trembling which they took as a work of the Holy Spirit. His hand was on top of my head and I stumbled a little. While I was trying to regain my footing, he whispered, “It’s ok, babe” and while I wouldn’t say he pushed me, I definitely felt led to the ground. They put a tablecloth over me and carried on and I was laying there on the floor wondering how long I was supposed to stay there. What was supposed to be happening? Was this where God would talk to me or touch me somehow? Should I close my eyes or keep them open? Nothing really changed but I was led to believe that this was the ‘done thing’. It was the way in which the Holy Spirit worked in you. If you wanted to feel God’s presence or be a real Christian, this was what you had to do.

 

It’s worth noting that during my time in this particular church, I have definitely experienced, both personally, and by observing other people, the altar-call respondent being physically pushed to the ground. They do it gently and in a way that’s not obvious; a strong open hand on the top of your head, bending down to touch your feet – naturally you’re inclined to follow them, or a hand on each shoulder with the “catcher” grasping your elbows from behind, sometimes a whole arm around your shoulders and a palm on your chest, with a soothing rock back and forth whilst praying passionately, often followed by a jab to the diaphragm as they pray for the “rivers of living waters” to come flowing from our “innermost being”.

 

October 2008, the day before my 20^th birthday, I was attending an evening meeting back at the regular church and felt that I should be baptised. That was the ‘done thing’, right? The proof that you’re a Christian? I approached one of the elders who had been preaching, and he asked me if I was a Christian. Now, as I have mentioned above, I considered myself Christian for years but I had never specifically prayed “The Prayer”; the “becoming a Christian” prayer. In fact, I had avoided even reading it in fear of taking some kind of eternal oath before I was “ready”. Whatever that means. He led me in the sinner’s prayer, instructing me to repeat after him, line by line. He then led me to the Pastor and registered my interest in being in the next baptismal service.

 

A couple of months later I found the strength to leave my abusive situation, once and for all. I moved back home to my parents’ house and, in an effort to be as close to God as possible, believing that the only place I felt at peace was church, I started attending the Saturday morning prayer meetings.

 

In this interim, I reconnected with an old schoolfriend and we quickly became inseparable. He was also an unbeliever but I made exceptions because he was supportive and kind and seemed interested, or at least respectful of my faith. I figured it was only a matter of time and perhaps I could bring him to know God if he would come to church with me enough (spoiler alert: this was twelve years ago. We’ve been married for almost 7 years and have three children together. He’s still an unbeliever. I continue to pray for his salvation.)

 

I was baptised in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit in February 2009. It was an evening meeting and there were around 7 or 8 of us being baptised. I still didn’t feel any different and I didn’t receive the gift of tongues which was seemingly the sign of being saved. The belief was that in order to demonstrate that one was truly saved and had been baptised in the power of the Holy Spirit, they must speak in tongues, it was almost a requirement. I prayed for a baptism in the Spirit and begged the Lord to give me the gift of tongues so that I could be a real Christian. I was given a copy of The Supernatural Ways of Royalty by Bill Johnson and Kris Vallotten, apparently all the youth had been given a copy, and I was in that odd stage between youth/adult but as they told me I was a “baby Christian” and needed to be “milk fed”, I must have qualified. I read it immediately and although there were a few parts I struggled with, I was left feeling optimistic that I was better than other people – the “paupers” – because I was a child of the King; I had rights and privileges as a beloved daughter of God (I no longer have the book, unfortunately, but it was something about arguing with God about what we want and, sort of advocating for ourselves until He changes His mind. Because we’re His children and we can do that, according to them).

 

My mum and I were then invited to attend an Alpha course. It was wonderful and I really enjoyed it. There was a group of around 10 of us and when we completed the course, we weren’t ready to stop our Wednesday night meetings so we continued for a while and started working through a second-stage Alpha course, until the leadership team told us that we weren’t allowed unless we became a “Connect” group, discussing pre-approved and selected topics, which wasn’t what we wanted.

 

On our last meeting we were joined by a woman who was beloved by the church and who told us that we would all go home that evening having been baptised in the Holy Spirit and received the gift of tongues. One by one we were taken into a small upstairs room and prayed over quite aggressively until we were "baptised with the Holy Spirit" and received the gift of tongues. The lady kept telling me to make sounds, “just babble until you get a word”. I felt intimidated and uncomfortable and they weren't stopping so I'm pretty sure I just blurted out a random nonsense word over and over until they were satisfied and declared that we had all been given the "gift of tongues". We were sent home and told to "practice" our new word.

 

I’m sceptical by nature, and I like to analyse everything. I wasn’t convinced that I had received the gift of tongues but I tried to practice and develop them. I was advised that the more I practiced, the more words would come. I felt like I was blaspheming in some way, or at least mocking or disrespecting God. I confided with a couple of women that I was worried I had made it up and I was just speaking gobbledegook. They laughed and said, “No, of course it’s real. That’s your heavenly language. You just need to practice it”. So, then I worried that in not believing it, I was also grieving or blaspheming the Holy Spirit. It was a no-win situation.

 

In church the “prophetic messages” in tongues came thick and fast. Everyone seemed to be doing it, and I struggled to believe it was real. I found myself trying to test other people’s tongues, for instance, occasionally I picked upon the odd word which sounded like a familiar Spanish word, and I waited to hear if the interpretation included the word I had recognised. Sometimes the “message” was very short but the interpretation went on for several minutes. Other times there was no interpretation and I wondered how that fit in with 1 Corinthians 14:28 “But if there is no one to interpret, let each of them keep silent in church and speak to himself and to God.” There were several things over the years which bothered me and I struggled to get on board with, but I rebuked myself for not being spiritual enough or not having enough faith. It didn’t occur to me to read my Bible and test all things because, as I had been told, I was still a young Christian (even when I was 30) and I was still learning. When I did raise a question, I was told that I was still thinking with the flesh or that we were under a new covenant, or that that was a religious or traditional thought and we didn’t need religion when we were Spirit-led. Some people feigned interest and gingerly took the pages and pages of notes and questions I had typed, and never returned with them, or any answers – I wish I’d kept a copy. Some people would give me a Bible verse to read instead of a straight answer, and I would still be none the wiser. Eventually, I stopped asking.

 

My natural inquisitive nature was beat out of me and replaced with an “If God wanted you to know, don’t you think He’d reveal it to you” mentality. Some things are not for us to know. I had always prided myself on my “different” outlook to my faith. I wasn’t the kind 0f person to blindly accept something just because I was told to by a person on a pulpit, or because others were doing it, too. I’ve always felt a conviction within myself and generally, if I followed that I was OK (some may call it the Holy Spirit’s conviction, others might call it a gut feeling – I don’t know). For example, I don’t drink – not because “I’m a Christian and I’m not allowed”, but because I just don’t enjoy it and don’t feel that it adds anything to my experience or life. Now, though, I wasn’t that person anymore. I wasn’t testing anything. I wasn’t researching anything and considering my own views. I was being told what to think, and what to do. I was being indoctrinated.

 

I looked around for new churches but I didn’t really know what I was looking for. I attended a couple of services at the Baptist church where I grew up, as we were still running a Brownie unit there and had to attend parade services, etc, but it was so different to what I had grown accustomed to.  There was no “fire”. The music was boring. Nobody danced. Nobody was touched by the Holy Spirit. I’m ashamed to say that I thought God had left the building.

 

The years went by and I remained in the Pentecostal church, stagnating on the back row with no spiritual growth. I put myself forward to serve in several areas but was pushed back – it was very much an “if your face fits” kind of place, and I wasn’t local so I didn’t socialise very much outside of church meetings and planned cleaning days, etc. Over the last few years of my attendance, the church went through several changes in leadership and members coming and going, with two or three significant “mass exodus” style events, for various reasons. I felt that I would be jumping on a bandwagon if I left because someone else did, or soon after, and I was waiting on God “leading” me to a new church, as I had been praying for His guidance on this for years by now. I suffered greatly with Hyperemesis in pregnancy and had three children in fairly quick succession, so I wasn’t able to attend church very much for a couple of years, and when I did force myself to go, I was too busy parenting a baby/toddler to actually pay attention to the teaching. Often, I would miss the meeting altogether or only stay for the, heavily CCM-inspired, worship and feel like I’d been there for the most important part, anyway.

 

In 2017 I had what I could only describe as a crisis of faith. My faith in God is, and always has been, unshakeable. I know that He is real and I have never doubted His sovereignty, His deity, His sacrifice or His love for me, however I experienced a huge loss and struggled to process it. A friend’s 18-month-old son was suddenly very seriously ill and I prayed my heart out for him. I prayed that the Lord would heal him and I reached out to some of my closest friends in the church. I truly believed that he would be healed. Unfortunately, he passed away and I couldn’t understand why. A month later my mum’s best friend who had been closer than family to me as I grew up; my second mum, suddenly had a major cardiac and respiratory arrest and passed away. We circled her bedside praying and hoping. I prayed so hard for her to wake up and promised God that I would do my best to lead her to Him if only He would let her live. I believed that He would save her, because it aligned with His will. I commanded it in Jesus’ name according to the way I had been taught in church; that way God had to act. I got angry and prayed, “I declare that she will be healed, RIGHT NOW, in Jesus’ name” over and over and I truly believed it. When we joined hands and circled her bed as they turned off the machines, I couldn’t breathe and had to step away. I couldn’t understand why God had not answered my prayer. I prayed exactly the same way that I had seen people pray in church and miracles happened. Was my faith not strong enough? Was there something I hadn’t repented for and God was punishing me? Was it my fault?  I felt so guilty.

 

I was reminded of the times I had prayed for other things, or had others pray for me, and never found the breakthrough they were declaring over me; never received the healing they promised. I remember being chastised for talking about my skin conditions and referring to them as “mine”. She said that in doing so I was claiming them, and that I would never be healed of something if I kept claiming it. “Our words are powerful”, they would say, and “God used words to speak creation into being”, I was afraid that if I said the wrong thing, I would be calling it into being and so I was constantly on edge with, “I’m sorry Lord, I didn’t mean that” always on the tip of my tongue, or imagining some kind of verbal re-wind where I would overwrite what I had just spoken into the world. I was constantly doubting myself. Sometimes we would be told that if our breakthrough wasn’t coming, we must have some kind of spiritual blockade, and to examine ourselves: did we have an unrepented sin? Did we have an unsolved issue with a brother or sister? Were our tithes up to date? We were strongly encouraged to give financially, almost as a requirement. This is another thing my husband struggled with. One of the stock phrases, after “The Lord will bless you tenfold!” was one that was often chanted altogether by the church, followed by a cheer, “A good measure, pressed down, shaken together, and running over” – from Luke 6:38, “The amount you give will determine the amount you receive.”

I stopped praying, other than a simple thanksgiving prayer every so often. I never prayed in intercession. I never offered to pray for anyone else. I never asked for a single thing, because He didn’t answer my prayers anyway so what was the point? I hardly ever read my Bible as it felt like a chore, and I remembered preachers saying that God could not be contained in a box, or a book, but that the Holy Spirit would be sufficient for us, so I sought the “Holy Spirit” when I should have been reading God’s word. I would listen to a playlist of my favourite worship songs – Bethel, Hillsong, Kari Jobe, Elevation – and think that that was enough (and I wonder why my husband never looked at me and thought, “Wow, I want some of that God she’s got!”)

 

March 2020 brought a national lockdown as a result of the Covid-19 pandemic. I had a valid excuse for not attending church and didn’t feel obligated to go. Along with millions of others looking for something to fill our days, I downloaded the Tik Tok app but soon became bored of the silly dances and challenges. One day I stumbled upon a community of Christian Tik Tok creators who would share scriptures, testimonies, and encouragement. I was in my element. It was like attending a hundred different churches in bite-sized, 60 second clips. I was encouraged and felt a hunger to understand God’s word like these other, much younger, people did. There was one video which stood out in particular, where a group of young people were going around the room, challenging each other to deliver the gospel in something like fifteen seconds, and it hit me that I didn’t know what the gospel was. I thought that the “gospel” was just the collective noun for the books of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. When I’d heard people talking about “preaching the gospel” I knew they were going to talk about Jesus and who He is, what He did, but I didn’t understand “The Gospel” in the way I should have, as a proclaiming Christian. I remember times when Jesus’ death and His atoning sacrifice, and His blood – Pentecostals are all about “praying the blood”, but it was always delivered as if it was about me and so that I could have a better life. That’s literally what I was told to believe. “Christ died that we may have life, and have it more abundantly” – a misrepresentation of John 10:10. Of course, I was taught about His sacrifice being an atonement for our sin, but the overriding take-away was that He did it that we might have a good life.

 

I decided to use the time to really read God’s word. I was introduced to the idea that Pentecostalism might not be biblically accurate, and that my reservations about the gifts of the Spirit, namely speaking in tongues as an evidence of being saved, might not have been unfounded. The truth is that I never really accepted the label of “Pentecostal”. I attended a Pentecostal church, yes, but I got married in, and had my children dedicated at, the Baptist church. I don’t think that I was ever fully convinced that I fit into this denomination anyway and so I kept on seeking. I discovered that some of my favourite worship musician and contemporary Christian artists were involved in what were largely considered to be heretical or unsound churches. Some of the preachers and pastors I had admired or been taught to admire for years were considered heretical, blasphemous, even involved in the occult. My mind was blown and I was in a very strange predicament of feeling dumbfounded and lost, but also feeling validated and free. I started looking into some of the claims I had heard and prayed for the Lord’s wisdom and guidance. I picked up my Bible and asked that God would speak to me and make clear the words which I had struggled to read and understand so many times before.

 

I wrote out a list of the things I was struggling with (you can read them here and here) and approached several people I trusted, to see if they could advise me. My main concerns were that of the “gift of tongues” as an expectation for every believer, which is blatantly unscriptural, and the act of being “drunk” in the Spirit, again, seemingly going against scripture and calling the Bible’s authority in to question. Nobody was able to reconcile these issues for me and so I decided to start from scratch. I began reading the Bible, slowly and deliberately. Really trying to understand each verse before moving on to the next. If I couldn’t find evidence for something in the word of God, I rejected it. Several books from my shelf went on the burn pile – I was afraid of passing them on or giving to charity, or even recycling in case they found their way to another impressionable or seeking young Christian and led them astray. I deleted my worship playlists and looked for biblically sound worship – this has been the hardest part; music is such a huge part of my daily life and my preferred way to offer praise to God. I find myself breaking into song throughout the day (much to my family’s dismay!) or trailing into worship songs in my prayer time. I’ve found it difficult to remove songs that were so ingrained in my mind; songs that I have always used in worshiping and glorifying God with a pure heart. I didn’t listen to any music at all for several months but have since created a playlist of hymns and biblically sound worship and I’m starting to be able to offer my worship to the Lord in this way again.

 

I reached out to the pastor of the Baptist church where I grew up. She has become a dear friend to my grandparents and always open and friendly toward my family and me. Although she has never been my pastor, and didn’t arrive at the Baptist church until long after my family left, she has always made herself available to me when I’ve needed support or advice. I approached her with my concerns and asked her if she was able to help me navigate them. She very graciously took me under her wing and shared some of her own testimony with me, inviting me to participate in their email services whilst I was lost and trying to find my own path. She recognised and called out my gifting for children’s work and invited me to share some crafts and other children’s activities to align with their Easter, and Father’s Day, and Pentecost services. I never thought in a million years that I would return to the “spiritually dead” Baptist church but I felt accepted and supported and I was enjoying being part of their family.

 

I prayed that the Lord would clearly show me the place where I could serve and learn and grow in Him, and I attended several online services from different churches across many denominations, and reached out to some pastors to share their vision or statement of faith with me, to see if it was somewhere I felt I could be a part of. I was struggling to find anywhere I felt that I fit. I was still serving the Baptist church by participating in their e-services more regularly. I prayed and asked the Lord to give me a sign if the Baptist church is where He willed for me to be. Immediately I felt convicted of my pridefulness and felt that I needed to repent, both to God and also to seek the forgiveness of the church for the thoughts I had had toward them. I’m a writer; I write lists and notes and poems. Writing is my outlet; it is the way that I un-muddle my mind and get my thoughts out so that I can work through them.  I started to bullet point my journey, and it quickly turned into something of an open letter to the church and I realised that I was referring to myself as a prodigal son who was prideful and went astray, and humbly asked for them to welcome me back home. It felt right. I didn’t think it was appropriate to email it out one dimensionally but Lockdown meant that there were no in-person meetings, so I recorded myself reading the letter and sent it to the Pastor for her to share. I really felt that I just needed to take a step of faith in that moment and immediately I felt at peace in my decision.

 

So, what now?

I spoke to the pastor of the Pentecostal church and he was gracious enough to respond to my concerns with a very detailed document, which I thanked him for. As far as I’m aware, there are no hard feelings. It was difficult as it was still lockdown so I haven’t been able to speak to anyone in person during this transitional time. I still hold many people in that fellowship very dear to me and I love them as the family I once felt a part of. As scathing as this report may seem, I don’t believe that anyone I have known personally has been intentionally deceiving others, rather that they themselves are deceived. I pray that the Lord will reveal Himself to the people involved in the Pentecostal  movement around the world, as well as the Charismatic, NAR, and associated movements, and that He will call them to repentance that they may be truly saved.

 

I wholeheartedly reject and repent of any involvement I had, and for any time that I may have encouraged another person to follow this path. I feel heartbroken; almost like I am grieving. It’s all still fairly raw, and I’m learning more, my eyes are being opened a little more, every day. I feel embarrassed and ashamed that I had been such a huge cheerleader for this movement, and that I had shared, and advertised, and bought into so much of it for so long. I’m angry that I have been deceived and that my own spiritual journey has been hampered, but more so that my husband’s salvation now seems even more unlikely – I worry that this has been enough to put him off for good. I worry that I have lost his trust and respect, and so has God. I’m hurt. My heart hurts for the damage that has been caused, and the damage that I may have caused. I’m hurt when I think about the time I spent in deception and blatant violation of the word of God. I mourn for the inquisitive and passionate young woman with a hunger and desire to know God, who was shushed and ignored; her fire hidden under a bushel until it extinguished almost completely, and I thank God that He kept those embers smouldering enough that I was able to fight my way back to Him. “I found him whom my soul loves; I held on to him and would not let him go” (Song of Solomon 3:4)

 

Currently, I’m still serving the Baptist church and am now named as their Children and Families Worker. I am excited about this venture and, although I can’t say that I agree with everything in the Baptist denomination, or that I will remain here forever, I feel so grateful to have the opportunity to serve as I continue to learn and grow.

Lord, I thank you for opening my eyes to the truth of what I was participating in. I thank you for the discernment and the wisdom which you continue to bless me with. I am grateful for the experiences that I have had, and the unique opportunity I now have to share Your truth with others. Thank you, Father, that I have now seen the truth of Your word and that You have called me into repentance so that I can now begin to worship you wholly in spirit and in truth. I thank you for restoring my passion and zeal to know You, and Lord I pray that as I seek You more and more, that I will find You, and that I will be comforted by Your word as You speak to me through it. I am grateful for the community that I have been welcomed into; the experiences we share and our collective desire to encourage others to come to You in repentance. Father, I pray that You would open the eyes of many people and call them to Yourself, that they may turn away from their ways and follow You; the real, Biblical, Jesus. Thank You, Lord God, for counting me as one of Your beloved sheep, that I may know Your voice and follow You.

A New Direction

This is a public act of repentance and a rejection of all that I have witnessed and been involved in, believed in, and peddled as truth. 

As you may know, from reading my posts in this past year, I have been re-evaluating my beliefs and undergoing a sort-of "unlearning", where I have put away anything I have previously been taught or thought I understood, and instead looked only to the Bible; the inerrant and complete word of God, for the truth. 

I won't be deleting any of the old posts that I have made, suffice it to say that they show where I have come from and, I hope they will illustrate my journey and growth.

I am working on my testimony - I have shared elements of it before but my eyes were clouded by the movement I had been a part of, and so I felt that it was important to re-write it, from the very beginning, and with nothing held back. 

I understand that I may lose friendships and that I will be opening myself up to questions and judgements about my experiences and, indeed, my salvation . Let me assure you that I am closer to God now than I have ever been. I am actively enjoying my time spent in His word, and I am seeking His wisdom and discernment in all areas of my life. For the first time I am seeking to worship in spirit and in truth. 

I promise that I will always speak in love, and any judgements that I am seen to make are absolutely, scripturally, made in biblical love. 

This journey of discovery and truth is a long and difficult road, and I am likely to adjust my opinions and understanding as I learn and discern more.

This is a new starting point. Feel free to ignore anything and everything I have ever written or shared, and let's take this new road together! 

Like the noble Bereans, examine everything to see what is true!