Confession by a soldier's sister

"There’s just something about a man in a uniform." What an overused phrased. It should be permanently retired. For starters, it is cliché and has worn out its welcome. What girl hasn’t heard this phrase in a movie, book, from a stranger’s lips, her friends, or even –god forbid- her own? Could we not try for something more original please? Secondly, the phrase is completely ambiguous. What kind of uniform? What is it about a man in a uniform? Does it make him look different, stand different, talk different? Does it turn him to stone? Does it make him more appealing, terrifying, ugly, powerful, or romantic? And how does a simple uniform change a person? Why not say there’s just something about a man in a fedora? But that’s just me. The truth is no one is going to retire the phrase because it’s so darn true. There is something about a man in a uniform. On Friday night, for me, it was a slap in the face.

I don’t dislike men in uniform. I think a uniform makes a man look respectable and well put together. I come from a family of men in uniform. They are proud, strong, and dependable. I love a man in a uniform. So of all people, I was the last person expecting my reaction that night.

I was attending an awards dinner meant to honor our veteran soldiers. I had just finished up a week of intense political training in Austin Texas with nearly a hundred of my peers. Morale was high despite the general exhaustion. All of us girls primped in front of our mirrors wanting to look our best –some to accept an award, some for a boy, and some because it was an excuse to look nice. I knew there would be wounded veterans present. I had come to this dinner the previous year. I had even sat with the color guard and chatted. I knew exactly what was coming and I was looking forward to it. Then, I stepped off the bus and caught my first flash of blue cloth.

I think it was shock at my own reaction that kept the tears from falling. I hadn’t realized just how much I missed my brother until right at that moment. It’s amazing how one uniform can take a person and turn them 180 degrees. I felt silly for getting choked up and angrily stuffed the tears back where they belonged. I knew I was going to have to come up with a plan or I would end up crying in front of everyone, and I hate crying in front of people.

I busied myself with making a strategy, and avoided all uniforms. I got as far as thinking I could excuse myself during the part of the ceremony where the veterans were honored and given medals. I made it no farther because just then a coordinator came up and stuffed a medal in my hand. She explained she’d been looking for me. She needed me to be one of the lucky students who got to put a medal on a veteran. I nearly melted into the floor. I tried to come up with a reasonable explanation for why I didn’t want this honor, but I’m pretty sure it came out weak and unconvincing. Instead of telling me she understood and taking the medal to someone else, she clapped me on the shoulder and said she had confidence in me. I could do it.

I looked at the medal in distaste and shoved it into my purse. I was doomed. I spent the rest of the dinner distracting myself from what was coming. I drank three cups of coffee, trying to screw up my courage. I thought about the previous year. The veterans had been older, that would help. I would just have to picture my grandfather. This was my new plan. I thought it was a good one, considering my options. God, apparently, thought it was funny. As the veterans stood to be introduced, my eyes wandered over their figures. I clapped politely, but the friend beside me wasn’t fooled. She saw the horror that filled me. These veterans weren’t old; they were young, earlier twenties. I almost handed my medal to her right then, thinking back on it now, I probably should have. I stopped myself only because as the introductions continued the grandfatherly veterans appeared.

It was our turn. Each student holding a medal stood. I made a beeline for the oldest looking veteran out there. At least, I tried- which means I wove around the circular tables, dodging chairs as quickly as I could without looking like a terrified animal. By the time I made it to the center of the room I found myself standing in front of no one and all the old guys taken. Slowly moving towards me was a man. He was bent over from the crutches in his hands. His face was proud and determined and young.

I lost it. I knew that face. I’d seen it before in many young men. I’d seen it in my brother. For one terrible moment all I could see was him struggling toward me. It was as if my nightmares had come to life. Then, my brother was gone and it was just me and the wounded veteran.

As he came to a stop in front of me, his comrade pulled out a chair for him to sit in. He looked at it in disgust and frustration. I may not have recognized that there were others in the room anymore, but he certainly did. He was aware of every gaze, every pitying thought. He knew what he looked like dragging his feet after him. He knew. For a moment I wanted to reach out and tell him it would be ok. This injury didn’t define him. But I couldn’t because all of this took only a moment, half of a shaky breath before the look turned to acceptance. His face relaxed. He politely declined it.

By the time he turned forward, I am pretty sure no amount of makeup could have redeemed me. I hated myself for crying. He looked at me with kindness. He was full of strength and peace. He wasn’t angry or frustrated anymore. He would be ok. His eyes said all of that.

I know it’s hard to believe that one look carried that much information. I am a skeptic, after all. So maybe I saw what I wanted to see. But that’s what the smile in the corners of his eyes told me, and I believed it.

I wanted to smile back and tell him how much I respected him for his strength. I didn’t want him to think my tears were for the sorry state he was in. I didn’t want him to think I pitied him. I didn’t. He was a soldier. He had chosen this life. We both knew that. But I couldn’t stop crying.

“I’m sorry.” I told him, and he knew I was referring to the tears. “I’m sorry, it’s just, you remind me of my brother.” I managed.

He smiled up at me, and in that moment I felt as if he were the kindest person I’d ever met. “It’s ok.” He answered. His voice filled with compassion, and I couldn’t help but believe him. How could I not? He understood everything.

I put the medal over his head. My fingers shook, brushing his cropped hair. Not waiting for permission I hugged him tightly. I think we were supposed to shake their hands. If it had been my brother, he’d have been upset with me. Public displays of emotion are discouraged. For once, I didn’t care. I whispered my thanks in his ear and asked him to pass the message on to his family. For all I respect our soldiers, I respect their families just as much.

I left the room quickly after that. I needed to pull myself together. I knew better than to make a spectacle like that. I was supposed to be strong. But I realized all I was at the moment was scared. That’s why I was crying. I was terrified inside and out and had been since my brother had sworn his oath.

I tried a couple of times to explain this to my friends later. They had either asked me what was wrong, or given me a hard time for falling apart. I found as I tried, that I really couldn’t explain it. I wanted to be able to say “he looked like my brother,” and have that explain everything. Only, it doesn’t. And that kind of justification tends to get sympathetic looks in reply. I realized if people were going to understand, I was going to have to come at it differently.

So here’s my confession. I get angry, a lot. I’m angry more than I am sad. I wonder why people think family have to be strong too. I didn’t get to make the choice, my soldier did, but I have to live with it every day. He didn’t ask me if I was ok with it. When I’m not angry I’m scared to death. My days and nights are filled with "what ifs." People always ask if I support our soldiers. What do you think? I have to support my soldier no matter what, how could I not? And while we're on the topic, I don’t need to prove my support by wearing it on my t-shirt or re-posting some stupid message on facebook.

When people make fun of my soldier’s job or his branch I want to yell at them. What do they know? Instead, I hold my tongue and pick my chin up a little higher. When wives of soldiers express their loneliness and terror, I want to scream. They aren’t the only person in the family who feels that way. When people ask where my soldier is stationed and the answer is not Afghanistan, Iran, or Iraq I feel guilty for being afraid. I pretend like it doesn’t bother me, but I think about my soldier all the time. I wear his old shirts for comfort, and read his letters over and over. All I want is to see him again. I hate telling people how much I miss him, because I don’t want people to think I’m being silly. I already think that myself.

So, no, I don’t want to thank a wounded veteran for his sacrifice because all I can think is that might be my brother one day. And that thought scares me to death.

I know it might be easy to get the wrong idea from what I’ve said. So I’ll say this too, I am proud of my brother. I am happy that he is doing something he loves. He looks good in that uniform. There’s just something about it. But sometimes when I see a uniform and it’s not him, it’s like a slap in the face.

To Fear Heaven.

What a strange title, isn’t it? I think so too and I wrote it! Normally one would expect a fear of something to include spiders, or heights, or snakes, or water, but heaven? Who in their right mind would be afraid of heaven? After all, heaven is heaven. It is bliss in every meaning of the word. It is freedom from pain, from suffering, from tears, from evil, from sin, from burden, from guilt, from life, from death. In heaven a person gets to live forever. Not only do we get to live forever, we get to spend that time with Jesus, standing in the presence of God. In the presence of God, and letting his love and grace and mercy and righteousness and holiness and peace just wash over us. What is there to fear in that? Any rational person would say there wasn’t, right?

That’s just the problem. There are people who, for various reasons, have a very real fear of heaven. Yet, no one ever talks about it because the majority view even the mere thought of such a fear occurring as ridiculous. Because of this view, those who do suffer are afraid to say anything at the risk of being seen as foolish. Their silence on the subject only entrenches in others minds the belief that a fear of heaven is absurd, simply because they’ve never met someone who was. Suddenly we find ourselves back at the beginning of the vicious circle.

So what would you do if you were afraid of heaven? Who would you turn to and ask for help? Who could you talk to that wouldn’t look at you strangely and wonder if you were alright in the head? As you contemplate these questions, I’d like you to consider it from all angles, not just at your current age, but also from when you were much younger as well. I can honestly say from a very young age that my greatest fear was indeed dying and going to heaven. I was terrified of the idea. I would have panic attacks simply by thinking about, or hearing the word. Panic attacks that I, of course, hid from others with a vengeance. For years this fear haunted me. For years I strove to overcome it, finally giving up and trying to stifle it as best I could.

It wasn’t until much later that I finally had one of the most important realizations of my life. My epiphany boiled down to understanding that there really was no reason to fear heaven. An ideal already firmly believed by many, and which up until that moment in time I could not even comprehend without having a mini heart-attack. Perhaps my story and others will help to shed a little light, and understanding, on a subject that severely needs to be dusted off and examined.

My Story

For as long as I can remember (which sometimes isn’t as far back as I would like) I have been terrified of one thing, heaven. However, no matter how scared I got, I never said anything to anyone because I knew that my fear was wrong. Instead of realizing that there were loving people around me who could probably help me through this, at the wee age of five or six, I could not comprehend how anyone could possibly understand my fear. I rationalized with my young logic that I would most likely be ostracized if I told even my parents. There of course, was no basis for this rationalization. I lived in a loving home, and have always been a part of a loving church. Despite these facts, this was where I found myself, not yet able to comprehend the beauty of what God had planned, but old enough to twist it around to where it terrified me. It was at this young age that I began the task of concealing my fear.

I vaguely remember waking up from dreams, terrified, because I had dreamed I’d died and gone to heaven. It wasn’t until I was a little older that I was finally able to realize why I was afraid. This didn’t help, rather, it accentuated the matter. Now I could be tormented by very direct thoughts and ideas, rather than vague ones. What I realized, and I do not remember at what age, was that I was petrified of the idea of living forever. The idea of going on, and on, and on, and on, and never, ever, ending. That one sentence, spoken or thought, was enough to send me into a squirming fit. I could not rationalize this idea, and that terrified me. How could there not be an end? There was always an end to everything.

So I got older, and I shoved the fear deeper down inside me. Strangely enough, or perhaps not, this didn’t seem to help. In fact it made my fear worse. The more I avoided it, the bigger it got. The more grasp it had on me, the harder it got to think about. It reached a point to where if I heard someone speaking about heaven, I would immediately put all of my effort into thinking about something else, anything else. Eventually, I would stop hyperventilating enough to carry on with whatever I was doing beforehand. No matter what I did though, the fear was there, waiting to paralyze me.

Paralysis is what I lived with, not in the literal sense, I could still move, I could still speak, but I was paralyzed in my mind. I could be consumed by this fear at any moment. I wouldn’t be able to put a coherent thought together until I had, somehow, shoved it aside.

Finally, I could take it no longer, I was desperate. After weeks of working up the courage, I sat down and emailed my pastor. The answer is one that I saved for years, and lost in the coughing and wheezing fit of my (now retired) dying computer. Still, I remember what was said, having re-read it a few times when panic made its move. My pastor asked me what it was I feared, and when I told him, he didn’t laugh and he was not condescending, as I had convinced myself for most of my young life that he (or any adult) would be. Instead he began to work with me. He asked me since I didn’t want to live forever, how long would I like to spend in heaven? I didn’t know, I didn’t care, just so long as there was an end. So he suggested a hundred years. That sounded good to me. That was one lifetime, a little more than I would spend on earth, but a lifetime none the less. So a hundred years it was. Then he began to describe a scenario for me.

I was in heaven. It was beautiful. I was happy. Happier than I had ever been, I was enjoying life and others, basking in God’s glory. Suddenly, I was informed that my time was up. I had to go, but I wasn’t ready. I wanted to stay. Too bad, the end had come. It was over, I had no choice.

This was my scenario. This, my pastor informed me, was what I wanted. This was what I was describing to him, whether I realized it or not. I was shocked by the information. I understood completely. I wanted there to be an end, but what if, when the time came, I wasn’t ready. How horrible would it be? What torture.

I kindly thanked my pastor, and proceeded to live my life. For a long time, that conversation held at bay the paralyzing fear I had lived with. Then suddenly, one day, it was no longer enough. I did not know what had caused an imbalance in my life once more, but I found myself again, terrified. The email conversation no longer helped. The nightmares returned. I couldn’t bring myself to speak to my pastor again. I was afraid. Afraid that he would think I was weak. He’d solved my problem once, what was wrong with me now? So I began once again to bury the fear deep within me. I was back to living with my paralyzing fear.

Then one day, everything changed. Years had passed by. My life had become a whirlpool of chaos. I had experienced the grief of loss, and the black hole of despair that followed. It had been a year and some since then, but it still ate away at me. That day, the day that it all changed, I was sitting in my car after driving home from work. The radio had been on, I hadn’t really been listening. A song began to play as I parked by the driveway. It snatched my attention, and tears filled my eyes. Suddenly I knew, suddenly I understood.

The song was “There will be a Day” by Jeremy Camp.

"I try to hold on to this world with everything I have
But I feel the weight of what it brings, and the hurt that tries to grab
The many trials that seem to never end, His word declares this truth,
that we will enter in this rest with wonders anew

But I hold on to this hope and the promise that He brings
That there will be a place with no more suffering

There will be a day with no more tears, no more pain, and no more fears
There will be a day when the burdens of this place, will be no more, we’ll see Jesus face to face
But until that day, we’ll hold on to you always

I know the journey seems so long
You feel you’re walking on your own
But there has never been a step
Where you’ve walked out all alone

Troubled soul don’t lose your heart
Cause joy and peace he brings
And the beauty that’s in store
Outweighs the hurt of life’s sting

I can’t wait until that day where the very one I’ve lived for always will wipe away the sorrow that I’ve faced
To touch the scars that rescued me from a life of shame and misery this is why this is why I sing….

There will be a day with no more tears, no more pain, and no more fears
There will be a day when the burdens of this place, will be no more, we’ll see Jesus face to face

There will be a day, He’ll wipe away the stains, He’ll wipe away the tears, He’ll wipe away the tears…..there will be a day.”

These lyrics, this song made it all very clear to me. The words that had been said to me time and time again, “there is no pain in heaven, no death, no suffering”, finally had meaning to me. Now I understood. Heaven terrified me because I had been weighing my personal picture of heaven against my own personal life’s experience. Unconsciously I knew that I had never known real pain, real loss, thus I had imagined heaven as an extension of Earth. So, sure life was great on Earth, and so heaven must also, but I certainly didn’t want to live there forever. Up to that point in my life, my fear had far outweighed anything I had experienced. Now however, now my life, my loss, far outweighed any fear I had.

This realization was liberating, but it also made me concerned. How many others were in the position I had been in? How many others were terrified because of an image that they had created? How many others were petrified of something they could not understand? How many were scared simply because they had yet to experience something that outweighed their fear? How many believed they were alone, with no one to talk to?

So I'm here to say, you are not alone. This is nothing to be ashamed of. People will not think you are crazy. Talk to someone, it will help.

The Choice... (part 2)

In part 1, The Danger, we explored a probable reason for why so many "second generation" Christians struggle with living like a christian. That reason being our complacency with scripture due to our familiarity with it. We also discussed the danger of this threat to our walk with Christ because no one really recognizes it as a danger. However, not all second generation Christians react with complacency, and thus the need for part 2. As I briefly mentioned in part 1, some Christians (and this is directed at all Christians, not just second generation Christians) also rebel against their parents and their religion. We could discuss why it is that many rebel or walk away, but I assume we can all speculate on our own, and come up with approximately the same answers (e.g. feelings of resentment, suffocation, desire, temptations for freedom, temporary happiness, etc). Despite the reasoning or what action is taken, the end result from either complacency or rebellion is the same; a departure from walking the path God directs us toward.

I could easily delve into a whole essay on how to deal with these feelings or temptations, but the title this time is "The Choice...", not "The Solution...". I purposefully am passing over "solving" these problems because I believe so many people get sidetracked trying to "deal" and miss the heart of the matter. Which is, how we choose to live our life.

Certainly conquering our sinful natures is important, but when get so focused on single sins, we lose sight of the fact that all of our single sins stem from the same place, our choices, and most importantly, our choice on how closely we will follow the law of Christ.

I am going to step off to the side here and preface for a moment about why "the choice" is so important by discussing a little bit about sin.

See, its very easy to wander away from God, and not even know it (As you read on, I wish you to know that I am not just "preaching", if you will, but rather speaking from painful and personal experience). Recently I have begun to read a book by Jerry Bridges titled, "Respectable Sins". I think this book makes a very good point. We forget how big our "little" sins are because we do not commit the big taboo sins, such as murder. These "little" sins are known as the "respectable" sins that everyone struggles with on different levels. They are respectable either because everyone does them, because they don't "hurt" anyone thus they can't be that bad, or because they were just carried out in your mind.

Many of us look at our own lives and say, "I go to church, I fellowship, I volunteer, I witness, I work on mission trips, I sponsor children, I have never committed adultery, or murder. As far as people go, I'm doing pretty good, and I'm doing much better than a lot of Christians I know!" If this is you, pay attention because that mindset is just as dangerous as a complacent one. When we see ourselves as "pretty good" people, we stop thinking that we are very vulnerable to attack from Satan, and we fall into his trap before we even realize it.

See, even if we are a "pretty good" people. We still sin. It's human nature at its raw core. One of the points that was made in Jerry Bridge's book, and also discussed within the group I am a part of, is how much of a slippery slope our small sins are. In the book, sin was likened to cancer, a malignant cancer. In other words, it has the potential to spread with unlimited growth. A lot of times, small sins are left unchecked simply because we are distracted by bigger sins, or all of our little sins, if tackled at once, become overwhelming. However as Mr. Bridges states in Chapter three,

"One of the common truths about cancer is that it can often grow undetected until it reaches a crisis stage or even a stage that is terminal... To tolerate [small] sins in our spiritual lives is as dangerous as to tolerate cancer in our bodies. Seemingly small sins can lead to more serious ones. Lustful looks often lead to pornography addiction and perhaps adultery. Murder often has its genesis in anger, which grows into bitterness, then to hatred, and finally murder."

After reading that quote the first time, I thought, "even so, I would never murder anyone!" So if your like me, stop for a moment and consider the point behind the words. Small things lead to bigger ones. This is the ultimate reason behind the point I am trying to make and why "the choice" is so important. (I do in fact realize I have not yet expounded on "the choice" and what it is.)

Many common factors that lead to small sins and then to bigger ones are complacency, rebellion, experimentation, peer pressure, skewed perspective, despair, and others.

For a moment, I would like to expound on a few of these using my own experience. Two weeks before I was eighteen, one of my cousins was shot and killed. He was fifteen. As I struggled to deal with his death, at his young age, I came to a conclusion. I did not want to die without having experienced things, life, my own choices, not just my parents'. Therefore, when I turned eighteen. I went out, bought a pack of cigarettes, and smoked them. Not necessarily a sin in the action, but, the mindset that led me to that first pack, led me to extremely colorful and not altogether pleasant language, as well as illegal drugs, and drinking. I partied, lied to my parents, came dangerously close many other things that I would have regretted for the rest of my life. All of these were sins. Yet, before any of the actions were sins, the mindset was a sin. A small sin, perhaps, it didn't hurt anyone, it was only performed in my mind... I didn't trust God's plan would have the experiences I needed, and that he would take me when he was ready and when everything I needed to have happen in my life happened. This small, little sin led to a slew of, what we perceive to be, grievous sins.

This is not just my own personal experience. I have seen this pattern repeated time, after time, after time, in the lives of young Christians (especially those in high school and college) everywhere. When those little sins become a norm, unchecked and acceptable in our lives, then what used to be big sins are now our little sins, and so forth and so on.

The funny thing is, we don't even realize this re-evaluation of sin is going on in our heads. I certainly didn't. I still considered myself a good christian, with good morals, who didn't need a lot of forgiveness. I am a fairly arrogant sinner if you cannot tell.

Thank God, He stepped into my and put His foot down when He did. He finally, after trying in many kinder and gentler ways first, showed me how far I had fallen. It was then that He showed me one of the most important things I have ever learned. He showed me that just because you may grow up in a Christian home and choosing to say some prayer when your five, means nothing.

Being a Christian means making a choice every single day. It means having to put forth your entire being and energy into living a Christian lifestyle every single day. It means begging God for help, because you know you cannot accomplish this on your own, every single day. It means choosing to make Christ the first and foremost desire in your heart, above everything else, every single day.

It means making "The Choice" to live for God, every single day. It means owning your faith, not just dragging it along behind you. That is what "The Choice" is. It is in no way easy. Many times, it is one of the hardest things to do. It means giving up your anger, your dreams, your desires, your frustrations, your worries.

I cannot even begin to explain how important this choice is. Its easy to look at our lives and see if we've made that choice or not. When I look back at how I was living, I have no misconceptions about the choice I was NOT making. I was living, wallowing, in sin, and not bothered by it in the least. YET, this choice is important for more than just that reason.

It is important because a person is not a Christian simply because they were raised in a christian home. You are a Christian when you make the choice to own your faith. This is not an “oh yeah, well sure" acknowledgment. Its not a "I'm going to believe in Christ so that when I die I'll go to heaven, but I'm going to live the way I want" (a safety net). It’s a well thought about, life altering decision that you will work at. Its just what you’ve done wrong, but how you think about each and every day. When you wake up in the morning, what will your attitude be? When you do something, WHY are you doing it. Is it about you, or is it about God? Everything should be about God, even going to work each day. When you make "The Choice", when you own your faith, it will change your life. Your actions and your life will show you where you stand.

As consider all of this, or after you do, read these excerpts from Hebrews which make my point far clearer than I could ever say.

Hebrews 3:7-11 says, 4:1,2,12,13 , 10:26-31

"So, as the Holy Spirit says: "Today, if you hear his voice, do not harden your hearts as you did in the rebellion, during the time of testing in the desert, where your fathers tested and tried me and for forty years saw what I did. That is why I was angry with that generation, and I said, 'their hearts are always going astray, and they have not known my ways.' I declared on oath in my anger, 'They shall never enter my rest.'...

Therefore, since the promise of entering his rest still stands, let us be careful that none of you be found to have fallen short of it. For we also have had the gospel preached to us, just as they did; but the message they heard was of no value to them, because those who heard did not combine it with faith...

For the word of God is living and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart. Nothing in all creation is hidden from God's sight. Everything is uncovered and laid bare before the eyes of him to whom we must give account...

If we deliberately keep on sinning after we have received the knowledge of the truth, no sacrifice for sins is left, but only a fearful expectation of judgment and of raging fire that will consume the enemies of God. Anyone who rejected the law of Moses died without mercy on the testimony of two or three witnesses. How much more severely do you think a man deserves to be punished who has trampled the Son of God under foot, who has treated as an unholy thing the blood of the covenant that sanctified him, and who has insulted the Spirit of grace? For we know him who said, "It is mine to avenge; I will repay,"[d] and again, "The Lord will judge his people."[e] It is a dreadful thing to fall into the hands of the living God.

We cannot simply use the gift of salvation as a safety net, and live however we want. In order to really and truly be a christian and receive God's gift, we must CHOOSE to live the life God asks us to. That does not mean we must be perfect at it... no, simply that the desire to honestly try and fail, and try again is there in our hearts. For when that desire is there, it CAN be seen within your life.

James 2:14-18

"What good is it, my brothers, if a man claims to have faith but has no deeds? Can such faith save him? Suppose a brother or sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to him, "Go, I wish you well; keep warm and well fed," but does nothing about his physical needs, what good is it? In the same way, faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead.

But someone will say, "You have faith; I have deeds."
Show me your faith without deeds, and I will show you my faith by what I do. "

The Danger... (part 1)

Imagine for a moment a Christian home. Both mom and dad are, and have been for some time, followers of Christ. One or the other, or perhaps even both have testimonies of a time when they were not Christian. A reminder that keeps them devote in their belief to train up their children right. Thus, every child in the house has approximately three bibles. There are framed pictures of favorite Bible verses on prominent walls in the house. The Ten Commandments hangs in the hallway that leads to the children’s rooms, and sound of Christian music playing softly in the kitchen. Many varying bible studies litter bookshelves throughout the house, and The Passion can be seen in the small collection of DVD’s.

Sound familiar? Ok, so perhaps the image above is a little too perfect, but I’m sure that some of us can relate to part, if not all, of it. I know I can, and hey, that’s not a terrible thing to relate to. In many ways a person would say you or I am blessed, and we are. However, if you can relate to the life describe above, you are also in some serious danger.

See, many of us (and by us I mean anyone who has lived their entire lives surrounded by the Christian faith) do not have testimonies to call our own. Many of us have no comprehension of a life lived without knowing that sin was “wrong”. We do not have a memory of a time when God wasn’t “watching you”, or when we weren’t reminded to think WWJD? before we acted. We could sing “Jesus Loves Me” before we even knew our ABC’s. We have no concept of total depravity, no concept of a savior pulling us from a sinkhole of sin because we have never lived in a way that we would ever fall into such a sinkhole. We are what I like to call, Second (or even Third) Generation Christians.

As Second Generation Christians we are familiar on an intimate level with our “Faith”. We know hundreds of bible verses by heart. We know all the stories, we’ve been taught ever lesson since kindergarten, ten times over and more. We know the book of James so well we could say it backwards and not stumble (ok that could be a little over the top, but you get the point, right?) The point is, we know these things so well, that when a reference is spoken, we can respond in almost a whiplash effect. We don’t even think about the words, or what it is that we are actually saying. This is how automatic our response is. This is the danger. We are so familiar with our faith that we are in danger of becoming too familiar with it, and losing sight of how vast and immeasurable it is.

When we no longer think about what we are saying, or hearing, we zone it out. We no longer listen. It no longer becomes important to us. It is just something we do, because we are told to.

In many ways, in most ways, being born into a Christian home and family is a wonderful thing. We have the benefit of God’s laws and teachings being a habitual part of our lives from the day we were born. Think about that for a moment, what a fantastic opportunity this is! We who have grown up in this environment should be better equipped to face a world ruled by sin than any other human. We should be better armed to confront a world of disbelief, of lies, than any born again Christian.

Yet, so many of us who do grow in Christian homes don’t see what a great opportunity is before us. Instead of taking everything we have been trained and equipped with, and going out into this world, we struggle with following even some of the most basic teachings.

It might be a fault of rebelling from an overbearing parent, following an extremist teacher, or even a failure to properly educate these teachings within the home. All these cases are sound arguments and could quite possibly be proven. Yet, I think that some struggle for a reason much more basic than that. I will expound upon this in a moment, and then again more in part two. Before I do, I would like to provide some grounds for what I am about to say.

Once, not so long ago, a pastor told me something that has stuck firmly with me. He said, “Becoming a Christian is easy, living as a Christian Is hard.”

I agree whole-heartedly with this statement. It is very easy to receive complete salvation and eternal salvation when you don’t deserve it, and can’t do anything to deserve it. While, in comparison, striving to live in obedience under God’s law, and denying your own selfish desires can be extremely hard.

I pause a moment here to say that nothing is impossible with God, and that we have the power to do all things through Christ. My purpose in stating the above is merely to bring to light that at times living the Christian life and making the Christian choices can seem overwhelming. Back to the previous point.

Thus, if simply living as a Christian is hard for those who have been rescued from total depravity, and live in joy every day because of this rescue, how much harder is it for us? For the Second Generation Christian.

The hardest thing about growing up Christian is growing up Christian.

Why? Because of the reason I stated at the very beginning. We who have grown up Christian, who have never been allowed to live in sin, who have never fallen into total depravity do not understand, cannot comprehend the helplessness of what the feels like (even though if we were to stop and really think about it, we would see that we are just as helpless as anyone to save ourselves and if left to our own devices, we would be exactly where they are.) Because we cannot comprehend our helplessness, we very quickly lose sight of how much we truly and honestly need a savior, and that despite what we think, we are in as deep a sinkhole as everyone else.

We forget that being a Christian isn’t just about saying the prayer once and were saved. We forget that being a Christian is a continuous thing, a choice we must make daily. This forgetfulness is something that I have found is most common in, although not restricted to, Second Generation Christians. This is because of our familiarity. Remember how I said our familiarity was a danger to us? Because we were raised in a Christian home, and prevented from living a life of sin, we understand the concept of needing a savior. Yet, having never felt the complete and utter despair or realizing our own helplessness, being saved does not seem like the life-changing, unimaginable, miracle-gift that it is.

We become complacent in our faith. That, my friends, is the danger of living as a Second Generation Christian. It is something we must fight not to become. God’s gift of eternal salvation should never seem like a small thing. Even having grown in a Christian home, this gift should overwhelm us to the point that we never ever become complacent. If we do, then that is a huge warning sign that something is seriously wrong.

To be continued in The Choice…(part 2)