this is my story

This is my story. This is where my life and the Kingdom crossed over. It is where I ceased to be wandering vagabond, and became a son to my Father. I do not claim that all of this is positive, in fact, much is far from the point. Yet it is the story of my becoming the man I was called to be.
 

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I grew up in the church.
 
 
No. That would be an understatement. I grew up going to church, every Sunday morning and Wednesday evening. Without skipping a beat, I would find myself seated in the same row, the same chair every time my family would attend church. 
 
I would walk through the big wooden doors, onward treading upon bland, red carpet, which led me to the sanctuary. An odd-shaped room with tall ceilings and few windows. In it, my nostrils would be engulfed by a sour and nauseating smell of mildew laced with a potent stringent, i.e., bleach. Fragments of dust particles were shown in the rays of sunlight. 
 
Hours spent, singing hymns, bearing no cultural or personal connection. Hours spent, seated in an uncomfortable chair, listening to the droning of biblical significance. None of this ever resonated in my soul.
 
 
This is not the brunt of my disenfranchisement; it is only the beginning.
 
 
At the age of twelve, I obtained a term I abhorred and detested. I became a pastor's kid (a PK, for short). How could such bad luck befall me? Higher standards, overshadowed by the overbearing masses, having a permanent spotlight shown upon my character and persona. It is what I dreaded most. I was set apart from others. I would be measured time and time again, subject to scrutiny. I was a representative of my family in the public eye. 
 
It forced me to grow up and to embrace maturity. Yet it did something to me. I gained influence. I found my voice. I discovered I had character. Though new, I flourished; it became natural.
 
I discovered something that was previously unbeknownst to me. I had a relationship with the Father. For the first time in my life, I heard His voice and felt His presence. Finally this faith became real. No longer was it a ploy, nor a fanciful tale. I knew Him and He knew me. There was confirmation in my spirit. From that day forward He never walked away from me, never stopped talking to me, never stopped loving me, never stopped pursing me…
 
 
I was forever changed.
 
 
But tough situations loomed ahead. A series of church splits and schisms changed my paradigm. I never understood why believers, those of faith, Christians do this.
 

Why is it that being right, is worth losing friends and family over? Why does criticizing the opinions of others, makes you feel better about your own thoughts and ideas?  
 

I was torn. I lost friends over these shifts of loudest voices. Those closest to me, no longer trusted me. Some spoke negatively of my family. Others took to the streets criticizing the very parents who raised me. I was hurt. I became angry. I was so filled with hate. I wanted to exact revenge on them. I wanted to prove my parents’ righteousness and innocence. I wanted them to be right and to prove that they were right. I wanted us to be right. And more so, I wanted to be right. 
 
Yet that never happened. Instead of witty banter and harsh criticism, my parents stayed true to the message of integrity and "blessing those who curse you." I was conflicted. How could they stand by and take all of this nonsense? In fact, how could God standby and let people of honor (my parents) be treated with such malice? Bitterness seeped in; a poisonous notion of hate, animosity, and frustration filled my heart. I resented my family, my parents. I was angry with God. 
 
 
Oh yes, I spoke ill of our relationship.
 
 
God knew how angry I was with Him. Beyond that sentiment, there were hateful words spoken to Him through my voice. I was done. I wanted no more of Him. I was done with His words, His love, His grace. I broke our relationship. I was nineteen. 
 
At least, I thought I could break the relationship. Little did I know, I couldn't. He established it with me. It was not mine to break. Only He could do that, and He said He never would.
 
I spent the next five years living my life without any help or guidance. I loomed in the darkness of my own bitterness and frustration. During this time, depression and hopelessness sunk in. Slowly I was suffocating, dying inside. I was drowning in my own sorrow, with no hope in sight.
 
 
Yet a ray of hope, shone through this cloud of misery.
 
 
A family friend invited me to come, visit his training center/school in Southern Spain, that summer. He asked me to come, to catch my breath, to get healthy. It was such a tempting offer, I could not refuse. 
 
I boarded an airplane in June of 2009 marked for Malaga, Spain. Something was beginning to happen inside of me that I had not felt for years. Peace. I finally felt calmness in my spirit.
 
The first night spent in that Mediterranean paradise reawakened something inside of me. In my sleep, a voice called out for me to come near. I knew who it was. I recognized His voice and yet I knew it would require explanation on my part. As I edged closer toward the voice, love began descending upon me. Feelings of adequacy, hope, and purpose filled a darkened void in my soul. 
 
His voice called out to me to come near. In His voice, there was no condemnation, anger, or bitterness. In that moment I my Father called me into His presence. Once again, I was called a son. Me. He called me His son. In that moment, forgiveness set in and bitterness was thrust out. He became my Father again and I, His son. Our partnership was reestablished. 
 
 
I was whole again.

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I felt it was time to share the story of how I came to be a beloved son. It was time to share how I became disenfranchised with the church and I regained my hope in the hearts of His children. I don't claim to have it all figured out, nor that I have been a great son or believer. I am just a guy who found His grace and is now willing to die for that grace. The grace that gives mankind what they were told they would never attain, they never deserved.
 
That's my life message. I lived through it. I still live in it.

This is my story thus far.