“Before I formed you in the womb I knew you,
before you were born I set you apart.”—Jeremiah 1:5
Growing up, I didn’t know the Lord. I didn’t even go to church. That just wasn’t something we did as a family. I knew a few bible stories, like Noah & the Ark, the story of Exodus (barely, thanks to The Prince of Egypt), and Joseph the dreamer. I barely understood the resurrection of Jesus and had not a single clue what His resurrection meant for me.
I remember a few times I did go to church. My first church memory—I must’ve been between 4 & 6 years old—we were at a church & I just remember drawing pictures with the other kids. It was almost like school; it was fun, but I don’t remember going back.
Another time, my Grandma took me when she visited us on vacation, and that was the first time I was introduced to communion. And can you imagine the horror I felt as a seven-year-old when I thought these people were actually drinking Jesus’ blood? Not to mention, why was the guy with the microphone yelling? Let’s say I really hoped we wouldn’t go back.
Then I can think back on times I stepped foot into German cathedrals, and how the organ scared me. I always thought those churches were scary places; I never liked going there. (Silly enough, I wish I could visit everyone last one of these churches now)
I remember us having bedtime prayers at least:
Now I lay me down to sleep (you know the rest)
& a short German prayer with a similar premise
I loved praying with my family before bed, but I barely knew the words I was praying. And even then, a prayer about making sure I’m right with God before I die wasn’t the most wonderful prayer to pray at night. I mean…I didn’t even know this God.
Not until I was 17. Broken, lonely, ashamed, and good at hiding it too. We finally started going to church a year prior, but still, I didn’t know Him. At this point, I thought church was just something people did to feel better and socialize.
I was still hiding in the darkness I’d allowed to surround me.
God told me I didn’t have to hide from Him. He met me in that dark place. Grabbed my hand and said, “I’m here for you.”
But I didn’t realize until years later that He also said, “As I’ve always been.”
See, I didn’t know Yahweh growing up. I didn’t think much of Jesus.
But He knew me and He thought about me all the time. And somehow I’m even more thankful.
Sure, there may have been things I wouldn’t have gone through, things I could have avoided if I had known Him growing up.
But the fact that I get to reflect on His faithfulness during a time when I didn’t even know His name is so powerful.
He fought for me. He protected me. He got me out of gutters I constantly threw myself in, all without me knowing who He was.
Reflecting on that gives me such assurance for the future.
He is a God who keeps His word. He is a God who keeps His promises.
He is always there. He is always listening.
He is my protector, the Savior of my soul
He cares for His children, and He is relentless in doing so.
And I’m forever in awe that He allowed me to seek & find Him before my time on earth is over.
If you’re reading this and you don’t know Jesus, may I encourage you that He’s never once stopped thinking about you…
And He never will.
Thanks for reading, friend. May the Lord bless & keep you.
—Tania, the storyteller