The Earnest Teenage Christian

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At thirteen I was striving mightily for the Christian Character Award at Camp Tanda, a Church of Christ camp located in Big Bear, California.  This entailed being really nice to the campers and staff all week.  I went out of my way to befriend the lonely.  I learned all my Bible verses.  I made sure  my bunkies' personal belongings and sleeping bags passed inspection every morning. With a wisk broom, I swept the dirt in front of our cabin.  I volunteered for extra kitchen patrol and  picked up trash around camp.  My ace in the hole was my older brother and sister who were counselors and had the power to put in a good word for me after the campers voted and left the final decision to the staff.

I lost. According to my sources I came in second.  The winner was cuter, nicer, younger, and had been my best friend the year before.  I could have gone back the next week and tried again, but I was heart broken and I did not. Failure was something I was unwilling to face again.

This small episode characterized my teenage walk.  I lived for youth group because it was affirming and I fit in with my peers.  This was no small feat  when you had braces, glasses, acne, and short curly hair in 1969.  At church I felt safe and respected, and I in turn  respected the leaders of my youth group. I had a voice.

At the time, I was struggling at home.  My older sister was leaving to go to Harding College in Searcey, Arkansas and we had always been close.  My older brother morphed from being my bike riding and adventure buddy to someone who did not recognize my existence at school.  He teased and played the piano and "Iron Butterfly" so loud I would take my younger brother and sister and sit out in the backyard.  My mom went back to work teaching as my dad was pursuing a Doctorate at USC - with five kids expenses that were not being met. My family was a mess and inside I was a mess.

I nursed doubts.  Why was my family so different?  What if Jesus was not real?  What if I had a bad week when he came back for his believers and I missed the ride in the sky?  What if I had a good week and had to leave my friends to burn forever in the lake for fire?  Why was I not brave enough to talk to them about needing Jesus as their Savior?  What if at the judgment seat I went to the left and became a goat instead of being allowed to go right and become a sheep with Jesus as my good shepherd?  What about all those people who had never heard of Jesus?

I never told anybody because I was afraid my inner self would be exposed to the outer world and I would probably have to rededicate my life some Sunday night to the acapella hymn, "When the Roll is Called Up Yonder."

I had a friend who went up to request prayer for his sins at least twice a year.  I always felt rather unworthy after he did this because I never made the trek up to the front of the church except to be baptized.  Twice.  Once when I was nine and then at fifteen to make sure my salvation took.

I know one thing,  Jesus is the Truth.  I am now fifty-seven years old and I still seem to have more question than answers.