I used to think that I had a really boring testimony. For as long as I can remember, I have spent my life in the church, going to Sunday school and Sunday morning church services, attending VBS, hearing Bible stories as they were acted out on felt boards, watching Veggie Tales, and memorizing scripture for Awanas. (That's me on the far right in my Easter dress.) I remember praying the prayer of Salvation alone one morning on my day bed at the age of 6 and the absolute reassurance I felt after that moment. That moment is so special to me, but I never felt that my story was powerful enough to relate to anyone.
A few weeks back, Philip was invited to speak at his home church to update them about his ministry here in Indianapolis and really to give his testimony. He stood up in front of the church and said, “Well I am here today to tell you I have a really boring testimony – and I blame you for that.” He spoke in jest, but it really struck me. Like me, Philip had also grown up his entire life in the church. He had uncles, great uncles and a grandfather who were all ministers in the church. He didn’t have a difficult life and never had a “hit rock bottom”, “180°” “come to Jesus” moment. But his testimony and my testimony are beautiful testaments to a living, breathing church—a church that has walked beside us our entire lives to encourage us and strengthen our faith, a church that has ensured that we have ‘boring testimonies.’
A few weeks back, Philip was invited to speak at his home church to update them about his ministry here in Indianapolis and really to give his testimony. He stood up in front of the church and said, “Well I am here today to tell you I have a really boring testimony – and I blame you for that.” He spoke in jest, but it really struck me. Like me, Philip had also grown up his entire life in the church. He had uncles, great uncles and a grandfather who were all ministers in the church. He didn’t have a difficult life and never had a “hit rock bottom”, “180°” “come to Jesus” moment. But his testimony and my testimony are beautiful testaments to a living, breathing church—a church that has walked beside us our entire lives to encourage us and strengthen our faith, a church that has ensured that we have ‘boring testimonies.’
Philip is working towards ordination through the Church of the Nazarene. As part of that process, he is required to go in for an interview before a board of pastors from our district once a year. They ask him questions about his faith, growth and ministry. I also come along for these interviews. During our past interview, Philip was asked about his roots in the church. He talked about his family members that were pastors and missionaries and how he was proud of that heritage. Then the board asked me the same question. It was the first time I had realized this or even said it aloud, “No,” I said to them. “I am a second generation Christian.”
As I said the words, a sense of immense gratitude filled my heart as I realized what that had meant. I thought about how different my life could have been had my parents not made the decision to follow Christ. I thought about all the generational bondage that they had broken free from, the brokenness they walked away from—things I would never have to face. I thought about Janet, the Sunday school teacher that picked my mother up in her station wagon each Sunday as a little girl that planted a seed. I thought about my four other siblings who are now following passionately after Christ and impacting the lives of those around them. I thought about how the Creator of the universe orchestrated a purpose for my life and set plans into motion long before I was even born. I realized that I am a second generation Christian, with a boring testimony—and I couldn’t be more grateful.
As I said the words, a sense of immense gratitude filled my heart as I realized what that had meant. I thought about how different my life could have been had my parents not made the decision to follow Christ. I thought about all the generational bondage that they had broken free from, the brokenness they walked away from—things I would never have to face. I thought about Janet, the Sunday school teacher that picked my mother up in her station wagon each Sunday as a little girl that planted a seed. I thought about my four other siblings who are now following passionately after Christ and impacting the lives of those around them. I thought about how the Creator of the universe orchestrated a purpose for my life and set plans into motion long before I was even born. I realized that I am a second generation Christian, with a boring testimony—and I couldn’t be more grateful.
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