Nine Years
Nine years ago this week I became a Christian. (That’s a weird turn of phrase isn’t it?)
I celebrated the occasion with my bread-stealing flat mate Mark. Together, we sat in front of the box, cracked open a bottle of Sailor Jerry Rum, and talked about life, love and loaves.
If someone had told me I was going to become a Christian on the morning of February 16 2001, I would have probably told them to have a drink and drive to the coast.
Though I had paid two very unsatisfying visits to the local church, I was still living my daily life as if I was in complete control. To be honest, until around 7.35pm that evening, my heart actually believed that whatever felt good, was good. It was a surprisingly liberating experience to find out that I wasn’t the man at the centre of the universe.
Since that moment when I honestly asked the Jesus spoken of in the bible to lead me in my daily life, I have had to constantly fight the temptation of reclaiming the throne of my existence.
The weird thing is, that until recently, I looked back on that day as a 16-year-old in Cardiff and thought it was the most important day of my life. But it was not.
From looking closer at the stuff in the New Testament I now know that today is the only day that matters. The message that Jesus came to bring to this earth was “Today if you hear my voice, do not harden your heart.” Jesus did not say, “In your own time, when you’ve got your life sorted out, come and see me.”
I’ll be honest with you. These last six months have tested my faith in ways I couldn’t imagine when I was a teenager. Grief has really had me by the balls recently, and though my emotions are often mirroring that of a monkey on LSD, I am so happy that Jesus is still in my life.
The number of mistakes I’ve made in the last nine years as a Christian is quite simply embarrassing. Which makes the fact that Jesus not counting my sins against me sound so good.
And not only that, since that day I put him at the front of my mind, he has been strengthening my faith and character. And the truth is he doesn’t seem to be running for the door any time soon. So nine years later, here I am.
And as Mark and I took a fair chunk of rum and coke on-board, I shed a few tears looking back at the last six months. (Don’t worry lads, I’m going rugby training later tonight to man up a bit.)
But because of recent losses to people close to me I am always a few steps away from a good cry. However, I also felt an overwhelming sense of sadness for my many friends and family members who do not have God as an anchor in their lives yet.
I thought about how accessible a living relationship with God was and how a whispered prayer of tiny faith started the most immense journey of joy, adventure and truth any boy could wish for.
Nostalgia got the better of me and I prayed the same prayer that kicked it all off before I went to sleep to mark the 9th year anniversary of my Christian faith.
“Lord Jesus, I reckon you are who the bible says you are. I want you to be my Lord. I’m so sorry its taken me all this time to admit all this. I’m also sorry for ignoring you and doing it my way. Thank you for dying on that cross for us Jesus. I believe. Amen.”
