MY FAITH…

I was born to a christian family. My grandfather had successfully built and started the Church of the Nazarene in Windhoek Namibia. My whole family on my dad’s side was part of the church and my mom’s family was; and still is; Catholic. Having a set of beliefs was important to every member of my family so it wasn’t a big deal for my mom to change denominations when she married my dad.

My earliest memories included the church. Every Sunday we would put on our finest and attend service. Being that it was my grandfather’s church, my family was involved in everything from singing, to doing announcements, to teaching the Sunday school. Naturally I was part of the Sunday school which conveniently was also my creche during the week, with the same teachers for both. Everyone knew my family and my family knew everyone (Windhoek wasn’t exactly big. In fact it still isn’t although it is growing).

We relocated to Johannesburg after my dad got retrenched and moved in with my grandparents who had already resigned from the church in Windhoek and joined a local Nazarene church. Things were exactly as they were before, the only difference was that it was not my grandfather’s church; although he became a highly respected elder in the church. Aside from our Sunday duties, we would have family prayer time after supper every night.

You’d think I’d be over all this by now and yes. That’s exactly what happened. But not for the reasons you might think.

I love the church, always have. But Jesus was always someone I read about in my bible, someone my family talked about, someone I was praying to but didn’t actually know.

I heard of all the miracles, blind people seeing, people being healed, and the list goes on. But in all my years being in the church, I never saw such miracles. I never saw someone get up from a wheel chair and start walking, or have hands laid on them and in an instant every ailment was gone. I may be exaggerating but bare with me…

For a long time I felt lost and that church was an obligation. Only in my late teens and early twenties did I actually question my faith. I started asking why and searching other churches for answers. For a while church hopping became a thing for me. I was never settled anywhere. Some churches I never agreed with their practices or the word they were preaching. Other churches I actually felt like I was getting to know this stranger called Jesus but it wasn’t my church.

Now here comes the bomb, the revelation, the light-bulb moment. There was no grand Revelation where I felt the spirit of God and fell to my knees. There was no burning bush where God revealed himself to me. Probably because the Lord knows I am scared as shit and probably can’t handle such paranormal happenings. But what did happen was events and circumstances in my life and in the lives of my family, that there is no explanation for how we survived and got through them other than divine intervention, grace, mercy, …God. Those stories are blogs on their own that I will share in time.

This whole time I had God placed in a certain box. An idea of what He is like, what experiencing Him is like. See, this man Jesus was never this entity that was foreign. He has been there, with me, with my family, this entire time. Yes God is a miracle working God and he does do incredible miracles. But He also does not enter where He is not welcomed. He wont work until we give Him permission to do so. This whole time I was waiting for him to enter my life, like some superman who busts in the door or window with His hands on His hips saying “Ill save you!”.

I don’t think there is ever a point where we can say we know this man Jesus. I will search for Him everyday, not because I feel obligated, but because now I want to know Him, serve Him and embrace the miracles He performs in my life everyday.