How God Saved Me Series

One dictionary aptly defines a wretch as a miserable or unhappy person. That definition absolutely tracks with the state of my soul before being redeemed. Of course, from all outward appearances I was thriving and doing well. Yet, beneath the surface of the apparently fun-filled life of a 21-year-old woman, I was seriously in a state of substantial wretchedness.

Crying, I knelt down in front of my bedroom window. I was four years old, and I was afraid. 

My little soul was troubled: Was I going to hell when I died?

I was a true 1970s hippie and lived a lifestyle that was compatible with that term. I left home at 17, partying and traveling around the country, at times traveling by hitchhiking. I was literally risking my life searching for something that was meaningful.

I grew up in a Lutheran church where I attended semi-regularly and participated in first communion and confirmation at the designated ages. By high school, I knew I wanted church to be part of my life, but I was easily distracted by busyness and the pursuit of success.

I was born into a family that “attended church.” We went when the doors were open because my dad was a deacon and my mom was in the choir and sometimes directed. So I was exposed to the gospel at a young age. My parents decided to split up when I was 15. That meant the deacon and the choir director were getting divorced.  “Where is God in this?” I wondered. I felt like I couldn’t trust him.