#10 - Friday, June 12, 1992

For some of us, the process of growing up is gradual. As circumstances shift, these individuals float from moment to moment, having little reason to contemplate what changed between Point A and Point B.

As for me, my spurts are drastic, erratic, and awkward.

Three days before, I had never ridden a roller coaster, had never been to "The Cell," had never crushed on a girl, and had never been to a real beach. As our tour camp traveled through Chicagoland, we stopped at Great America, and I lost my voice riding the Batman. I attended a White Sox game and innocently went to the concession area to buy a hat. When I returned, the hat marking my seat was being worn by an unfamiliar girl.

At the end of the week, my 4'7", 80 pound self was walking along the Lake Michigan shore with three friends and four girls from our neighboring school: eight thirteen-year-olds without a care in the world. The sun and sand were blazing, and I remember being surprised by the crispness of the water. We played cards atop a large dune we had climbed, before barrel-rolling over a hundred feet to the lakefront.

At the specified time, we gathered in a picnic area for our chapel service. Being the last chapel of the week, it wasn't uncommon for the camp director to present a message on repentance and salvation. Today, I understand that this is the way a ministry "counts" its success, but I also recognize that the Spirit will use whatever means necessary to speak to His children. Our director began by reciting this familiar passage:

I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other! So, because you are lukewarm -- neither hot nor cold -- I am about to spit you out of my mouth. You say, ‘I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing.’ But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind, and naked. I counsel you to buy from me the gold refined in the fire, so you can become rich; and white clothes to wear, so that you can cover your shameful nakedness; and salve to put on your eyes, so you can see. (Revelation 3:15-18)

As a kid growing up in the church, I took the first hard look at myself, and I didn’t like the reflection. My mouth continually spewed obscenities and hatred -- my actions spoke little of my claim to Christianity. I knew that I couldn’t reconcile the two lifestyles. My sin drove a wedge between myself and Christ, and I had to decide which life I would live.

Returning home, I was left to myself as my brother trained for football. Indiana had a wonderfully cool summer that year. I woke up early each morning, riding my bike across the road towards the lake, enjoying the quietness of the outdoors. A few of my younger neighbors spent time with me as well, looking up to my “life experience” like little brothers. Looking back today, it's kind of funny to consider: I had never spent time with younger kids. Having been the youngest kid on the block for years, I relished my first summer without my brother's peers.

Many seasons passed before God revealed the lingering decision -- the call to die was the elephant in the room. During my time of waiting, God showed me what the world had to offer, how unsatisfying it was, and how He would redeem me from my blindness.