I grew up "in the church" but was definitely not a part of it. I went to boarding school from the age of 6, and we had assembly every morning, which consisted of singing hymns, playing the recorder and saying "yes for yesterday afternoon, and yes for this morning" when your name was called. (Don't ask!) The headmistress' name was Miss Morley, so to new kids it sounded like "yes for yesterday afternoon, and yes for Miss Morley!"
We had to go to church every Sunday without fail. Actually in my primary school, we would go to Chapel every Sunday, and I can honestly say it did nothing for me. In fact, I can't even remember what was said. What I do remember, however, are the songs.
Sunday School was full of songs such as This Little Light Of Mine, The Ink Is Black, The Page Is White, and Zaccheus. And we would sing from musicals such as Joseph and His Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat and Moses. I don't think there was ever a musical about Moses, but we had a songbook and sheet music. They were just songs back then, but they stayed with me, and the thing is I still remember them.
Secondary school was even worse! Not only did we have assembly every day with hymns and Bible readings, but we had to go to church every Sunday to a local church. As if that wasn't bad enough, we had to wear our school uniform, which was alright, but the hats were a different story entirely. In the winter, we had to wear what can only be described as "pudding bowl" hats, and in the Summer we had to wear straw boaters, blue ribbon an' all. The pudding bowl hats were blue with a blue ribbon and the boaters were yellow and hard with a blue ribbon. The picture gives you a general idea of what we had to endure.
The thing is, there were choir boys at the church (it was an all girls' school) — typical pre-pubescent boys, but boys nonetheless, and how could you impress boys in a pudding bowl hat? We would spend the whole time pushing the hats as far down on our faces as possible 'cos we were embarrassed just to be seen in them, whilst at the same time, peering out from under them to get a glimpse at the choir boys. "He's looking at you!", "No he isn't", "Yes he is".
I knew there was a God and I believed in Him too. I would get down on my knees and pray every night to this God, and I thought I was doing alright. I wasn't a bad person, I didn't steal, I tried not to lie, I'd never killed anyone and I wasn't going to sleep with anyone I wasn't in love with. I knew there was a heaven and a hell, 'cos the Bible said so, but I reckoned all that was a long way off. After all when you're young, you're going to live forever right?
However, I would often look at my face in the mirror and ask myself things like "who am I?", "why am I here?", "what's the point of it all anyway?" and I wouldn't have an answer. Somehow I knew that I was going to hell, but there was nothing I could do about it so it didn't seem such a big deal. Yet I was scared stiff of going there, 'cos it really didn't sound like a nice place, and all that rubbish about well you'll be in good company, is just that — rubbish.
Got to university and really heard about Jesus for the first time. I learnt that you had to be "born again", to accept Jesus into your life, and strange stuff that I'd never heard before. Not once in all those years of going to chapel and going to church had I heard anything about giving my life to Jesus. The closest I'd got had been to read The Cross and the Switchblade by David Wilkerson in secondary school. That had simply been a good read to me — I was excited by the "on the edge" lifestyle of the people in the book. The message of it had not had any effect on me and I thought well I don't do drugs, and I don't belong to a gang and knife people, so I don't fall into the same category.
I was so desperate for this newly discovered Jesus that I "gave my life" every time someone came into my dorm to talk to me about Him. They would come in and tell me about Jesus, about how He died for me on the cross, how He longed for me to have a personal relationship with Him, and how my sins could be forgiven and I could be sure of going to heaven and being with Him forever. I was hungry to hear about Him, always let them come and tell me about Him when they knocked on the door, and always said the sinner's prayer and thanked God that I was finally saved. I was expecting the radical experience Nicky Cruz had had, (as told in The Cross and the Switchblade) writhing about on the ground. It had been kind of scary reading that, but I guess that's not the way everyone reacts when they ask the Lord into their life. A few days later I'd go back to being my former self, whilst all the time knowing I was on a one-way street to hell, but somehow not being able to turn around or even stop.
Went to Moscow for a year in the last year of Gorbachëv's presidency and partied like it was 1999 although there were eight odd years to go still. We were all away from home, away from people we knew and so we just had a blast. Even had someone there tell me I was on the wrong road, that God was going to turn His back on me if I didn't change my ways, and boy did that wake me up! I was scared stiff. I ran to the nearest fellowship group, which thankfully was in someone's room in the building, gave my life to Jesus yet again, broke up with my boyfriend because Jesus, me and him didn't mix, and got on with being a Christian. That lasted all of two weeks, and my now ex-boyfriend thought I'd made it all up to get rid of him! At the time all this was FUN FUN FUN. I mean there was a party every single night 'cos there was just nothing else to do in Moscow. Never got tired. Met some great people from all over the world, learned how to dance the merengue, got introduced to Rai music and just threw myself into everything.
Back at uni after a year in Moscow, the feelings of inadequacy and the immense burden on my shoulders began to press in again. I was so tired of my life and of where it was going. I asked a friend who I knew was a Christian to take me to her church (God bless you Morenike), I put my hand up to accept Jesus (I even stood up and went to the front in front of hundreds of people — totally not me) and this time it was the real thing. I guess my heart had not really been in it the other times. I stood there at the altar, acknowledged I was a sinner, confessed my sins to God, and asked Him to forgive me and come into my life. I know it's probably a cliché and some of you are right now sticking your fingers down your throat, if you even stuck it out till this bit, but it's the truth. My life has never been the same since. I only wonder why it took me so long to surrender to Him.
It has definitely been a bed of roses, thorns an' all, but I've not been alone. There have been ups and downs, sometimes it feels like the downs happen more often than the ups, but still I've not been alone. God is definitely with me on this journey through life and although I'm not always faithful and I take Him for granted at times, yet He still remains faithful because that is His nature. He who first loved me, will never forsake me, for He has promised that He will be with me always, even until the end of the age.
I can lift up my head and say with confidence that "I will dwell in the house of the Lord, now and forever more." (Psalm 23:6)