Finding Freedom

Stars shone brightly in the velvet darkness as we circled, candles in hand. We were singing praise songs to the Lord. It was our last night of church camp my freshmen year. A simple wooden cross stood in the center of our ring of fellowship. Our candles glowed in the night surrounding the cross, as if our souls, not the wicks, were on fire.

Battling back tears, I looked up at the sky. I wasn’t ready to face whatever was welling up within me. Something huge was building in my heart, bringing tears to my eyes, but also the barest sensation of hope and peace. Yet I was afraid. Somehow I knew this decision would change my life forever.

Doubts and nerves raced through my mind. “You don’t need to change. You believe in God, right? Why go through all this? You’re fine as you are. You’re happy as you are!”

Then why did I feel this horrible ache? Why didn’t I have the passion that I had seen lighting the eyes of so many here? Did I ever love Him, I mean really love Him? I felt so often that I was a slave to the world I lived in. The truth, I realized bitterly, was that I was a slave to my own choices. The weight of the world was on my shoulders, and I felt closed in and helpless. I closed my eyes and felt a cool brush of wind whisper across my cheek. It was as if God was wiping my tears away, telling me He understood. A quiet sob escaped my lips. I swallowed quickly and gritted my teeth. Desperately trying to hold my emotions in check, I gazed at the cross in front of me.

The cross was plain. Deliberately made to look like the original, it was built to scale with simple, rough-hewn wood. How could it possibly be the answer to everything I hoped for?

The singing flowed softly, gently around me on the breeze. Our candles flickered and danced. Suddenly, the singing stopped. A young woman, a camp counselor, emerged from the circle of people, from the comfort and ease of being one among many. Tears streaming down her pale cheeks, light blond hair lifting in the wind, she knelt in front of the humble cross and began to pray.

A dam burst within my soul. My heart was so full; my mind so clear. All the fears, all the pain, all the mistakes I’ve ever made exploded from my mind. I couldn’t think of anything, anything at all, except, “Lord, oh my Lord Jesus, I need you! I need you so much!”

Without thinking, I broke free from the circle and walked toward this girl, this girl I had only seen in passing throughout the week. I knelt beside her and began to pray with all my heart, my shoulders heaving with sobs, words choking in my throat. I couldn’t get them out fast enough, wanting so badly to finally be in His arms. I was crying and stuttering, and I wasn’t sure that what I was saying made sense. However, I knew that He understood what I was trying to say.

The murmur of singing continued in the background, mingling with the sobs of others around me. I felt hands on me, comforting me, praying for and with me. Everyone was hugging and sobbing. I distinctly remember hugging Paul tightly, tears shining in both of our eyes, smiles lighting our faces.

Paul is a pastor at a church somewhere in Kansas, and the leader of my care group for that week. I admired and loved him with all my heart. He was goofy, kind, and completely filled with the Spirit. He was, and still is, my hero. I can still remember how that middle-aged man would laugh, putting all his being into it, shaking his small belly. His eyes would glow with good humor and sincerity behind his large glasses, and he was never, ever afraid to stand up for what he believed.

I recall looking at the counselor who bravely came up by herself to kneel at Jesus’ feet. The last image I have of her is when she was still kneeled on the grass, hands folded in prayer, traces of tears shining on her cheeks. She looked up at the sky, into the stars, and smiled. I remember that so clearly. The smile seemed to make her face glow. It was a smile of one completely at peace and full of absolute joy. I also remember it because I used to envy that smile, that peace.

I can’t really remember much more after that. It was kind of a blur. It doesn’t really matter now.

All that mattered was that I was free.

I must have sat there for an hour, at least, waiting for the joy I was feeling to wear off just a little bit so I could get up without wanting to dance-- or at least stop smiling.

It didn’t.

After four years, the joy still hasn’t faded. It has taken a lot of work, and it certainly hasn’t always been easy. Being a Christian is the hardest part of my life. It is also the most rewarding. I look back on how I’ve grown, and how I was before that night. I don’t even recognize myself. Now I try to live for God instead of brushing Him off with a prayer here and a Sunday there. Instead of having a religion, I have a relationship with Him. That relationship is something that I wouldn’t give up for anything in the world. Whenever I feel distraught or disappointed with my life, I can remember the night I was saved. The moment of triumph is still as clear as yesterday.

The grass was cool underneath me, and the only sounds were the crickets and the wind rustling through the trees. I was alone with Paul when I finally looked up. He was standing diagonally behind me, his kind brown eyes gazing thoughtfully and deeply at the cross, his hands in his pockets.

He caught my eye and smiled; I stood up and walked over to him. He didn’t say a word to me. He didn’t have to. We stood together, staring at the cross.

Then I looked up at the stars and smiled.