![]() I’ll never forget that Saturday morning, although I cannot for the life of me remember what precipitated the conversation. My parents were sitting at the dining room table doing bills, as is their custom, when my 14-year-old self entered the scene. Fourteen is a hard age. You are stuck in a transition period, fully aware that you are no longer a kid, yet not a man, either. Your boyhood toys (in my case, G.I. Joes) lost their allure one day, without notice or explanation. Your physical features are awkward. You smell different. Your hair is greasier than it used to be. You’re not sure what place you occupy in your world, or the world at large. And you begin thinking about whether or not you believe everything your parents have taught you, particularly about God. I think the latter topic must have been what gave rise to the conversation that Saturday morning, because I can still hear my dad’s words-- “You can’t ride on our coattails”. He may have added something like, “If you believe the Word of God or don’t believe it, it has to be your decision, not ours”, but I don’t remember that as clearly as I do those six words: You can’t ride on our coattails. My parents little suspected, I’m sure, how that brief conversation, and my father’s words, in particular, would challenge me. I little suspected it, either. Those words gave me both great freedom and great responsibility. I say great freedom, because it signaled a new form of independence for me. Not the kind of independence you get when you’re finally allowed to ride your bike to town by yourself or when you get to decide how to spend the money you earned mowing a lawn, without parental oversight. Rather, it’s the kind of independence that frees you to think for yourself, to weigh the options before you, and to make a decision. Dad’s words gave me great responsibility, though, too, in that I was standing at a fork in the road with a decision to make: follow the path I had been taught about for 14 years, the path that had been demonstrably proven to be stable and trustworthy by elder travelers in my life, or choose the path yet unexplored, but jubilantly acclaimed by the youthful sages of the day. In retrospect, I believe the Lord used a few events and personages in my life to guide my steps, and I’m glad He did. The first was an elderly man named Frank Morris. Frank would write to me about once a month, often sending books by Christian greats, like Warren Wiersbe and William MacDonald. And for many years, until dementia took its toll on my friend’s memory, he would call once a week just to check in. Frank’s influence on my life was significant, because he would relay stories from his long life to illustrate truths that applied to my adolescent life, imparting, in a subtle way, counsel. Sometimes, it’s easier for a teenager to hear truth from someone their grandparents’ age, than it is to hear it from their parents. Frank did just that, and I’m grateful he did. The second person was a new pastor that came to our church when I was a sophomore. Pastor Hill invested his time and his wealth of biblical knowledge and ministerial experience into me. We met once a week for about a year or so for discipleship. We went through the doctrines and disciplines of the faith, and I was able to ask him questions about life, ministry, and the Bible. To this day, I thank God for Pastor Hill and his investment in my life. The third was an event. During most of my growing up years, I was a terrible introvert. Few of my classmates had even heard me talk. One Saturday afternoon changed all of that, though. Our church youth group leaders took the youth group to Harvest Fest, a day-long event for teens, filled with games, prizes, music, and preaching. During one of the preachings times, the speaker preached from Numbers 25 and challenged us to dedicate our lives to living and leading for Jesus Christ. I made a decision that day to do whatever the Lord would have me do. It turns out, that decision meant sharing my faith with my classmates, speaking up on issues that mattered to me, and taking a more active role in my youth group. It also challenged me to be in my Bible on a regular basis. I remember sitting on my bed in the evenings, unable to put my Bible down, as I read about men like King David and the prophet Daniel. These events, and others, too, I’m sure, helped me to ensure my walk with the Lord was my own, and that I was not merely riding my parents’ spiritual coattails. No matter what age a person is, it’s vital that they take personal responsibility for their spiritual growth. As Alexander MacLaren, the great Scottish preacher of old, once said, “We may have as much of God as we will. Christ puts the key of the treasure-chamber into our hand, and bids us take all that we want. If a man is admitted into the bullion vault of a bank, and told to help himself, and comes out with one cent, whose fault is it that he is poor? Whose fault is it that Christian people generally have such scanty portions of the free riches of God?”
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AuthorTy Perry is a writer and blogger living in metro Detroit. Archives
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