Jesus, not me

Before I became a Christian I had little faith in mankind and the future of this world. So much that I did not even want to bring kids into a world with such bleak prospects. I lived for weekends to relax and weekdays to make a living. I was in a rut, living without hope or real purpose. To put things in perspective, the early 1970′s were the years of “make love, not war”, hippies, drugs, parties. The world was going to hell in a hand-basket.

My conversion took place in 1974 while attending a Cal Hays crusade with a number of other people from our church. I became convinced by the Holy Spirit that Jesus could bring hope into my empty life. I went forward and received Jesus Christ as my Lord and Saviour.
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I am a grateful believer who struggles with insecurity and who is recovering from low self-esteem.

My sister and I enjoyed a protected, carefree childhood surrounded by friends and family but my parents could not get along with each other. They eventually split up and dad left us when I was 13. He never came back, or visited and it seemed like he didn’t care how we were doing. I was worried that if friends found out, they would think there was something wrong with me that made me unworthy to be loved, because it felt like my father was leaving me – not mum. Mum taught me never to trust any man – especially if he said he loved you. My sister and I grew up amongst Methodists. I was baptised when I was 17, but stopped going to church, shunning Christians for 30 years because I witnessed a member of the clergy make a mistake. I determined that I didn’t want to be part of the hypocrisy. I could not see that it wasn’t God who had let me down – it was man.
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