ONE: That the world may know...

So we're doing this campaign at church where we share our "story" -- where we were before we came to know Christ, where we are now. I've been thinking about this a lot lately. I've heard the concept of the "journey" thrown around a lot. Some would say that when you speak to someone about your faith you should shy from doctrine, that really, the change in your life is about an ongoing experience not a single converting event. I'm not so sure.

I can still recall that awkward car ride to the airport on the morning of September 1, 2006 -- leaving home for the first time for an internship in DC, sitting in the backseat between my girlfriend and my mother at 4:30 in the morning. In the eight days before I packed my bags (and guitar), both of my grandmothers had been diagnosed with cancer. And I got a charming letter in the mail that the internship I was banking on declined to accept me for the Fall semester. My plans -- my plans -- had failed. I was supposed to have an amazing semester, graduate in the summer, and, some years later, get married. And all this was going to happen in front of a live audience that certainly included both of my grandmothers.

Terminal cancers were obviously not part of my plans.

So it seemed like a cruel joke when that letter arrived in the mail. I've been raised in church my whole life, and I've been undoubtedly blessed. So blessed, in fact, that I had not experienced the kinds of struggles with which many of my friends had grappled throughout my youth and young manhood. Divorce, death, poverty -- the only times these subjects left my lips were in prayers for other people. The summer of 2006 was a wake up call.

I was raised in the church, but sometimes that can be a struggle in itself when you allow it. I had pushed and pushed away from the church for so many years that I had lost that love in my life that comes with faith in the knowledge of His grace and purpose. And it wasn't out of rebellion or some newly acquired rejection of the idea of church. I had just become lazy. I came to take every blessing in my life for granted.

I don't believe in "revenge" lessons from God. I cannot earn His love, so by definition I cannot turn it away. But I do believe in purpose. In the four months I spent away from home, I learned a lot about time. A lot I would never have had to learn. I've always felt that a Christian who has not gone through suffering is an incomplete Christian. We are called to be imitators in all aspects of Christ's example. Love. Compassion. Suffering. That's why we count all trials joy. They are opportunities to live out our faith. On the job training, if you will.

But what comfort is that in the middle of your trials? I was emotionally exhausted on the plane rides to DC. But I couldn't sleep. I just put on my headphones and stared out the window. How small I felt as the ground shrunk below me. Death was in my future, and while it always was, I didn't want to understand why. I didn't want to wrap my head around the idea that living is a double-sided coin. Seasons govern the year. But what kind of plan was this, really?

I was still struggling with the idea when I landed in DC. I had just packed my bags into a van in the capitol when I got a somewhat desperate call from another internship asking if I could work. A small sign, but enlightening nonetheless. He would, of course, still be God if that call never came through. But my mindset began to change. No matter what happened that semester, I started to realize, I would be okay. God would still be here.

I have a best friend whose mother passed away last year days before Thanksgiving. The funeral was particularly awkward, recalling moments from the two funerals I had already been a part of in the year before. But I didn't force the issue, and I have not since. I remember what it was like to doubt. I still tear up driving by grandmother's porch. On my birthday next month, I'll still wake up waiting for my yearly phone call from Mamo. But God is still here.

And that's the biggest part of my story. Realizing that has changed my life. I'll never have to manipulate my best friend into coming to church or becoming a committed Christian because I have known -- at least partially -- his anguish. I remember the quiet of sitting with serious doubt as it festered, creeping into every nook and cranny of my mind, fighting with my heart. Yet all the while, God was still here. And that's what I tell him. God will still be here. We may never understand His purpose, but we can look around the picture of our lives and see the changes that emanate from the unexpected trials that He does send our way.

I don't know why my grandmothers passed away. But I do know that their passing -- met by both of those incredible women with a calm strength of spirit that will stay forever with me -- was the impetus to necessary changes in my walk. I am a different person now because of what happened. My faith is no longer background matter. My God is still here.

Hopefully some of that comes across in this overproduced YouTube video.