He Who Began a Good Work

Here's why I don't freak out when my kids struggle with living out their faith.

I grew up under the wing of a strong, Christian woman. Sunday mornings found me with my nose pressed against the window, waiting for Papaw to get Mamaw’s long, black New Yorker backed out of the garage and warmed up in the driveway. I wore homemade dresses that came just to my knees (both Mamaw and Mom sewed), undergirded with a skirt of scratchy crinoline that made twirling amazing, but prevented me from being able to see my shiny, patent leather mary janes until I was sitting in the wide front seat of the Chrysler, Bible on my lap and gloves on my hands.

I won a medal as Sword Drill Champion in third grade, and knew every single Sunday School song, complete with hand motions. My favorites were Do Lord and The Devil is a Sly Old Fox. This was the late 70s and early 80s, so there were no VBS themes, no silicone bracelets, no kids’ classes during the sermon. I grew up with the full Gospel, unfiltered for little ears, and a heavy, heady dose of fire and brimstone.

My Mamaw made sure I got a big serving of Jesus in her home, too. There was no lying, no stealing, and I can’t even imagine how long I would have chosen to stand rather than sit if I’d been caught taking the Lord’s name in vain. She corrected behavior with a liberal (if not always understandable) dose of Scripture. I think I was 10 when I happened upon the definition of the word “uttereth,” and made sense of the verse I’d been scolded with all my life: A fool uttereth all his mind: but a wise man keepeth it in till afterwards.—Proverbs 29:11 Regardless, I walked the aisle during a revival at a country church when I was a young teen, and gave my life (and a pack of my mom’s cigarettes I’d filched) to Jesus.

In another child, perhaps all of this would have resulted in a straight path from cradle to sanctification. But I was stubborn and proud and though the seeds had been sown, weeds grew up hard and fast. It would be years— literal years— before the work of the Holy Spirit was well and truly begun in my life.

I’m asked often how I can not despair when my teens and young adults wrestle with matters of the faith. And this is why: I watched my Mamaw, who had so patiently and faithfully sought to bring me to full understanding of the saving grace available in Christ Jesus, take comfort and even joy in the promise of both Proverbs 22:6 and Philippians 1:3-11:

I thank my God in all my remembrance of you, always in every prayer of mine for you all making my prayer with joy, because of your partnership in the gospel from the first day until now. And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ. It is right for me to feel this way about you all, because I hold you in my heart, for you are all partakers with me of grace, both in my imprisonment and in the defense and confirmation of the gospel. For God is my witness, how I yearn for you all with the affection of Christ Jesus. And it is my prayer that your love may abound more and more, with knowledge and all discernment, so that you may approve what is excellent, and so be pure and blameless for the day of Christ, filled with the fruit of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ, to the glory and praise of God.

I “backslid” (as Mamaw called it) until my junior year of college, when I tiptoed back to the church. And yes, it was the church that I went back to first. Longing for connection and feeling the pull to belong to something bigger, I sought a body to join. It would be four more years yet before I realized that, needful as the Bride is, the hole in my heart was aching for Christ Himself, and began pursuing Him.

Mamaw rejoiced. In her lifetime, I was the second of her immediate family to begin living fully for Jesus. My uncle, my father’s twin, was the first. Papaw, her husband, was next. Her third son and my own dad didn’t follow until after she was already in the presence of her Savior. She never wavered in her trust that He was good, that He would prove faithful. She simply let the Holy Spirit be the Holy Spirit, and kept on praying.

This is why you won’t hear me wailing when my kids ask hard questions. It’s why a young adult who tells me that church isn’t necessary isn’t cause for panic. My own history of being steeped in faith and yet wandering reminds me that the process of owning one’s own salvation can twist and turn, and yet still end at the cross.

So that’s the hope I have. That’s the trust I place in a God bigger than circumstances. That’s the joy I find in Jesus.

In Christ,

Heather