How I Became a Christian

This is not put separately because my faith is a separate part of my life, to be taken out on Sundays, Christmas and Easter, and put away during the week. On the contrary I have chosen to address it separately specifically because it is such an important and integral part of my life and, as such, needs more than just a paragraph in the 'Introduction' to my life.

When did I begin to believe in God? I honestly don't know. As far back as I can remember, I believed in Him, and prayed to Him. In retrospect, I see my search as a series of stepping stones, leading me to the point of recognition and commitment.

I remember my Dad saying prayers with us at night, when I was a small child. It made me feel warm and secure to know that there was a God 'up there' somewhere, who watched over us. At some point Dad took us to Church, but it was like going to school, and I did not enjoy it. I was also embarrassed because I didn't have as many attendance stickers in my little 'Sunday School' book as the other children. I preferred the God I spoke to in the orange orchard to the stern God there seemed to be in Church.

When I was about nine years old, I found my Dad's diary next to his bed. I read a few pages, and was surprised to find that most of the entries were written to God. In some, he asked God to strengthen and encourage him, but most of the entries directly involved us, his children, as he asked God to help him to be a good father, and look after and provide for us. The fact that he believed enough in God to actually write to Him, affected me deeply. Dad had to travel a lot in the work he did, so he employed live-in housekeepers to look after us. I missed him when he went away, and I began to pray that we would win the lottery so he could stay at home with us. As the years went by and we did not win the lottery, I felt it was either because I had done something wrong, or that for some reason my prayers were not reaching God.

I continued to pray, and searched for God by studying with many different groups with many different beliefs. Although what each group believed differed, they had one thing in common; each believed that their faith was the right one. Like a child being let loose in a candy shop and told to choose just one candy, my head reeled. I distanced myself from them all, while trying to make sure I covered everything when I prayed. I began my prayers by calling on 'The Lord God Jehovah, our Father', and ended them 'I'm asking this in the name of Jesus Christ our Savior, and by the power of the Holy Spirit' – but I still had a strange, empty ache inside.

My life went on, and was extremely eventful. I won't go into general details here, as it would take too long, and it is outlined in my book, 'Out of the Dark'. In 1973 I married Chris Caine, with whom I had gone to school as a child. Chris was my knight in shining armor; a good and fair man, and a solid presence within the chaos my life had become. From his military background (his father had been in the army), to the regimented discipline of a boy's boarding school in Africa, and the career he had chosen in law, Chris had lived a stable and ordered life. We did not argue much, but one subject always fuelled emotions: religion. His grandfather was a Canon in the Anglican Church, and Chris had been raised in this denomination. He believed in God, but our churchgoing was confined to Christmas and Easter, with the odd service in between when we felt that we should go more often. Unfortunately, these visits often caused arguments. I watched the people chanting the liturgy with blank faces and, very judgmentally, I told Chris that I didn't see any real joy in them. To me, they looked as though they were just going through the motions. And life went on…

In 1979, while living in England, a letter from a friend changed our lives. A couple of years previously, Angie and her husband, Rob, had stayed with us for a few days when they were visiting England. Angie and I had discussed religion, and how empty and hypocritical a lot of it seemed to be. In the letter she had now written, Angie was ecstatic. She referred to the conversation we'd had about religion, and told us she had 'found the way'. She went on to say that we did not have to search for God in different religions or denominations, all we had to do was ask Him into our lives and we would be 'born again'. The terms she used were unfamiliar to me, but Angie's enthusiasm was contagious, and I was intrigued. She sounded positive and happy – and if she had truly 'found the way', then I needed to look into it. Having searched through the Yellow Pages, unsuccessfully, for a 'Born Again' Church, I noticed that one of the books Angie had sent had been written by the pastor of The Millmead Centre, in Guildford. I called the center, told them about Angie's letter, and said I wanted to know more about what she was saying. The lady asked for my address, and then gave me a list of a few Churches in our area.

Sunday came, and Chris and I made our way to Purley Baptist Church – chosen because we did not have a car and it was the easiest to get to. The sermon was inspiring and the people sang joyously, as though they really were happy. I filled in the visitors card, saying that we would like someone to visit us and tell us more about God. Remembering the many groups with which I had studied in the past, Chris was a little apprehensive at this point. However, although he was content with the faith he had grown up with, he was also intrigued by Angie's letter.

Someone from the Church called to set up an appointment, and Keith, George and Alison came to see us a few days later. We discussed the content of the letter, and they confirmed what Angie had said; That we were separated from God by our sin, but that Jesus had taken our punishment for us.

Sensing my uncertainty, Keith told me a story about a judge whose wayward son had broken the law. As a judge, he had to uphold the law and convict his son. As a father, his heart went out to his contrite son, as he knew he would not be able to pay the fine he had imposed. To demonstrate that he loved and forgave his son, the judge paid the fine himself. The son accepted his fathers' gesture, and their relationship was restored.

In the same way, Keith went on, we could accept God's plan of salvation through Jesus, and have our relationship with Him restored.

It sounded too easy, and I suddenly became apprehensive. What if they were wrong, and one of the other studies I had done were right? How could I know which 'way' was really right? I bombarded them with questions, listened to their answers, and then bombarded them with a series of 'what if's'.

As it grew late, Keith turned to me and said 'You know, we could debate theology and different religions for days, but what you need is God's understanding. Can we pray for this?'

A little suspiciously, I asked what good that would do if what they believed was not right.Keith replied, 'You asked us to come here tonight because you are searching for God…' I nodded and he continued 'Well, I'm not going to pray for you to believe any of the things you've learned in the past, or even to believe what I believe. I'm going to pray that, as you pray for guidance and read the Bible, God will reveal His truth to you.'

As he made it clear that they were not trying to manipulate me into believing what they believed, I relaxed. Keith led Chris and me through a prayer of commitment to God. He left us with a Bible, and instructions to ask God for discernment and wisdom before reading it every night.

Beginning with the gospel of Mark, and going on to Acts and Romans, Chris and I prayed and read the Bible each night. I approached our bedtime Bible reading with curiosity tinged with anticipation. Would the content of a book I had found dry and boring during 'Religious Education' at school, really be changed by prayer? After just a few days, the answer came like rain on parched earth. I found that my anticipation turned to excitement. It was as though God was speaking directly to me through the Bible as I read verse after verse; 'Come to me, all who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest', 'Peace I leave with you, my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives, give I to you, let not your heart be troubled, nor let it be fearful.', 'I will never leave you, nor forsake you.' I soaked it in, realizing that the empty ache inside me had disappeared, and had been replaced by the deep reassurance that I had found the truth at last.

Over the years my faith has deepened, and is as important to my life as breathing. I pray constantly, and in many different ways; from quiet times of prayer and Bible study in the morning, to quick 'thank you's' or 'Ooops, I need help' prayers as my day unfolds.

The fact that I had a major emotional breakdown is not a contradiction to my faith. God does not promise that Christians will never experience difficulties. He promises that He will be with us in them, always. So whenever the storms of life hit me, I remember that I am secured fast to the 'anchor of my soul', and 'He will never leave me nor forsake me.'

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