If Anybody Knew the Real Me

Feeling groggy from a late night date, I shifted uncomfortably in my chair and then glanced over at the girl next to me. She was the reason I was here in a church service; she and a couple of other girls had invited me. I said yes—even though I knew I'd be out all night with another girl—because I figured I'd eventually end up making out with at least one of the three. After all, that was one of my three main life priorities: 1) talking girls into bed, 2) working out until my muscles ripped; 3) winning State in wrestling during my senior year.
Although I had no interest in God, sitting through the service would be worth it if it meant picking up a girl or two. But I quickly realized these girls weren't interested in going out with me. Still, something about church kept bringing me back. It wasn't the stiff chairs or the sermons—what the pastor said didn't make much sense. But everybody was friendly and different from my other friends. As much as I enjoyed being a cool and popular jock, it felt good to get away from that on Sunday mornings. I just didn't feel like I had to put on a show around Christians.
Then there was Ann. She was in one of my classes at school, but I hardly knew her. One Sunday morning she came up and said hi. The more we talked over the following weeks, the more she impressed me. She didn't treat me like I was some dumb jock, but always seemed interested in my opinions about God and religion. I came to respect Ann, and I never thought about hitting on her.
One day between classes, Ann handed me a Bible and said: "This is my favorite book, Josh. I think you'll like it, too."
As I fumbled self-consciously with the big book, she invited me to a Wednesday night Bible study with some of her friends.
Something inside told me to say, "No way." Something else told me to give it a try. Instead, I mumbled, "What do you guys do there?"
"We eat dinner and read the Bible. It's pretty laid back, but we talk about God a lot."
"I'm not into the whole 'God thing,'" I said indifferently. "But is dinner free?" I figured I wouldn't go if it cost me.
"Yes, it's free," Ann said with a laugh. "So is the fun."
She was right. The food was free and good, and the study turned out to be fun. I couldn't figure out how people could laugh so much while reading the Bible. But they did. So, along with going to church, I also attended the Bible study for the rest of my junior year. Hanging out with Ann and her friends was better than trying to constantly pick up girls. It felt like I had a group of good, genuine friends for the first time ever.
But I had a problem I was afraid to discuss. The more I studied the Bible with my church friends, the more I realized how bad I was. I'd discovered God didn't want people to have pre-marital sex, and I'd sure broken that rule. And I knew God didn't want people to be full of themselves. Guilty again, especially when it came to wrestling. While I was trying to be a better person, my life was still one big mess. If anybody knew the real me, I thought, they wouldn't want me around.
"Ann, you're perfect and so is everyone else at church," I said as I stared downward. "I'm so bad."
I was sitting next to Ann during the noon meal at a Christian camp. A couple of months before summer break, she'd encouraged me to sign up for the weeklong retreat. And I'd been having a great time, but around midweek I couldn't stand it any longer. So I spilled my guts. I figured Ann was about to tell me I didn't have a chance with God.
"Josh, you are guilty of sin," she said softly.
I knew it. I'm so toast.
"But so am I."
"Are you kidding?" I blurted out. "I bet you've never sinned in your life!"
Ann laughed and then said, "You'd be betting wrong. We're all sinners and we've all messed up. That's why we need Jesus. He's the only one who didn't sin and he's the only one who can save us from our sin."
"But you don't know all of the bad stuff I've done. Especially when it comes to girls. I—I've done things I don't even want to talk about, they're so bad."
Ann answered: "What's your point? Jesus still loves you no matter what you've done. He can save you if you believe in him."
Something inside of me broke, and I felt tears burning in my eyes. I didn't cry, but it was the closest I'd come since I was little kid. "Ann," I said with my voice shaking. "I want Jesus to save me."
Several months after becoming a Christian, I stood on a podium with a gold medal hanging around my neck. With God's help and a lot of practice, I'd won the state wrestling championship for my weight class. But something even better happened a few weeks later. I was in my room when my younger brother dropped by. He was a sophomore and, like me, on the wrestling team. Sometimes he'd drop by to get advice on some wrestling move. Not this time.
"Umm," he said nervously. "Do you think I can go to church with you this weekend?"
I felt like cheering. But to keep from scaring him off, I shrugged and said calmly, "Sure, that'd be cool."
That's how Caleb started going to church with me. He eventually made his own personal commitment to Christ. It's not like we'd ever had any big discussions about God. But he'd apparently been listening as I stopped bragging about how great a wrestler I was or how far I got on a date. Without knowing it, I was having a positive influence on my brother.
As he would later tell me, he liked what he saw in my life and wanted what I had. It was kind of like that between Ann and me. The way she lived her life made me want to follow Christ.
As great as it was to win that gold medal, it's nothing compared to living all-out for Jesus. Five years from now my medal will be gathering dust somewhere, but seeing lives change for Christ—that's what will really last. Forever.
After high school, Josh attended Central Michigan University. He graduated in 2006 and then volunteered for a year in Camden, New Jersey, with the organization Mission Year.