A confession to start.

I hated Christians.

Yes. That was it, my confession. I have a feeling that when my parents read this, they might have some kind of a panic attack.

I've had this exact confession before, when I was thirteen. Or maybe fourteen. It's that awkward time in my life that I try to not think about very often. That particular confession brought about the story of my faith. That is a story for another time, although if for some reason you'd like to read it, you can find it on my website.

This particular confession happened sometime around my senior year of college. I think irony seems to color my life in more ways than I want it to, because at that point in my life, I was about to complete my undergraduate in Youth Ministry, Music, and Biblical Studies. For about four years prior to this confession, I was training to be a pastor. Then I realized that I did not like Christians, so becoming a pastor for them would be highly unbearable.

The rationale for my confession was simple. I was not able to come to terms with what it meant to be a Christian. The Christians that had inhabited my life were fake. None of their actions were real. I was sick and tired of living around people who wore masks every single day.

I was very, very bitter.

After months of bitterly going through life, something just clicked in place. Today's "neat" version of Christianity (the one that has all the rules and tries to impose that on everyone) isn't what it was originally. Jesus' ministry wasn't fake at all.

I no longer hate Christians, by the way.

What changed?

I'm absolutely overwhelmed by how wide, and long, and high, and deep the love of Christ is. And the grace that continually flows into my life.

I realized that it's not about the Christians, it's about Christ. And I'm not any better than they are, searching for a way to make things "work."

And so, my journey began. A journey of de-bitter-ization and the pursuit of what it means to be the disciple Jesus called me to be.