From a young age, I knew I was really really good at being a Christian. I accepted Jesus into my heart and was baptized at the age of 8. After my baptism, my parents took the family to a nice restaurant and I excitedly said "I'll pay for lunch!" as I pulled the $100 bill out of my purse that I had stolen off my aunt's counter. This moment was a foreshadow of the hypocrisy and pride that would poison my Christian walk over the next decade of my life.

I continued to view myself as a good Christian through elementary, middle school, and high school. I went to church and youth group (to hang out with my friends), I read the Bible (when I wanted to prove someone wrong), I didn't party (I just got drunk with a few friends occasionally), and I didn't date or sleep around (what I watched on the internet didn't count, right?). I knew a lot about God and the Bible, and from the outside it looked like I was living a godly life, but my heart was so full of myself that there was hardly any room for Jesus.

College followed the same pattern. I joined a campus ministry (The Rock at IUPUI) my first year in college. I went to every meeting, was involved in all the discussions, and went to the conferences. At the same time, I got involved with the LGBT groups, spent a lot of time wallowing on the internet, and started struggling with depression. I reached a point where I quit going to classes, called off of work almost every day, and only got off the couch to go to the weekly campus ministry meetings. I spent more and more time doing the things that most conflicted with my view of myself as a "good Christian." I was in a pit so deep, it felt like nothing could reach me. 

My identity was crumbling, and I was searching everywhere for myself. One day, I cut my hair short, and looked in the mirror. The person I saw looked androgynous, and I felt an excitement run through me. "This is it," I thought, "this is what's been missing; why I've been so lost." Secretly, I started identifying as "a-gender", only telling my friends who were outside of my Christian circles. The euphoria didn't last long, and I started to feel the emptiness clawing at me again. "Maybe that wasn't all, maybe I'm queer, maybe..." I could feel myself slipping down the path that I watched many of my friends go down. The realization isn't enough, so they come out, that isn't enough, so they get surgery, that isn't enough, and on and on.

By the mercy of God, my life fell apart before I could. Tensions with my roommates got too high, and we all went our separate ways. I dropped out of school and moved back home. My parents lived too far from civilization to have wi-fi, so I resorted to reading books to escape from myself. I became a regular patron of my local library again. On the table of staff picks, I found a book titled "Not a Fan" by Kyle Idleman. I took it home and read half of it in one sitting before I realized this was a book I needed to slow down and really process.

"Not a Fan" is all about being a true follower of Jesus, not just someone who cheers for Jesus on Sundays then goes home to live their life however they want. He talked about Luke 9:23 when Jesus said "

Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me." This felt like a slap in my face. I realized I hadn't been living for Jesus at all. I had been living my life however I wanted, then fitting Jesus into whatever gaps were left. I had to die to the self that I was serving every day, and live for Him who died for me.

This changed everything for me. I started traveling back and forth to help with the campus ministry whenever I was free. I started studying my Bible in earnest, not to show up others, but because I was starving for the word of God. I threw away the vices that were holding me back, and I committed all I had to living for Christ.

One day while journaling, I told God "I have worked so hard to find my identity in the LGBT community, and I will use that identity for you. I can build relationships and share the gospel with that identity. I'm going to live for you, but I'm also going to hold onto this identity." As I read my Bible, however, I started to notice something. In the New Testament, whenever the apostles wrote letters to the church, they introduced themselves as servants. It was "I Paul, a servant of Christ," "I Peter, a servant of Christ," even the brother of Jesus introduced himself as "I James, a servant of Christ." They didn't try to make any claims to fame, they didn't boast, they didn't have any identity apart from Christ.

Matthew 6:24 stood out to me.

"No one can serve two masters. Either you will hate the one and love the other, or you will be devoted to the one and despise the other." I realized that I couldn't have two identities. My identity had to be wholly in Christ, or I couldn't wholly follow Him.

I moved back to Indianapolis and committed myself wholly to serving Christ alongside my brothers and sisters at Eagle Creek Community Church and The Rock. God continued to work on my heart regarding my identity as a woman in Christ. He brought my husband and I together through ministry, and we continue to live our lives wholly for Christ in whatever he has for us. I have continued to work through depression and anxiety in therapy, but the hope I have in Jesus has made it possible for me to heal and grow. 

Every day I am reminded by the tattoo on my wrist: "I die daily" that it is a conscious decision to die to myself and live for God. My identity is in him, and I want to live a life that reflects that.