Hey, everyone. So, this is my testimony of how I came to know Christ. I said it publicly for the first time on February 13, 2010 at the snow trip. It was an amazing experience, because I'd never publicly given my testimony because I was afraid of what people would think of me, and because I was raised to not show pain or emotion, and I knew I'd get emotional if I said it out loud. Here it is again, and I've added some stuff to it, stuff that I didn't have the words to say then, or couldn't say out loud.
First things first, you should know that I was born and raised Catholic. I went from baptism to first communion to confirmation. I went to catechism (youth group for Catholics) every Wednesday, and Mass every Sunday. And although I was the "best" in my class, meaning I had all the right Bible answers, I just never really felt anything. If you don't know much about the Catholic religion, it's basically a lot of rules and restrictions. Rules that seemed impossible for me at the time. And every time I broke a rule, I felt terrible. It felt like I'd let down the people who loved me the most, and that God hated me for being who I was and what I did. I knew there had to be more: there just had to be. There had to be more than the endless cycle of breaking rules and falling into near-depression.
So, this cycle continued until about 7th grade, when my friend Cody Watson invited me to go to a week-long church retreat. All week long, I felt kinda out of place because I was the only one who didn't really know Christ. On the last day, we all got into a circle, and we shut the lights out, and the room was lit only by candlelight. We were each given a paper heart and we were supposed to give it to someone we'd hurt or were mean to during the week. It was really overwhelming to me...just seeing all the forgiveness by everybody: it was a nice change of pace from my Catholic background. All of a sudden I felt something completely new, and I knew that was when the Holy Spirit entered me. As corny as it seems, I literally felt the Spirit wash over me.
From then on, my life was changed. I started attending the local Baptist church, First Baptist Church. My good friend Drew Clary invited me to go, so I started going. It was amazing, just seeing all the love everybody had for each other, and the incredible support. I went there from my 7th grade year up until my freshman year in high school. I went to every youth retreat, went to youth group every Wednesday, and my life was going great.
However, during this time, starting in 7th grade, my father and I started growing further apart. It seemed like he was always working, and when he wasn’t, he’d be too tired to pay any attention to me. Being the youngest child and only son, he had insanely high expectations of me, and he let them be known. My dad was an all-star athlete in high school. Straight A’s, track star, all-league basketball player, and star wide receiver. Needless to say, he had hopes for a college athlete son. From school to friends to sports, he felt that I always had to be the best. If I didn’t get straight A’s, he would get angry with me, and I remember being grounded for two weeks once because I got a “B”. And in sports, it was always “Win! Win! Win!” from football to baseball to wrestling. It got so bad that I felt like I had lost my dad, and got a coach instead. So, I turned to my other friends’ dads to replace my own. However, this too came to an end, when, in November 2005, my friend Jordan’s dad died of a heart attack. He had always been there for me, from sports to life in general, and was always so encouraging. I felt like God had abandoned me, taking away one of the most meaningful people in my life.
All of these things led up to the summer going into my sophomore year of high school. My parents decided to move from Kansas to California. I had lived in Kansas for 12 years, and had known many of my friends since practically diapers. I was devastated: I probably wouldn’t see most of these people for the rest of my life, and it was all because of my parents. I was really depressed when I moved, and I felt like my parents and my God didn’t care about me, and that they were doing this to punish me for something I’d done. I can’t tell you how many nights I stayed awake crying, wondering what I’d done to make everybody hate me so much.
Soon, I made friends. Or what I thought were friends. I started playing football for Granada, and I soon fell into the typical party boy life. We would play our games on Friday nights, and nearly every weekend there was a party. I easily, and happily, fell into the drug and alcohol scene. I drank because I was depressed, and I was depressed because I drank. Soon, this vicious cycle consumed me, until all I could think about was my next drink, or my next hit. It wasn’t just alcohol, either. I got involved in marijuana, and it got to the point where I lit up at nearly every party. I started making bad decisions, and stopped talking to my family, and God. Now, I didn’t do the drugs and alcohol just to become popular, although that was a part of it. Most of why I did that stuff was hatred. I hated my parents and God for making me move, I hated them for ripping me away from my friends, my church, my entire life. I rebelled against my parents and God by doing the only thing I knew how: getting into trouble. I would get so drunk at parties that I would start fights with random people, and I didn’t care. I didn’t care that they would go home that night with black eyes or bloody faces. I wasn’t concerned about what their parents would say when they came home, seeing their kid all bloodied. As far as I was concerned, they deserved it. I was so full of hate that I would take my anger towards my parents and God and turn it against other people. Even on the football field, I would take my anger out in horrible ways. I would do cheap shots, cuss other players out on the field, doing whatever necessary to win, and inflict as much bodily harm as possible in the process. I did all this because I felt this was the only way I could be happy again. Needless to say, this didn’t help at all.
I started spiraling into depression, and I felt no one was there to save me, or that anyone was there to even care. I felt my parents had abandoned me when we moved, and that God abandoned me long before then. I didn’t know anyone well enough at church to talk to them, so I turned to my other friends. Of course, these “friends” are the same ones that started me down the path I was on in the first place, so that road led nowhere. I fell even deeper into depression, because although I was at all the “cool kids’ “parties, surrounded by tons of “friends”, I felt alone. Completely, utterly…alone. I felt that nobody was there for me, and that nobody wanted to be there for me. There were many times that I thought for hours about suicide. How could I do it? When should I do it? Who will miss me if I do? Nobody. Nobody would miss me if I killed myself, I thought. My parents sure didn’t care. If they cared, they wouldn’t have ripped me from my friends. If they cared, they wouldn’t expect so much of me. If they cared, they would’ve noticed what I’m going through by now. No, they didn’t care. So, I started writing my good-bye letter. I literally started writing it: telling my parents goodbye. I was on the verge of killing myself night after night. But, for some reason, I couldn’t go through with it. Something was holding me back.
This continued for about six months, until the 2008 snow trip. I had been going to Trinity Baptist Church since July 2007, but I never felt comfortable there. I felt that when I moved from my old church, that no other church would compare, so I didn’t really give anybody much of a chance. At the snow trip, the speaker was talking about how God can be a perfect father, a dad, and not just a Creator or a Rule-maker. It was like God was speaking directly to me. I broke down during the invitation, and I just started crying, and bawling my eyes out. I was so full of hatred towards my parents, especially my dad, but mostly I hated God. But during the invitation, I snapped. I felt so convicted of everything I had done. Every drink I ever drank. Every hit I ever took. Every fight I ever got into. Every injury I had caused in hatred. Every hateful thought toward my parents. Everything.
Our youth pastor at the time, Chris Thielen, saw me crying, and after the message, came over and talked to me for what seemed like hours. He told me that God had forgiven my sins, and that He’d never leave or forsake me. He told me that as long as I believed in Christ, I would have eternal life and that I would never be alone or abandoned again. I guess you could say I had a recommitment that night.
Ever since then, I’ve been heavily involved in church, from doing FAITH to going to every retreat or camp I could go to. I’ve become really close with all the youth at Trinity, and each of them has helped me along with my Walk in Christ, whether they realize it or not. I’ve come a long way in my faith, and I never could have done it without the support of my friends.
When I finally gave them a chance, I realized that these “church kids” were like a big family. Family. That word used to bring up bitter, angry memories. Then I finally understood the true meaning of the word. Family. It’s not about being related or living in the same house, it’s about people who love each other and would do anything for them, would die for them. That’s what family is, not some corny Brady Bunch episode. I realized that these “church kids” were my new family. They supported each other, loved each other, appreciated each other. They didn’t judge each other for their mistakes, but embraced them and loved them for it. They didn’t force each other to be the best at everything, or yell at them when they did something wrong. They were simply…a family. I wanted to be part of that family, and it wasn’t hard when I actually tried to be friends with them. They brought me in with open arms, inviting me places, including me in their time, just being friendly and loving. It was such a drastic change to the life I’d been living, full of material pleasure and shallow relationships. Honestly, it was weird to me: seeing all the love and support; it was something I’d never seen before. These people became my new family, one of love and encouragement, not bitterness and scorn. My new friends literally saved my life, and they didn’t even know it. Every encouraging word, every group night, every conversation I’ve had with them, has brought me closer and closer to God. They not only saved me from the party lifestyle again, they saved me from myself. They saved me from the vicious cycle that had consumed me. They saved me from taking my own life. They saved me when no one else would. They cared when no one else cared. I’ll never be able to have the words to tell them how much they mean to me, or how much I love them. But thank you, everybody, for always being there for me, and accepting me when nobody else would, loving me when no one else would. You’ll never know how much you mean to me.
Since then, my family and I have grown much closer, and we're finally a family. Of course, we still have our problems and differences, but we understand each other. I love my family so much, and I realize now how blessed I am to have such a wonderful family; imperfections, flaws, and all. Now, I can happily say that I have been drug and alcohol free for nearly three years, thanks to my friends, and of course, my God. And although I’m nowhere near perfect in my walk with Christ, I know I can do all things through Him. I’ve come to learn to trust God, because He knows what He’s doing: He’s had this job a long time. So, everybody, stay strong in Him and great things will come from it. I pray that my story will become an encouragement for you, and that God uses my testimony in incredible ways. Thank you.
Yours in Christ,
Jonathan Gamble (Philippians 4:13)
First things first, you should know that I was born and raised Catholic. I went from baptism to first communion to confirmation. I went to catechism (youth group for Catholics) every Wednesday, and Mass every Sunday. And although I was the "best" in my class, meaning I had all the right Bible answers, I just never really felt anything. If you don't know much about the Catholic religion, it's basically a lot of rules and restrictions. Rules that seemed impossible for me at the time. And every time I broke a rule, I felt terrible. It felt like I'd let down the people who loved me the most, and that God hated me for being who I was and what I did. I knew there had to be more: there just had to be. There had to be more than the endless cycle of breaking rules and falling into near-depression.
So, this cycle continued until about 7th grade, when my friend Cody Watson invited me to go to a week-long church retreat. All week long, I felt kinda out of place because I was the only one who didn't really know Christ. On the last day, we all got into a circle, and we shut the lights out, and the room was lit only by candlelight. We were each given a paper heart and we were supposed to give it to someone we'd hurt or were mean to during the week. It was really overwhelming to me...just seeing all the forgiveness by everybody: it was a nice change of pace from my Catholic background. All of a sudden I felt something completely new, and I knew that was when the Holy Spirit entered me. As corny as it seems, I literally felt the Spirit wash over me.
From then on, my life was changed. I started attending the local Baptist church, First Baptist Church. My good friend Drew Clary invited me to go, so I started going. It was amazing, just seeing all the love everybody had for each other, and the incredible support. I went there from my 7th grade year up until my freshman year in high school. I went to every youth retreat, went to youth group every Wednesday, and my life was going great.
However, during this time, starting in 7th grade, my father and I started growing further apart. It seemed like he was always working, and when he wasn’t, he’d be too tired to pay any attention to me. Being the youngest child and only son, he had insanely high expectations of me, and he let them be known. My dad was an all-star athlete in high school. Straight A’s, track star, all-league basketball player, and star wide receiver. Needless to say, he had hopes for a college athlete son. From school to friends to sports, he felt that I always had to be the best. If I didn’t get straight A’s, he would get angry with me, and I remember being grounded for two weeks once because I got a “B”. And in sports, it was always “Win! Win! Win!” from football to baseball to wrestling. It got so bad that I felt like I had lost my dad, and got a coach instead. So, I turned to my other friends’ dads to replace my own. However, this too came to an end, when, in November 2005, my friend Jordan’s dad died of a heart attack. He had always been there for me, from sports to life in general, and was always so encouraging. I felt like God had abandoned me, taking away one of the most meaningful people in my life.
All of these things led up to the summer going into my sophomore year of high school. My parents decided to move from Kansas to California. I had lived in Kansas for 12 years, and had known many of my friends since practically diapers. I was devastated: I probably wouldn’t see most of these people for the rest of my life, and it was all because of my parents. I was really depressed when I moved, and I felt like my parents and my God didn’t care about me, and that they were doing this to punish me for something I’d done. I can’t tell you how many nights I stayed awake crying, wondering what I’d done to make everybody hate me so much.
Soon, I made friends. Or what I thought were friends. I started playing football for Granada, and I soon fell into the typical party boy life. We would play our games on Friday nights, and nearly every weekend there was a party. I easily, and happily, fell into the drug and alcohol scene. I drank because I was depressed, and I was depressed because I drank. Soon, this vicious cycle consumed me, until all I could think about was my next drink, or my next hit. It wasn’t just alcohol, either. I got involved in marijuana, and it got to the point where I lit up at nearly every party. I started making bad decisions, and stopped talking to my family, and God. Now, I didn’t do the drugs and alcohol just to become popular, although that was a part of it. Most of why I did that stuff was hatred. I hated my parents and God for making me move, I hated them for ripping me away from my friends, my church, my entire life. I rebelled against my parents and God by doing the only thing I knew how: getting into trouble. I would get so drunk at parties that I would start fights with random people, and I didn’t care. I didn’t care that they would go home that night with black eyes or bloody faces. I wasn’t concerned about what their parents would say when they came home, seeing their kid all bloodied. As far as I was concerned, they deserved it. I was so full of hate that I would take my anger towards my parents and God and turn it against other people. Even on the football field, I would take my anger out in horrible ways. I would do cheap shots, cuss other players out on the field, doing whatever necessary to win, and inflict as much bodily harm as possible in the process. I did all this because I felt this was the only way I could be happy again. Needless to say, this didn’t help at all.
I started spiraling into depression, and I felt no one was there to save me, or that anyone was there to even care. I felt my parents had abandoned me when we moved, and that God abandoned me long before then. I didn’t know anyone well enough at church to talk to them, so I turned to my other friends. Of course, these “friends” are the same ones that started me down the path I was on in the first place, so that road led nowhere. I fell even deeper into depression, because although I was at all the “cool kids’ “parties, surrounded by tons of “friends”, I felt alone. Completely, utterly…alone. I felt that nobody was there for me, and that nobody wanted to be there for me. There were many times that I thought for hours about suicide. How could I do it? When should I do it? Who will miss me if I do? Nobody. Nobody would miss me if I killed myself, I thought. My parents sure didn’t care. If they cared, they wouldn’t have ripped me from my friends. If they cared, they wouldn’t expect so much of me. If they cared, they would’ve noticed what I’m going through by now. No, they didn’t care. So, I started writing my good-bye letter. I literally started writing it: telling my parents goodbye. I was on the verge of killing myself night after night. But, for some reason, I couldn’t go through with it. Something was holding me back.
This continued for about six months, until the 2008 snow trip. I had been going to Trinity Baptist Church since July 2007, but I never felt comfortable there. I felt that when I moved from my old church, that no other church would compare, so I didn’t really give anybody much of a chance. At the snow trip, the speaker was talking about how God can be a perfect father, a dad, and not just a Creator or a Rule-maker. It was like God was speaking directly to me. I broke down during the invitation, and I just started crying, and bawling my eyes out. I was so full of hatred towards my parents, especially my dad, but mostly I hated God. But during the invitation, I snapped. I felt so convicted of everything I had done. Every drink I ever drank. Every hit I ever took. Every fight I ever got into. Every injury I had caused in hatred. Every hateful thought toward my parents. Everything.
Our youth pastor at the time, Chris Thielen, saw me crying, and after the message, came over and talked to me for what seemed like hours. He told me that God had forgiven my sins, and that He’d never leave or forsake me. He told me that as long as I believed in Christ, I would have eternal life and that I would never be alone or abandoned again. I guess you could say I had a recommitment that night.
Ever since then, I’ve been heavily involved in church, from doing FAITH to going to every retreat or camp I could go to. I’ve become really close with all the youth at Trinity, and each of them has helped me along with my Walk in Christ, whether they realize it or not. I’ve come a long way in my faith, and I never could have done it without the support of my friends.
When I finally gave them a chance, I realized that these “church kids” were like a big family. Family. That word used to bring up bitter, angry memories. Then I finally understood the true meaning of the word. Family. It’s not about being related or living in the same house, it’s about people who love each other and would do anything for them, would die for them. That’s what family is, not some corny Brady Bunch episode. I realized that these “church kids” were my new family. They supported each other, loved each other, appreciated each other. They didn’t judge each other for their mistakes, but embraced them and loved them for it. They didn’t force each other to be the best at everything, or yell at them when they did something wrong. They were simply…a family. I wanted to be part of that family, and it wasn’t hard when I actually tried to be friends with them. They brought me in with open arms, inviting me places, including me in their time, just being friendly and loving. It was such a drastic change to the life I’d been living, full of material pleasure and shallow relationships. Honestly, it was weird to me: seeing all the love and support; it was something I’d never seen before. These people became my new family, one of love and encouragement, not bitterness and scorn. My new friends literally saved my life, and they didn’t even know it. Every encouraging word, every group night, every conversation I’ve had with them, has brought me closer and closer to God. They not only saved me from the party lifestyle again, they saved me from myself. They saved me from the vicious cycle that had consumed me. They saved me from taking my own life. They saved me when no one else would. They cared when no one else cared. I’ll never be able to have the words to tell them how much they mean to me, or how much I love them. But thank you, everybody, for always being there for me, and accepting me when nobody else would, loving me when no one else would. You’ll never know how much you mean to me.
Since then, my family and I have grown much closer, and we're finally a family. Of course, we still have our problems and differences, but we understand each other. I love my family so much, and I realize now how blessed I am to have such a wonderful family; imperfections, flaws, and all. Now, I can happily say that I have been drug and alcohol free for nearly three years, thanks to my friends, and of course, my God. And although I’m nowhere near perfect in my walk with Christ, I know I can do all things through Him. I’ve come to learn to trust God, because He knows what He’s doing: He’s had this job a long time. So, everybody, stay strong in Him and great things will come from it. I pray that my story will become an encouragement for you, and that God uses my testimony in incredible ways. Thank you.
Yours in Christ,
Jonathan Gamble (Philippians 4:13)
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