When I first encountered redemption through Christ, I thought it was a singular event. I was “saved” at my baptism in 2008, and it was done.
Somehow, being washed reconciled me with God. It made my parents and congregation happy, and I went on my merry way.
Sin was described as me being purely wrong without explaining the goodness within me. My humanity had no goodness, and somehow, my flesh was evil.
I was bound for hell as a young child if I didn’t believe in a mystical concept called “salvation.” I was more than confused.
This definition of “sin” left no room for error. Where is God’s love? How am I both loved, yet someone who was never good enough?
The common lessons that come from mistakes or the experience of growing over time were not normalized in my Southern Baptist context. Sin was a wall, not a stumbling block.
Why would I care to follow a God who only taught hell and damnation when I experienced a world of goodness around me? A theology of control was placed above the ministry of Jesus.
On the other hand, in Sunday School, I was taught about Jesus who loved me for me. He came and walked the earth to show me the way.
In children’s ministry, love was taught while, in the pulpit, preachers spoke about the evilness within me. There was no “both-and” thinking, which is difficult for children.
Sixteen and a half years into my faith journey, I have realized how limited that perspective is.
I have experienced a range of emotions, from the agony of loss to the joyful satisfaction of achievement. Yet, my definition of salvation and purification has been an ongoing process that will continue throughout my life.
When my grandfather died when I was eleven years old, God taught me how to become more reliant as I faced grief for the first time in my life. This prepared me for the hardships to come.
When God called me to ministry, the Southern Baptist church tried to convince me I couldn’t because I was a woman. God showed me the realities of sexism, the closed-mindedness of others, and dependence upon God.
God would not send people to support my calling until seven years later. My will had to align with God’s will for me.
Throughout high school, God sharpened my critical thinking skills and the ability to thrive under pressure. I learned how to be in over my head, knowing there is a better me on the other side.
When I struggled with unknown depression in college and struggles with relationships, I learned communication skills, psychology, the sin of others and context. My struggles made me stronger.
Alongside the highs of divinity school, ordination, preaching and writing, I wrestled with God through something unimaginable. Thank goodness I didn’t understand until now.
I waited my entire life to find a missing part of me. A piece that had been held back, either because of medical research primarily being done on white male bodies, lack of shared information or cultural norms.
TikTok was the resource that gave me information about ADHD and autism in women. These accounts were specifically first-person testimonies from other people, not doctors or being projected upon. I felt fundamentally seen and heard for the first time in my life.
After three years of doctor’s visits and long sleepless nights researching and trying every health hack possible, I found God in a routine doctor’s visit. My life began again–again.
I waited to receive the news of my current diagnosis. An overwhelming relief rushed through my body with my mouth closing and my eyes watering. It was over. It was finally over.
God’s will somehow made me realize she was there the entire time. I found God in me and often get glimpses of God in others.
A physician’s assistant who barely even knew me showed me something I always knew–I shouldn’t have to do it alone. I was forced to be self-reliant because of what my culture prioritizes and because others around me chose to ignore my pain and cries for help.
Being neurodivergent has given me a new definition of “sin.” My revised belief allows me to accept my entire identity and conditioned behaviors in society to survive.
It’s complicated and not easy. For me, it means enduring the mystery, knowing God can and will show up anyway.
For me, the idea of sin has come to mean a veil that must be torn in order to become more aware. I associate this with the death of Jesus Christ. To preach the truth and endure the mystery, he loved until death on the cross.
Tearing this veil includes the aging process of my body and the limitations of my nervous system. I’m not a machine; I’m a person.
When someone called my “imperfections” anything but natural, it damaged me more. When I was not educated about death, the lie that I’m supposed to be “flawless” arose.
We never lose our purity or God’s image in us. Instead, God constructs the good within us as we age. By defining both the good and bad in limited terms, we leave no room for the divine to show up.
Dependence on God taught me that suffering is an opportunity for people to come together. Too often, however, we associate suffering with evil.
Why is getting older and recognizing we have an expiration date so terrible? Ignoring this truth makes it harder on ourselves and those we love.
I needed people. Every version of me made it because of people from afar in their writing, or close up through challenging, in-person conversations. There is no me without these interactions and relationships.
I am becoming and will become Delaney. To all my future and past versions—my behavior changes, not my soul.
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A current Master of Divinity student at Campbell University Divinity School.
