Born Again

The next time you find yourself rotting in bed or going through the motions of another boring day, think about your older self. This is what TikTok creator @sonyatrachsel does when she’s in a funk. She’ll have what she calls a “time traveling day,” and it’s an outlook that’s resonating on the app.

On a time traveling day, Sonya will pretend that her 80-year-old self gets to come back to this exact moment and relive it. “You have to get real with it,” she said. “Close your eyes, imagine yourself sitting in your mansion on a chair, and then poof — you’re here today.”

There are so many reasons why Sonya’s “time traveling” trend has struck a chord. For one, it might make you emotional to think about your older self getting the chance to come back to a younger body for a day, kind of like a second chance.

This is a really beautiful way to frame your thoughts, practice gratitude, and think about what you would do if you had youth on your side again. Would you ride a bike? Go for a walk? Learn something new? Would you linger longer in the park and stare at the flowers? Be more adventurous?

Even mundane moments, like waiting in line, can become more meaningful when you think about how excited your 80-year-old self would be to come back to do it all over again. “It just becomes part of the experience,” she said.

This sweet and thoughtful approach to living can help you notice and appreciate the little things around you, but it can also inspire you to do more, live more, and have more fun. So, get up, get out there, and give your 80-year-old self a story to tell.

In her comments, someone wrote, “You just changed my life.” Another said, “This is genius! Don’t take your youth for granted.” “Thank you,” one commenter wrote under the video. “When I read this, I got up out of bed so fast.”

In an interview in Esquire magazine, actor Denzel Washington said, “The biggest moment of my life was when I was filled with the Holy Spirit. It happened in the West Angeles Church of God in Christ, Crenshaw Boulevard, Los Angeles.” He went on to describe what it’s like to follow Jesus today, especially in the ethos of Hollywood:

Things I said about God when I was a little boy, just reciting them in church along with everybody else, I know now. God is real. God is love. God is the only way. God is the true way. God blesses. It’s my job to lift God up, to give Him praise, to make sure that anyone and everyone I speak to the rest of my life understands that He is responsible for me. When you see me, you see the best I could do with what I’ve been given by my Lord and Savior. I’m unafraid. I don’t care what anyone thinks. See, talking about the fear part of it—you can’t talk like that and win Oscars. You can’t talk like that and party. You can’t say that in this town.

I’m free now. [Faith in Jesus] is not talked about in this town. It’s not talked about… It’s not fashionable. It’s not sexy… But my faith has always informed the roles I choose. Always… Even in the darkest stories, I’m looking for the light.

The knitting needle moves quickly, back and forth, making a pattern. It’s an Instagram video in the fascinating repair genre. Similar clips show rougher work—a stonemason restoring a 900-year-old cathedral, a handyman reviving a neglected home room by room. But in this video, the task is to fix a moth-eaten sweater. In mere moments, the wool looks good as new. The hole has disappeared, the weaving so exactly matched by an unseen mender that some would take to be digital trickery, had they not shown every stitch.

These repair videos aren’t quite honest, of course. They’re practiced and edited, glossing over the less-than- perfect bits, and skipping entirely the discipline and tedium required to master a craft. On a platform that reflects so well our culture’s tendency to seek the easier option, repair videos choose the inverse.

Though we see it most obviously in social media, the consumerist tendency against repair is rooted deeply in our culture and institutions. We often see that inclination in ourselves. Children’s socks get holes, but we do not darn them. We throw them away, alongside so many other products made to be disposable or planned for quick consumption and then obsolescence.

However, repair is not always the right choice. Sometimes things really are broken beyond repair, subjected to the laws of physics, human error, and the desolation of sin. A marriage can’t be repaired when one spouse won’t repent of abuse. We can’t haul up the Titanic and send it on a second voyage.

The tendency toward repair deeply resonates with the story of salvation. In Isaiah 58, repair is a sign of the restoration of God’s blessing, of the people’s reunion with God after repentance from their sin. This theme continues into the New Testament, where Peter preaches that the time is coming “for God to restore everything, as he promised long ago” (Acts 3:21).

Changes in personality following a heart transplant have been noted pretty much ever since transplants began. In one case, a person who hated classical music developed a passion for the genre after receiving a musician’s heart. The recipient later died holding a violin case.

In another case, a 45-year-old man remarked how, since receiving the heart of a 17-year-old boy, he loves to put on headphones and listen to loud music — something he had never done before the transplant.

What might explain this? One suggestion could be that this is a placebo effect where the overwhelming joy of receiving a new lease on life gives the person a sunnier disposition. However, there is some evidence to suggest that these personality changes aren’t all psychological. Biology may play a role, too.

The heart transplant seems to be most commonly associated with personality changes. The chambers release peptide hormones which help regulate the balance of fluid in the body by affecting the kidneys. They also play a role in electrolyte balance and inhibiting the activity of the part of our nervous system responsible for the fight-or-flight response. The cells in charge of this are in the hypothalamus — a part of the brain that plays a role in everything from homeostasis (balancing biological systems) to mood.

So, the donor organ, which may have a different base level of hormones and peptide production from the original organ, could change the recipient’s mood and personality through the substances it releases.

We know that cells from the donor are found circulating in the recipient’s body, and donor DNA is seen in the recipient’s body two years after the transplant. This again poses the question of where the DNA goes and what actions it may have.

Whichever mechanism, or combination of mechanisms, is responsible, this area of research warrants further investigation so that recipients can understand the physical and psychological changes that could occur following surgery.

Possible Preaching Angle:

This phenomenon is still unproven medically, but what is certain is that before salvation each of us had a desperately sick heart (Jer. 17:9). But by the process of regeneration, God implanted a new heart (Ezek. 36:26, Ezek. 11:19; Psa. 51:10-12; 2 Cor 5:17). This gradually and radically changes a believer’s personality to reflect the Christlike qualities of a new nature (Eph. 4:22-24). With a new heart, a Christian will begin to show unconditional love, kindness, and forgiveness. They become less focused on themselves and exhibit simple acts of servanthood toward others.

Jennifer Nizza grew up on grew up on Long Island, New York, as part of an Italian and culturally Catholic family. For her, Christmas was mainly about Santa Claus, antipasto, and pretty lights on houses. However, her understanding of spirituality was limited to the supernatural realm, shaped by conversations about ghosts and early experiences with tarot cards.

At age 13, the door to demons was thrown wide open. a tarot card reading ignited a fascination with the occult. Jennifer delved deeper into this world, experiencing fear and discomfort as she felt the presence of demonic forces. Seeking answers, she consulted a psychic medium who claimed Jennifer was a medium herself, gifted with the ability to connect with the departed.

She writes, “But the further I went down that road, the more it seemed demons were surrounding me and I experienced so many moments of fear. I felt them touching me, and I could see them manifesting as shadowy figures and animals.

Jennifer loved the thought of helping clients attain the desires of their heart and communicate with their loved ones. But she lived in constant fear of bad spirits and what they would do to her. She said:

In my mid-30s, at a moment of especially intense fear, I suddenly cried out the name of Jesus Christ. Not my spirit guide or a deceased person or an angel—Jesus! Almost immediately I felt a peace that surpasses all understanding (Phil. 4:7). This began my journey to full Christian faith. And I had no idea what the gospel was. But I knew I didn’t want to be a psychic anymore.

Ten months later, a chance encounter with a friend who was attending a Bible-based church sparked Jennifer's curiosity. Despite initial hesitation, a few weeks later she felt a strong desire to visit the church. She shares:

I was singing along with the worship music when the lyrics “Jesus saved me” flashed on the screen, instantly transporting me back to the moment I had cried out to Jesus Christ. I started crying with joy, because I knew in my heart that he saved me.

Filled with joy and newfound conviction, I sought to understand the Bible's teachings on my profession. I didn’t have a Bible on hand, so I asked Google, “What does the Bible say about psychic mediums?” And I was shocked to find verses like Deuteronomy 18:9–13, which condemn anyone who “practices divination or sorcery, interprets omens, engages in witchcraft, or casts spells, or . . . consults the dead.” Since Jesus had saved me, I would have to pick up my cross and follow him, even at the cost of quitting my job.

In the ten years since, Jesus has changed my heart and my life as only he can. I am no longer caught in the hamster wheel of endlessly seeking peace, joy, and fulfillment without finding them. Today, I continue to share the gospel whenever I can, in part by devoting myself to exposing the demonic darkness I served for many years and warning others against following the same path.

Editor’s Note: Today Jennifer Nizza is a speaker and Christian content creator. She is the author of From Psychic to Saved .

Rosaria Champagne Butterfield was a leftist lesbian professor, who despised Christians. Then somehow, she became one. She shares her testimony in an issue of CT magazine.

Professor Rosaria Butterfield hated and pitied Christians. She thought Christians and their god Jesus were stupid and pointless. She used her post as a professor of English and women’s studies to advance the allegiances of a leftist lesbian professor. She and her partner shared many vital interests: AIDS activism, children’s health and literacy, and the Unitarian Universalist church.

She began researching the Religious Right and their politics of hatred against queers like her. To do this, she would need to read the Bible, the book she believed had gotten many people off track. She then began her attack by writing an article in the local newspaper about Promise Keepers.

The article generated many rejoinders … some hate mail, others were fan mail. But one letter I received defied this filing system. It was from the pastor of the Syracuse Reformed Presbyterian Church. It was a kind and inquiring letter. Pastor Ken Smith encouraged me to explore the kind of questions I admire: How did you arrive at your interpretations? How do you know you are right? Do you believe in God? Ken didn’t argue with my article; rather, he asked me to defend the presuppositions that undergirded it. I didn’t know how to respond to it, so I threw it away.

Later that night, I fished it out of the recycling bin and put it back on my desk. With the letter, Ken initiated two years of bringing the church to a heathen. Oh, I had seen my share of Bible verses on placards at Gay Pride marches and Christians who mocked me on Gay Pride Day. That is not what Ken did. He did not mock. He engaged. So, when his letter invited me to get together for dinner, I accepted. Surely this will be good for my research.

Something else happened. Ken and his wife, Floy, and I became friends. They entered my world. They met my friends. We talked openly about sexuality and politics. They did not act as if such conversations were polluting them. When we ate together, Ken prayed in a way I had never heard before. His prayers were intimate. Vulnerable. He repented of his sin in front of me. He thanked God for all things. Ken’s God was holy and firm, yet full of mercy.

I started reading the Bible. I read the way a glutton devours. I read it many times that first year. At a dinner gathering my transgendered friend J cornered me in the kitchen. She warned, “This Bible reading is changing you, Rosaria.” With tremors, I whispered, “J, what if it is true? What if Jesus is a real and risen Lord? What if we are all in trouble?”

I continued reading the Bible, all the while fighting the idea that it was inspired. Then, one Sunday morning, I … sat in a pew at the Syracuse Reformed Presbyterian Church. Conspicuous with my butch haircut, I reminded myself that I came to meet God, not fit in. The image that came in like waves, of me and everyone I loved suffering in hell, gripped me in its teeth.

Then, one ordinary day, I came to Jesus. Jesus triumphed. And I was a broken mess. Conversion was a train wreck. I did not want to lose everything that I loved. But the voice of God sang a sanguine love song in the rubble of my world. I weakly believed that if Jesus could conquer death, he could make right my world. I rested in private peace, then community, and today in the shelter of a covenant family, where one calls me “wife” and many call me “mother.”

Editor’s Note: Rosaria Champagne Butterfield is the author of The Secret Thoughts of an Unlikely Convert (Crown & Covenant). She lives with her family in Durham, North Carolina, where her husband pastors the First Reformed Presbyterian Church of Durham.

In an issue of CT magazine, Carrie Sheffield shares how politics had become an idol to her and how she discovered a deeper source of purpose and meaning in Christ.

Carrie Sheffield was raised in extreme religious trauma in an offshoot Mormon cult. Her father believed that he was a Mormon prophet and was eventually excommunicated by the LDS church for heresy. She grew up with seven siblings in various motor homes, tents, houses, and sheds. Carrie attended 17 different public schools and when she took the ACT test, the family lived in a shed with no running water in the Ozarks.

All the children inherited trauma from their tumultuous family life. Two of her siblings have schizophrenia, including one brother who tried to rape her. Carrie has been hospitalized nine times for depression, fibromyalgia, suicidal ideation, and PTSD.

When she left home to attend Brigham Young University, her dad declared that she was satanic and therefore disowned her. As a student, she felt disillusioned by a growing list of unanswered questions about Joseph Smith, the Book of Mormon, and the prospect of polygamy in the afterlife. After receiving her journalism degree, she stopped practicing Mormonism, formally renouncing it in 2010. For years she assumed she would never return to belief in God or organized religion. She writes:

To fill the void, I threw myself into work, schooling, dating, friends, and travel as ultimate sources of meaning. I worked as an analyst for major Wall Street firms, earning unthinkable sums for a girl from a motor home. I launched a career in political journalism at outlets like Politico, The Hill, and The Washington Times.

But ultimately her career goals left her unfilled. It was during the 2016 election that she felt an existential crisis. She realized that when she’d lost faith in God, she had allowed politics to become a substitute religion. She had built her career toward working on a Republican campaign or in the White House. She had appeared on CNN, MSNBC, Fox News, Fox Business, and other networks, even sparring on HBO’s Real Time with Bill Maher. She says:

During this crisis of meaning, I felt distraught and adrift. So, I turned to church, first to Redeemer Presbyterian, founded by the late Tim Keller, and later to Saint Thomas Episcopal. It was during a service that I encountered Scripture’s answer to career and political idolatry in passages like Mark 8:36–37, which asks, “For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world, and loses his own soul? Or what will a man give in exchange for his soul?” Studying Christianity felt like uncovering buried treasure discarded by intellectuals who had discounted its scientific and philosophical heft.

I joined the Episcopal church, having been influenced by Presiding Bishop Michael Curry, the preacher from the royal wedding of Meghan Markle and Prince Harry. My baptism day—December 3, 2017—was the happiest of my life. A group of about 30 family and friends watched me vow to “serve Christ in all persons, loving my neighbor as myself” and “strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being.”

More than six years since my baptism, I enjoy a healthier relationship to politics. I still have strong convictions, which I don’t hesitate to share in columns, speeches, or TV appearances, but I know God is far bigger than any puny manmade system. As I returned to a walk with God, I felt enveloped with a sense of peace that surpassed understanding.

Editor’s Note: Carrie Sheffield is a policy analyst in Washington, DC. She has published in The Wall Street Journal, TIME, USA Today, CNN Opinion, The New York Times, The Washington Post, CNBC, National Review, Newsweek, HuffPost, and Daily Caller . She has appeared as a live broadcast guest on media networks including Fox News, Newsmax TV, Fox Business Network, MSNBC, CNN, PBS, and BBC. Carrie provided analysis for Fox News’ first 2016 GOP presidential primary debate.

Former abortion doctor Patti Giebenk tells the following story about the woman who prayed her into a lifechanging encounter with Jesus:

During my lengthy conversion from pro-choice to pro-life, there was a person who prayed for me repeatedly. She was a prayer warrior I’d never met, but God heard her special prayer for me. It was the prayer of Sister Josita. Throughout her life, Sister Josita advocated for the poor, the refugee, and the vulnerable.

After Sister Josita heard that Dr. Giebink did abortions, she started praying for her—for over ten years. Then Dr. Giebink met Christ and stopped doing abortions. She joined a local church in South Dakota, and started treating poor women around the globe, but no longer doing abortions. After returning from one of her many trips to, she received the following letter:

Dear Doctor Giebink,

May your Christmas be blessed and the New Year filled with joy.

You don’t know me ... I want to thank you for your courage to speak out for life, and ... to bring an end to abortion. When I saw you on television, I was so proud of you to publicly state that you used to perform abortions for Planned Parenthood in Sioux Falls and now you support life instead. When I first heard that you were performing abortions, I began lifting you up in prayer. I do not believe abortion is right, or a solution to an unwanted pregnancy. I have prayed for you, by name, that one day your heart would be touched, and you would discontinue performing abortions. I thank God for you, and I continue to pray for you.

Patti Giebink concludes this story with the following words:

Sister Josita still prays for me. We write regularly, and I’ve visited her twice. She turned ninety this year, and she’s still a vibrant and dynamic warrior. Her initial intervention for me—just a name and a face—moved celestial mountains, making way for my future legacy of life. May we all stay on our knees until the answer comes, just as Sister Josita did.

In his gripping memoir, Everything Sad Is Untrue, Daniel Nayeri recounts the gripping story about why his mother became a Christian.

She grew up in a devout and prestigious Muslim family. She was a doctor and had wealth and esteem. But eventually she would forsake all of that to follow Jesus. She was forced to flee for her life from Iran, eventually settling in the U.S. as a refugee. When people ask her why, she looks them in the eye with the begging hope that they’ll hear her, and she says, “Because it’s true.”

Why else would she believe it? It’s true and it’s more valuable than $7 million in gold coins, and thousands of acres of Persian countryside, and 10 years of education to get a medical degree, and all your family, and a home. And maybe even your life. My mom wouldn’t have made the trade otherwise.

If you believe it’s true, that there is a God, and he wants you to believe in him, and he sent his Son to die for you—then it has to take over your life. It has to be worth more than everything else, because heaven’s waiting on the other side. That or my mother is insane. There’s no middle. You can’t say it’s a quirky thing she thinks, because she went all the way with it. If it’s not true, she made a giant mistake. But she doesn’t think so.

She had all that wealth, the love of all those people she helped in her clinic. They treated her like a queen. She was a devout Muslim. And she’s poor now. People spit on her on buses. She’s a refugee in places where people hate refugees. And she’ll tell you––it’s worth it. Jesus is better. It’s true … Christ has died. Christ is risen. Christ will come again. The whole story hinges on it.

Saving faith is not mere knowledge of Scripture or of Christ. Treating it like that is like treating a prescription as a medicine, or a signpost as a destination. It fails to see the difference between two types of knowledge: A detached “outward” knowledge and a personally involved “inward” knowledge.

C.S. Lewis found this distinction indispensable and illustrated it in his essay titled “Meditation in a Toolshed.” In this excerpt he wrote:

I was standing today in the dark toolshed. The sun was shining outside and through the crack at the top of the door there came a sunbeam. From where I stood that beam of light, with the specks of dust floating in it, was the most striking thing in the place. Everything else was almost pitch black. I was seeing the beam, not seeing things by it.

Then I moved, so that the beam fell on my eyes. Instantly the whole previous picture vanished. I saw no toolshed, and (above all) no beam. Instead I saw, framed in the irregular cranny at the top of the door, green leaves moving on the branches of a tree outside and beyond that, 90 odd million miles away, the sun. Looking along the beam, and looking at the beam are very different experiences.

Possible Preaching Angle:

What we see depends upon where we are standing. Any person can learn something about Christianity from the outside, e.g., by reading the Bible, studying what Christians believe, and examining the life of Christ. These are good things. It is important to remember, however, that a Christian is someone who has been born again, and knows God personally as Savior and Lord “from the inside.”

In an issue of Christianity Today, Glenn Pearson shares the story of his journey to faith:

You’re probably familiar with the popular arcade game called Whac-A-Mole, where mechanical moles randomly pop out of their holes while you try whacking them with a mallet before they retreat. I grew up in a “reverse Whac-A-Mole” world, feeling like the only mole in a family of mallets.

All the men in my family had significant issues. When I was 12, my dad left our family. He withheld both financial and emotional support, and he rejected or mocked conventional displays of affection. In Matthew 7:9, Jesus asks, “Which of you, if your son asks for bread, will give him a stone?” Well, I have someone I can nominate.

But my dad wasn’t the only disaster in our family. When my grandfather was in his 60s, he decided he had cancer, so one day he jumped in front of a speeding train at a railroad crossing. His was not our family’s sole suicide. My brother suffered from schizophrenia and manic depression. After spending most of the last 20 years of his life in and out of mental hospitals, he hanged himself. My mother’s side didn’t escape dysfunction either. Her father had an emotional breakdown and spent several months in a hospital for indigents. There wasn’t a healthy man anywhere in sight.

Religion played almost no role in my family. But deep down I knew that something was wrong in my life, which led me to dabble in occult practices like astrology, séances, and white magic.

During my sophomore year of college, I stumbled into a campus Christian meeting and heard the gospel for the first time. As the presenter spoke, the Holy Spirit burned two realizations into my heart: that this “new thing” was 100 percent true, and that I would be a part of it. That night, even though I knew almost nothing about the theology of salvation, I brushed aside my intellectual skepticism and eagerly made a commitment to Jesus.

Over the next few months, I became increasingly involved with a couple of campus Christian groups. I was impressed by how “together” the members seemed and by the quality of their relationships. I also began applying my intellectual curiosity to questions surrounding the Bible’s reliability. I discovered far more support for the intellectual integrity of the Christian faith than I had ever supposed.

Years ago, I visited a counselor hoping to piece together the complexities of my background. After hearing parts of my story, he commented, “There is no explanation for you. In my professional opinion, someone with your background should be unemployable, divorced three times, abusive, an alcoholic, or some other kind of addict. The fact that you’re none of these things is a testimony to God’s incredible grace.”

In recent years, I’ve established one-on-one mentoring relationships with about two dozen younger men. I just try to understand their circumstances, communicate that I’m on their side, and point them to practical insights rooted in Scripture and tempered by real-life experience. Essentially, I’m offering these men something I never had. It’s just one way God continually uses what could have been a curse on my life to bring blessing to others

Editor’s Note: Glenn E. Pearson spent 19 years as executive vice president of the Georgia Hospital Association. He and his wife currently live outside Los Angeles.

Dilli Lumjel gave his life to Jesus on May 4, 2011, at 1:33 a.m. Earlier that day, he had performed a Hindu funeral service for his father-in-law in a refugee camp in eastern Nepal, where he lived with more than 12,000 other refugees.

As was the custom, Lumjel spent the night at his wife’s uncle’s house. Both of Lumjel’s parents-in-law had recently converted to Christianity. That night he had a vision: His mother-in-law approached him and shared the gospel, stating, “If you enter this house, you have to believe in Jesus.” Then he saw a flash of lightning from heaven and heard a voice saying, “What you are hearing is true; you have to believe.” In the dream, he knelt down crying and committed his life to Jesus.

When he woke up, his face was wet with tears. Lumjel called a local pastor and told him he had had a dream and was now a Christian. The news shocked his family of devout Hindus. He said, “Every­body—my relatives, my wife, sisters—they all woke up asking, ‘What happened to Dilli? Is he mental? He says he’s a Christian!’”

The next day, the pastor explained the gospel to Lumjel and his wife. The two committed their lives to Jesus. A day later, Lumjel began attending a monthlong Bible school in the refugee camp. Then church leaders sent Lumjel out to preach the gospel to other refugees. Several months later, he became a church deacon, then an elder.

One year later, Lumjel arrived in Columbus, Ohio, as part of a massive resettlement of about 96,000 ethnic Nepalis expelled from their home of Bhutan to the United States. There he joined Yusuf Kadariya in pastoring a group of about 35 Bhutanese Nepali families. As more Bhutanese Nepali refugees settled in Columbus and the group brought more people to Christ, the church continued to grow.

Today, Lumjel is a full-time pastor at Emmanuel Fellowship Church in Columbus. On a wintry Sunday morning in December, about 200 people streamed into the sanctuary, greeting one another with a slight bow and “Jai Masih,” meaning “Victory to Christ.”

Possible Preaching Angle:

God is bringing the nations to our neighborhoods here in America and is bringing many to faith in Christ. We can carry out the Great Commission in part by welcoming them with Christian love and sharing the gospel to those with hungry hearts.

In an issue of CT magazine, Megan Hill tells her unremarkable conversion story which initially left her with doubts of its genuineness.

Megan has no memory of becoming a Christian. She says, “I didn’t pray a prayer, or walk down an aisle, or have a eureka moment. My Christian testimony of how I came to faith, is downright boring.”

She was raised by godly Presbyterian parents, gave thanks before meals, and recited prayers at bedtime from the children’s catechism. Church attendance shaped the weekly rhythms of her life. By the time she was age three or four she embraced the knowledge that God was her Creator, Jesus was her Savior, the Spirit was her helper, and the Bible was her rule. Megan writes, “But it took me most of my life to appreciate just how extraordinary was the grace I had received in ordinary circumstances.”

In fifth grade, I began to attend a school where dramatic testimonies were a regular part of morning chapel. Week after week, speakers—a drug addict, a party girl, an atheist—told of God’s rescue. But I am baffled that I never once heard a testimony like my own. And so I began to fear that I hadn’t really been saved … at all. Perhaps I was floating on other people’s convictions, happily living in a Christian environment without actually being a Christian.

Yet I was thankful for the church that had validated my testimony. In December 1989, I approached the elders of the church and asked to become a member. They, who had heard all kinds of stories from all kinds of people, declared my testimony to be a work of God. A few weeks later, I stood in front of the congregation and received the right hand of fellowship from those who had been lost but now were found. My testimony may have been boring, but it was welcomed. And I was also thankful for grace.

It wasn’t until I became a parent, at 27, that I began to see that in all testimonies, it is not the outward circumstances that are amazing. It’s the grace. There is no dull salvation. The Son of God took on flesh to suffer and die, purchasing a people for his glory. As Gloria Furman writes, “The idea that anyone’s testimony of blood-bought salvation could be uninteresting or unspectacular is a defamation of the work of Christ.”

For myself, I cannot point to a specific day of spiritual awakening. I can point only to my Lord, who says, “All those the Father gives me will come to me, and whoever comes to me I will never drive away” (John 6:37). My Jesus, I come. Every day in need of grace. And I find myself not cast out.

Eduardo Rocha shares his dramatic testimony in an issue of CT magazine:

It was March 13, 1986, I was all alone and getting high. But I had also gotten drunk on fantasies of somehow becoming a drug kingpin at age 18. Earlier that night, I had left my brother’s house to deliver 4.5 ounces of cocaine to one of his customers. I hadn’t noticed the headlight out on Dad’s 1978 Plymouth Volare, but the New York state trooper sure did. After pulling me over, he also noticed that I was driving under the influence, not to mention the lump protruding from the left pocket of my leather jacket.

I was young and naïve, clueless about what lay ahead. But the stark reality caught up with me later as I sat in a cold cell at the Orange County Jail, where I wrapped a bed sheet from an old cot around my neck and began tightening it. Death seemed like the only way out of this mess. I was trapped. Hopeless. Finished.

As the sheet got tighter, the world started fading away. But just before succumbing to the darkness, I heard a voice in my native Spanish: “Eduardo, no lo hagas. Hay esperanza para tu vida.” (“Eduardo, don’t do it. There is hope for your life.”) That sweet, soft voice saved my life that day. After hearing the voice that stopped me from killing myself, I said, “God, if that’s really you, please help me.”

Eduardo was facing a sentence of 15 years to life in prison. When a guard gave him a Bible, he started reading the Gospels. He was captivated by the stories of Jesus—how he would speak to people in great need and meet those needs in miraculous ways. But the verse that made the deepest impression was 2 Corinthians 5:17, where Paul promises that “if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!” And so, at a church meeting in the jail’s gymnasium, on October 6, 1986, he surrendered to the love of Christ, accepting his offer to be his Lord and Savior.

In a sequence of seemingly miraculous events, his sentence was reduced and he became eligible for parole after just three years. In March of 1989, Eduardo was released but he was immediately taken into custody by an immigration official. He was deported back to Uruguay (where he had been born) and banned from returning.

Over the next 21 years Eduardo never gave up his goal of returning to the US. While he waited, he attended Bible college and began preaching. He married and started a family, but the US Embassy in Uruguay denied his repeated requests to immigrate to the US. Finally, after writing an extensive letter to the US attorney general, he received a pardon from the State Department and a tourist visa was approved.

He returned to the United States in 2010, and connected with a church near Nashville. In 2012, this church hired him as the pastor of an on-campus Hispanic church. Over time the Tennessee Department of Correction hired him to serve as psychiatric chaplain in a maximum-security prison.

In January of 2022, God finally granted my fervent wish for full US citizenship. That sweet voice that cared enough to whisper encouragement into my prison cell still cares deeply for me now. Life has not been easy, but I have tasted and seen that the Lord is good, even to those who make terrible mistakes like mine.

Editor’s Note: Today Eduardo Rocha is a corporate chaplain for Charter Construction in Tennessee and a military chaplain for the Tennessee State Guard.

Tori Petersen grew up in the foster care system where she absorbed a message that she was worthless. Although the rules were strict, she was allowed to go to church which gave some relief from a sterile group-home environment. She writes:

The pastor’s messages about forgiveness gave me the first stirrings of hope I could remember. I even asked Jesus into my heart, though I didn’t understand what that entailed. I only went up to the altar because I thought that I’d find relief from the pain of foster care and the continual sense of feeling unwanted.

As she moved through a succession of foster homes, her heart grew increasingly callous toward God and other people. Her peers would poke fun at her, saying she had “daddy issues.” At the time, Tori “believed having a father would solve lots of my problems. Perhaps someone would have been there to love me. If God was so good, I couldn’t help wondering, then why hadn’t he granted me a father?”

During many lunch periods, she enjoyed secluding herself in the English teacher’s classroom. For one of her art classes, she received permission to paint a mural on his wall. While she painted, they talked. He never shied away from a good debate or hard questions.

Tori said, “One day he asked if I believed in God. I replied that I didn’t. From my perspective, it seemed like people claimed belief in God due to social consensus more than any genuine faith.” I asked, “If most people in society didn’t believe in God, would people still believe in God?”

He paused for a long time, and then responded, “I don’t know.” She appreciated his candor, which was rare among the Christians she had known. Instead of telling her what (and how) to believe, he admitted he didn’t have all the answers.

My teacher’s honest admission of uncertainty encouraged me to start asking more questions, because deep in my heart I was searching for the Father I’d always yearned for. My heart was so drawn to the character of Jesus that I posted a YouTube video asking people to forgive me for being a mean and angry person.

Around the same time, a youth leader she’d barely seen since junior high reentered her life. She began asking her and her foster mom questions about God, which they answered patiently and kindly. Tori said, “The one question I couldn’t shake revolved around innocent children: If God is so good, then why do they suffer? All they could answer was, ‘I don’t know.’”

I didn’t know either. But I did know that when I looked at Scripture, I saw a God who didn’t shy away from pain but embraced it so that others would know love. And when I looked at the lives of those who most reminded me of Jesus, I could see how they had sacrificed on my behalf. I didn’t want to waste their suffering, or my own, but I wanted to receive it all as a gift—as a call to love others as they had loved me.

My salvation did not happen in a single grand moment, but through small miracles that gradually chipped away at the scales of skepticism. I saw God more clearly the more time I spent around people who pursued godliness, who told me who I was in Christ despite what I’d done and what had been done to me.

In the end, the father I’d always wanted turned out to be the Father who was always there, the Father who revealed himself to me in his own perfect timing.

Rock and Roller Benjamin Budde grew up a small-town country boy in Ohio in a Christian home. He often heard the gospel and remembers asking Jesus into his heart on several occasions, but it wasn’t out of genuine faith.

What he wanted, more than anything, was to be special. He loved music and viewed it as his ticket to belonging. When his church needed a bass player, he was quick to fill the part. But eventually, he started to jam outside of the church, where people drank alcohol and smoked more than cigarettes. Before long, he joined in this new lifestyle. Learning about the drug-fueled exploits of his favorite musicians, he figured that drinking and drugging would help him become a more creative songwriter.

After turning 18, I got in trouble with the law for drinking, which got me kicked out of the church band. That was when I started playing in bars and nightclubs. As the shows grew bigger, so did my habit of drinking and getting high.

As I turned 20, my life began turning numb. On Christmas day, we found out that my mom had breast cancer, and nine months later she died. On the day of her funeral, I got a bag of dope and a bottle of whiskey and jammed all night, wondering how my Jesus-loving mom could have suffered such an unjust fate. I cursed God for it and decided I didn’t want to believe anymore.

By now his addiction was raging out of control. For nearly 10 years, he was popping pills, consuming whiskey like water, and snorting or smoking anything that would get him higher. Budde was in the process of losing himself, his friends, and eventually almost everything he had. It was hardly unusual for him to fall off the stage during a show because of his drugged stupor.

He met Arthur Williams, a blues harp player who had performed with some of the greatest blues legends like B.B. King and Muddy Waters. Through him he met and opened for legendary Chuck Berry, credited by many as the father of rock and roll.

I was over-the-moon excited to meet these icons. But the experience changed me in ways I didn’t expect. As I looked into their eyes, I somehow realized that music wouldn’t ever fill my emptiness. Meanwhile, my addiction deepened. Almost every night I blacked out and woke up in my own filth.

At the bottom of this downward spiral, I called a longtime friend, Missy. I told her I was sick. She spoke life into me! Sharing the gospel, she told me that Jesus has a plan and purpose for my life, but that I needed to quit drinking and drugging.

Lying on a borrowed couch in an apartment with no electricity, he looked through the only thing left from his childhood—a green tub of odds and ends. There sat his mom’s Bible, with the cover her handwriting all over it.

I started reading my mom’s Bible, turning to the Book of Proverbs because that’s what my dad would read to us growing up. Many passages grabbed my attention. “Who has woe? Who has sorrow? Who has strife? Who has complaints? Who has needless bruises? Who has bloodshot eyes?” (23:29). That was me, for sure. But the verse that really stopped me in my tracks was Proverbs 4:19: “The way of the wicked is like deep darkness; they do not know what makes them stumble.”

I cried out to Jesus, and he saved me. He also started changing me by the power of his Spirit. This didn’t happen overnight … but by God’s grace I avoided falling back into addiction. Meanwhile, God gave me a greater desire to pray and read his Word. Missy and I have now been married for 11 years, and I’ve been free from drugs and alcohol the entire time.

Editor’s Note: Since accepting Christ, Benjamin and Missy have been blessed with the opportunity to do outreach ministry together, in part by hosting a Night of Hope, a concert geared toward helping people facing all types of addiction. Benjamin is also the author of War a Good Warfare: Fighting the Battles Within .

Shon Hopwood grew up in a Christian home in rural Nebraska. When his high-school basketball career faded and college and the military fell through, he was left with a complete lack of purpose. So, it sounded like a good idea when his best friend suggested they rob a bank.

They robbed five banks with guns. Shon knew it was wrong. Still, he couldn’t stop because of the easy money and party lifestyle that it brought him. It ended when he was arrested by the FBI and sentenced by a federal judge to 12 years in federal prison. He was 23.

Shon took a job in the prison law library. He began learning the law. Over the years he took on fellow prisoners’ cases, writing petitions they would then file in federal courts, including the U.S. Supreme Court. Fellow prisoners began calling him a “jailhouse lawyer.”

His next cell-door neighbor, Robert, would grumble about missing out on the lives of his children and he ranted about a friend who had turned against him and testified at his trial. He said he wished that guy would die. It was clear to Shon that the bitterness of life and prison had consumed him.

Shon said,

One day I walked over to Robert’s cell and watched as he smiled and danced around while sweeping the floor. My first thought was that he had scored some drugs. But when I asked why he seemed so different, he said, ‘Shon, I’m with Jesus now.’ Within days Robert had forgiven the man who had testified against him. Today, Robert is back on his farm with his family, and once a week he treks back into prison to lead a men’s Bible study.

Robert was neither the first nor the last prisoner I saw experience a complete and utter life turnaround. These inmates had a great effect on me because I saw how grace can transform everyone, even prisoners.

Shon was released in 2009, during the heart of the recession, when work was hard to find, especially for a former inmate. But then another grace arrived: He found a position at a leading printer of Supreme Court briefs in Omaha, helping attorneys perfect their briefs.

Shon became engaged but the pastor would not marry them without premarital counseling. During the first session, the pastor asked what they believed about Jesus. Shon said, “When he talked about grace, that free gift of salvation, I listened, especially when he said that I could be forgiven. ‘Yeah, even you, Shon.’ I couldn’t escape the feeling that God had been pursuing me for a long time.”

Shon writes:

In Ephesians 1:7–8, Paul writes that in Christ “we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God’s grace that he lavished on us.” Grace says we are not defined by our failures and our faults, but by a love without merit or condition. God’s grace was enough to redeem me.

Nearly five years have passed since I made the most important decision of my life: to surrender to this grace. I got married, and my wife also became a believer. We moved to Seattle so I could attend the University of Washington Law School on a full-ride scholarship. Looking back over the course of my life, I can see that although I rarely returned the favor, God hotly pursued me.

Editor’s Note: Today Shon Robert Hopwood is an author, appellate lawyer, and professor of law at Georgetown University Law Center.

Claire Diaz-Ortiz was born and raised in Berkeley, California, a town famous for its leftist political history. She was eager to find people who shared her faith, but her small Presbyterian church seemed to lose members every Sunday.

But I had (church) camp. Every summer my parents shipped me off to Westminster Woods among the redwoods of Northern California. Those weeks of music and fellowship kept me grounded in faith.

For several years at camp, I had learned about what it would mean to accept Christ into my heart. I had heard, but I hadn’t been ready. Until the summer I was 12. One night, wondering what it would mean if no God existed at all, I made my decision. A simple solo prayer on the steps of my cabin sealed the deal.

For the next dozen years, Claire’s faith rose and fell. Some years she felt connected to God. Other years she just went through the motions. She continued going to church and attended a small group Bible study, but Claire said, “I still wasn’t all in.”

She and a friend spent 2006 traveling the world. They visited 19 countries in Asia, Africa, and Europe, including climbing to Everest Base Camp. There altitude sickness struck her and she had to descend to a lower altitude to regain clear-headedness. But that didn’t stop Claire and her friend from attempting to climb Mount Kenya, the second-highest peak in Africa.

In Nairobi they decided to move on to a guesthouse near the base of the mount which was cheap and owned by a nearby orphanage. The next morning, Claire was surprised to see that the orphanage had sent a bus, their only vehicle, on the eight-hour journey to bring them to the guesthouse.

When we arrived, we were told that the elders had invited us to lunch. It was in the middle of lunch that life as I knew it changed. I had felt the stirring of something I couldn’t explain. I asked to use the restroom.

Looking into the bathroom mirror, I asked God to come into my life and heart again, as I had done all those years before. Then I went further, asking him a question: “If you put this orphanage in our road for a reason, will you open my eyes so I can see the way forward?” In that Kenyan bathroom, all the power of God’s presence entered my heart, telling me to trust. An hour after that, I began to believe that God was telling me to stay at the orphanage.

That moment at the bathroom mirror set my life on an entirely new path—one that led to starting a nonprofit (Hope Runs) and joining a then-tiny startup called Twitter. By sending my first tweets from that orphanage in Kenya, I placed myself early on at the nexus of Twitter. In 2009, when Twitter cofounder Biz Stone offered me a spot at the company, I leaped.

Throughout it all, I have often thought back on that moment in the orphanage bathroom. The moment I became the Christian I was born to be. The moment where I fell, headlong. All in.

Editor’s Note: Claire Diaz-Ortiz is an author, speaker and Silicon Valley innovator who was an early employee at Twitter. She was named one of the 100 Most Creative People in Business by Fast Company.

In the horror of 9/11, Charles H. Featherstone turned from Islam to Christianity. In an issue of Christianity Today he shared his story:

Although both of his parents were raised as Lutherans, his mother never had much use for religion, and his father lost his faith in God in the jungles of South Vietnam. When his father left the army, the family settled down in Southern California where Charles attended school. He writes:

I had been on the receiving end of my father’s intense but sporadic violence for years. I learned to both fear and hate him. School quickly became unsafe as well: I was bullied, terrorized, and abused regularly. There was no one to trust. I was frightened, incredibly alone, and increasingly angry. Would anyone ever love and value me?

Searching for something to do with his life he began studying journalism at San Francisco State University. Charles said: “That’s where I found Islam. A friend introduced me to the Qur’an, and I was entranced by its words. The Muslims who first taught me welcomed me as no one else had before.”

But Islam also provided religious and political fuel for his anger. At one mosque he fell in with a group of jihadis. They discussed the texts of revolutionary Islam. One brother went to fight in Bosnia, and Charles wanted to join him. But there was Jennifer, whom he’d met at San Francisco State. There would be no one to care for her. He said, “I belonged to her, and she to me. This was a turning point. The anger that had burned in my soul was beginning to burn itself out.”

He started a journalistic career which eventually took him to offices in Lower Manhattan, right across from the World Trade Center. He was there on the morning of September, 11, 2001.

In the chaos and terror of the streets below, as I looked up at the burning twin towers and watched people tumble to their deaths, life-changing words came to me—words I suddenly heard inside my head: “My love is all that matters, and this is who I am.” I knew then that everything I understood about God, about sin and redemption, about the whole human condition, had changed. What happened was the kind of divine intervention that drove Abraham to leave home, trusting in God’s promises. The kind of force that struck Saul blind on the road to Damascus.

Charles and Jennifer began attending a church in Virginia.

The people showed me that it was the risen Jesus Christ who had spoken to me. They taught me the gospel, proclaiming the forgiveness of sins for the entire world. This is who I had met that horrible day in September. It was Jesus Christ who, in the midst of terror and death, assured me that his love is all that matters.

I belong to Jesus. He saw me and told me to follow. I left everything and obeyed. So, I trust God. For the first time in my life, I know who I am. I know whose I am. And that is all that matters.

Editor’s Note: Charles H. Featherstone is the author of The Love That Matters: Meeting Jesus in the Midst of Terror and Death .

Thousands of cars are damaged or destroyed by floods every year, but don’t assume all those vehicles end up in a junkyard. Some are repaired and resold in other parts of the country without the buyer being aware of the car’s waterlogged history. In fact, Carfax says 378,000 flooded cars were back on the roads in 2021. In addition, 2022s Florida’s Hurricane Ian, and the atmospheric “bomb cyclones” that brought flooding to California, Nevada, Texas, and other states will certainly add many more damaged cars to the used-car market.

The key takeaway is that you need to be vigilant when buying a used car, even if you don’t live near a traditional storm area. That’s because flood-damaged cars are often transported well beyond their original region after major storms to locations where consumers may be less aware of the warning signs to look for.

Water can wreak havoc on automobiles: rusty floorboards, water-logged electronics that controls so much of the car, including safety systems, and airbag controllers. It may take months or years, but corrosion can find its way to the car’s vital electronics and the long-term effects of water damage can haunt buyers for the life of the car.

But as Consumer Reports found years ago in an investigation of rebuilt wrecks, some flood-damaged vehicles reappear with a clean title. Be especially wary of any used car being offered with a “lost” title or with only a bill of sale.

Kenneth Potiker, owner of Riteway Auto Dismantlers, knows what advice he’d give to people considering the purchase of such a vehicle. “I would tell them not to buy a car like that — that would be the best advice. If it floods inside a car, water damage is one of the worst types of damage.”

Possible Preaching Angle:

Redemption; Renewal; Restoration; Second Chance - Storms can suddenly strike and damage our possessions beyond repair. This puts buyers on the alert asking, “Has this been so damaged that it is now worthless?” The same question can be asked in the spiritual realm when a person has been damaged by the sudden storms of sin. “What happens to storm-damaged people? Are they of any value?” But by God’s grace there can be redemption, forgiveness, and restoration.