Despite new doubts and new knowledge (of myself and of the truths of the Gospel), I remained convinced of my security—I was a good little girl in my own view; obviously a child with my virtues would always have a good standing before the throne of God. But I felt that there was always room for improvement, so I set out to turn a good little girl into a perfect little girl, one with no room for doubt of her salvation.

The year I turned thirteen the secure little world of my own I was trying to build (where I planned out my perfect life and everything always went the way I wanted) fell to pieces. My family was hit by a series of significant trials: my grandmother died (under very tragic circumstances) and my invalid, unbelieving great-grandmother moved in with us. Then my baby sister Abby died at birth. Abby’s birth and death changed our family forever; for us as a unit and as individuals, life would never be the same in so many ways.

After Abby’s death I decided I needed to work very hard at being the perfect Christian daughter. I threw myself into every kind of self-reformation I could think of, and it went much farther than it ever had before. My journals became the record of my good deeds: I wrote down every verse memorised, every Bible chapter read in the mornings, every home duty carefully attended to, every kindness to my siblings (‘I let Sarah wear my favorite necklace today!’). As a final touch of virtue, I began writing out my faults and failings (rereading them now, these accounts smack more than any of self-righteousness and pride).

I was becoming more theologically aware and spent hours asking Daddy questions about our beliefs and listening to his wranglings with friends over law and grace. In response Daddy gave me deeper books to read; one that stands out was A.W. Pink’s commentary on the Beatitudes. Pink used this as a starting-point to discuss the Biblical view of salvation, which caused me to realise that I certainly couldn’t trust in my sinner’s prayer six years earlier. Instead of running to Christ then and there, however, I remembered that early time of awakening and my prayer by the window. That was it! That, plus my current goodness and spirituality (as I saw it), meant I was amply covered.

Outside I had fixed myself up and felt satisfied with what I saw, but my heart was full of self-seeking; I was going to be good, but I was going to do it my way! And my way didn’t involve inconveniencing my precious self. I became very theologically and morally proud. We were without a settled church home at this time and occasionally visited the little country churches in our area; I invariably spent the entire service critiquing the sermon from atop my high horse of theological knowledge. Those old inconveniencing sins? They didn’t bother me so much, since I was making such good progress on them. In my journals I rolled in pride, self-satisfaction, smugness, selfishness, and resentment of any correction (didn’t my parents see what an ideal little homeschool teen they’d been blessed with?).

Something odd I remember about this time—I was about fourteen (2002, date-keepers)–is that I developed a strong dislike for coming to the Lord’s Table. I suppose I had been proud of my communicant status; but I secretly dreaded it now. We were attending a church that took a far more serious view of it than I had ever heard before; and those regular exhortations to self-examination were vaguely disturbing to the self-righteous complacency I was returning to. I did my best to hush all doubts, though, and by the time I turned fifteen I had lulled myself back to security based on my own merits and deeds. In fact, I had become a full-blown little legalist.

Read Part I here.

Part III coming soon!

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