Amazing

Born

Thoughts

BORN AGAIN - AND AGAIN

by Doyle Duke

The Miserable Years

By then, my wife and I had been married about eighteen years. We had two wonderful children; Davina, a beautiful, blue-eyed, blonde, age twelve; and Jeffrey, an angelic boy of six whom I felt was a gift of God--given to replace the lost twins. Both, of course, were being reared as Christians. Fay had accepted Christ as her savior, but never showed any interest in Bible study. As a child in school, she had trouble comprehending written material and had developed her mental abilities in order to compensate. She is very observant and a keen judge of character. Prior to my decision to leave the church of God, she'd always followed my leading in religious matters and in almost all my prayers I thanked God for such a helpmeet. Imagine my shock when she rebelled. Something happened that night in our friends’ house to change her. She would never admit it, but I think she was almost as scared as I. Whatever the reason, from that time, until only recently, we were a divided family. Some of the things I did then, or let happen, shame me. I look back now and ask myself how I could have been so blind and cruel. The only excuse I have is that my actions were governed by the Bible teachings I'd received and my own rearing. I was determined to raise our children in church, in a Christian home. So, until they were old enough to refuse, I dragged them to church.

At last, I found a church in which I could be comfortable. By then I'd accepted the fact that no one denomination had all the answers--there was no perfect church. For a while our children attended with me, but as they grew older they stopped. Apparently they learned enough about religion from their parents to steer clear--today, at this writing, neither are Christians.

In my mid-forties I began to suffer periods of deep depression. I had another ulcer. I hated my work and felt my life had been wasted. I began to see the future as short, without sufficient time to set and accomplish goals. Often I'd drive off somewhere and sit alone for hours brooding and contemplating suicide. I reasoned I was better off dead. I had enough insurance to care for my wife and perhaps help the kids with college.

I prayed for help, but received no answer. I prayed for understanding, but none came. I prayed for guidance, but was left to stumble alone. I prayed for forgiveness, in case I'd sinned amidst, but felt no guilt. Church services became a boring trial of singing the same songs over and over, and praying the same unanswered prayers. I talked with my minister, but he could offer no solution. At last, I prayed to die--God wouldn't even grant me that.

All of my life I had been taught God's promise that He'll never leave nor forsake us, and never put more on us than we can bear. However, when I could stand no more, I was forced to look to my own resources. At first I thought it was my fault, something I was neglecting. But after I'd done all I knew to do and had absolved my own conscience, I had to accept the fact that the problem lay elsewhere. It couldn't be God, so it had to be in the link between God and me. The Bible was immediately suspected. I'd done my best to conformed to its teachings, had turned to God in my need and been ignored. Assuming God was real and just, then the corruption must come from man's recording and perpetuation of his word.

Of course I knew the history of the Bible and the Church, but had never questioned it. There had been times when I wondered how such a corrupt, power hungry, and, yes, Godless, organization like the Catholic Church could preserve an error-free Bible. I'd only been assured that God had used them for His end. Now, I had very good reasons to be suspicious, so again I found myself searching for truth.