convicted.

Some of life's most beautiful moments are those in which you are utterly convicted. 

Conviction itself is a humbling, rather uncomfortable state. One in which you have been proven wrong. And as a teenage girl from a society striving to avoid the unveiling of (or simply the recognition of) personal flaws, it's even more difficult.

At the same time, it's rewarding. This correction brings forth growth and a reassurance in the grace and forgiveness of our Savior.

The reason this is even a point of discussion is because I've been convicted. It's hard to explain right off the bat, so let me give you some context.

Lately, my super duper friends and I have been attending Christian Assembly's Fusion service on Sunday nights. It's fabulous. It's both "current"/"hip" and spiritually edifying - things are taken to a different level than most high school ministries (mostly because it's the college-age and older service, not high school).

Currently, we've been in a series called "The Sequel" - taking a deeper look at what it means to be Spirit-filled believers who are the sequel to Christ, the ones left to do his will. A few weeks ago, Mark Pickerill (the pastor) highlighted a passage in Revelation 3:

"These are the words of the Amen, the faithful and true witness, the ruler of God's creation. I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other! So, because you are lukewarm - neither hot nor cold - I am about to spit you out of my mouth. You say, 'I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing.' But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked. I counsel you to buy from me gold refined in the fire, so you can become rich; and white clothes to wear, so you can cover your shameful nakedness; and salve to put on your eyes, so you can see."

This is a letter to the church in Laodicea. And as Mark went on to tell the congregation, Laodicea was quite a "happening" place. It was a city of incredible prosperity because of its ideal location: the crossing of major trade routes. Because of this, its people were quite self-reliant - particularly the believers. Their wealth blinded them. They were unwilling to see what they were lacking, and that because of their wealth, they were "wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked."

As a result, they were an inward-focused community, which Mark likened to a football team that consistently stays in a huddle. Imagine that: a football team that always strategizes but never runs an offensive play. He went on to say that our churches are still like this: we don't adequately share the Gospel with others because we're so focused on our church budget, or the publicity campaign for the next retreat, or which songs to sing next Sunday, etc.

My conviction came when he pointed out that he thinks the Alcoholics Anonymous program has got things right. 

As he watched a relative work his way through the program he realized the institution's purpose was not to bring men to sobriety, but to help men become sober so that they can help others become sober. 

And that he said is what we, as Christians, ought to do. That is the point of the Gospel: to embrace the good news ourselves and share it with others. 

What got me was the fact that the Alcoholics Anonymous program is doing things right, and I'm not.

As that idea soaked in, I began really looking at my life. 

You could say I've been raised in a Christian bubble. It's a wonderful bubble, don't get me wrong. But the problem with it is that its perpetuation has not exposed me to the outside world, the world that I'm supposed to share this good news with. 

In fact, up till now, my only outlet to the non-Christian world has pretty much been through National Charity League (NCL): a 6-year program in which mothers and daughters serve their communities together. Having just completed my service with NCL, I've realized how much I've taken that ministry opportunity for granted. I have been too consumed with my disgust in watching women serve to acquire required hours and miss the point of it all, that I too missed the point: I could have developed deeper friendships with the girls who, though quite different from me, are thirsting for truth and meaning and purpose in life. 

I could have been a light. 

I could have shown them the way to fulfillment and joy. 

I could have shown them hope.

But my selfishness kept me from doing so. I stayed in the huddle and forgot to launch my offense.

I don't want to live life in the huddle. I don't want to forget that at some point, I've got to put all this strategizing to play. I don't want to let my selfishness hold me back.