After walking away from religion and turning my back on the God I had been taught about as a boy, I had no idea how—or even if—I could return. I had not simply drifted away; for many years I remained deliberately distant. For a significant portion of that time, I was openly antagonistic toward religion and toward belief in God altogether.
This state lasted for quite some time before a slow transformation began—one I did not recognize at first. Even now, I find it difficult to pinpoint exactly when my views started to change.
After wrestling with the question of God’s existence, and eventually concluding that He was more than an impersonal cosmic force or energy, a new concern emerged: had I forfeited any chance I might have had for redemption? My greatest fear became whether I had gone beyond the “point of no return.” Looking back now, I can see that despite my doubts and anxieties, the Holy Spirit was already at work, drawing me toward God. That inner longing for reconciliation and redemption did not originate with me; it was something being stirred within me.
From previous teaching, I knew it was said that God forgives our “transgressions” when we ask Him. But after so many years away? In my heart, I questioned whether His forgiveness could really extend that far. I knew that no amount of restitution, penance, or moral improvement could erase my past or make me right with God. At times, I truly wondered if I was beyond redemption and whether there was any point in even trying. Yet despite these doubts, I still felt a pull—a longing that is difficult to put into words.
Eventually, after several years of studying and praying on my own, I felt drawn to seek Christian fellowship. At first I resisted, but in time I swallowed my pride and began attending a church—one from a different denomination than the one I had left years earlier. Before long, I became involved in some of the church’s activities and genuinely enjoyed them. Still, I did not experience any clear sense that my prayers were being heard. I once described it to a Christian friend by saying, “Sometimes it doesn’t feel like there’s anyone listening on the other end of my prayers.” Often it felt as though my prayers went no further than the ceiling. Yet I continued to study and pray, compelled not by emotion, but by decision.
Many of my friends could describe a specific moment when they believed they had been saved. They would sometimes ask me if—or when—I had been saved. My honest answer was that I wasn’t sure. I wanted to accept Christ and be saved, and more than once I had prayed what is commonly called the “sinner’s prayer.” But had I done enough? Should I try harder? I didn’t know what I was supposed to feel or think, nor did I know what else to do. As much as I wanted assurance that I had done everything required, I simply didn’t understand how one truly accepts and surrenders oneself to Christ. Thankfully, God is patient. He did not give up on me; He kept me engaged and continued drawing me closer, even though I did not yet recognize that He was directing the process.
Over time, this process gradually moved my beliefs from my head to my heart. My thoughts, attitudes, and desires began to change. This, I believe, is the work of the Holy Spirit—work that neither I nor anyone else can accomplish on our own. It is a work we must allow Him to do within us. This, I came to understand, is the nature of faith.
Some time later, I encountered a small booklet titled Steps to Christ, which described the very process I had been experiencing. Several passages articulated my struggle with remarkable clarity:
“The warfare against self is the greatest battle that was ever fought. The yielding of self, surrendering all to the will of God, requires a struggle; but the soul must submit to God before it can be renewed in holiness.”
Another passage challenged my assumptions about submission and freedom:
“The government of God is not, as Satan would make it appear, founded upon a blind submission… God does not force the will of His creatures… He desires that man… shall reach the highest possible development… It remains for us to choose whether we will be set free from the bondage of sin, to share the glorious liberty of the sons of God.” (p. 43)
A passage beginning on page 47 was especially reassuring, as it echoed my own fears and uncertainties:
“Many are inquiring, ‘How am I to make the surrender of myself to God?’… You cannot change your heart… but you can choose to serve Him. You can give Him your will; He will then work in you…”
As I reflected on this, I realized that it ultimately comes down to a decision—a simple but profound choice. Joshua 24:15 states, “…choose you this day whom you will serve.” One does not need to feel a certain way in order to choose, but choose one must. Feelings and actions often follow the decision rather than precede it.
This realization reminded me of Paul’s defense before King Agrippa. After recounting his conversion and ministry, Paul appealed directly to Agrippa, reasoning that a man familiar with the prophets could not reasonably reject Jesus. Agrippa’s response—“Almost you persuade me to be a Christian”—reveals that he clearly recognized the choice before him. Though unpersuaded, he understood that a decision was required.
Continuing to read Steps to Christ, I came across another passage that further clarified this truth:
“Through the right exercise of the will, an entire change may be made in your life… Do not wait to feel that you are made whole, but say, ‘I believe it; it is so, not because I feel it, but because God has promised.’” (pp. 49)
Is Anyone Beyond Redemption? (Part 2)
Have you ever looked forward to something that was promised to you conditionally? Growing up, I remember being promised rewards based on report cards or good behavior. Sometimes I succeeded and received the reward; other times I failed and lost it. I learned quickly that once I failed, the promise was gone. There was no recovery—only the possibility of making matters worse. Rewards, I learned, were performance-based.
In church, a similar idea prevailed: “If you’re good, you go to heaven; if you’re bad, you don’t.” There seemed to be a broad consensus that everything depended on behavior. Over time, this understanding shaped both my religious life and my adult worldview—often unconsciously and with negative consequences. I now refer to the faith I knew as a child as a performance-based religion. When performance becomes central, even our sense of being accepted, approved, or loved becomes tied to what we do rather than who we are.
Old habits—and old mental “tapes”—are difficult to silence. This became evident soon after I recommitted my life to Christ. Though I understood intellectually that salvation comes by grace alone, I quickly fell back into familiar patterns. I began to focus once again on my religious performance, fearing failure and imagining that God’s blessings depended on flawless obedience. I knew this approach was impossible, yet it was deeply ingrained. Like losing promised rewards as a child, I feared that failure would cause God to withdraw His blessings.
As failure inevitably came, it was quickly followed by discouragement and despair. Thoughts like Why even try? or This is too hard became overwhelming. Ironically, instead of peace, my renewed faith initially brought anxiety—an anxiety rooted in fear of failure.
Relief began to come as I learned more about God’s nature. He is not a punitive God waiting for us to fail. He already knows our weaknesses and shortcomings. He desires our commitment, our surrender, and our willingness to allow His Spirit to work within us. When we fail, we are called to acknowledge it, seek forgiveness, and continue forward under the Spirit’s guidance.
Paul addresses this very struggle in Galatians 3:1–5, challenging believers who attempt to complete by human effort what God began by grace. The Message translation captures this sharply, reminding us that attempting to perfect ourselves through effort alone is not only futile—it’s irrational.
At some point, I realized I needed to move from being a “recovering Christian” to a “Christian in recovery.” While away from church, I had not been burdened by endless lists of rules. Yet once I returned, the old tapes resumed playing, filling me with judgment—both toward myself and others. Left unchecked, this mindset threatened to leave me perpetually discouraged and spiritually stalled. Discouragement drains hope and is a tool often used against us—though we are quite adept at wielding it against ourselves.
Steps to Christ addresses this dynamic clearly:
“There are those who profess to serve God, while they rely upon their own efforts to obey His law… Such religion is worth nothing… A profession of Christ without this deep love is mere talk, dry formality, and heavy drudgery.” (p. 44)
Understanding God’s grace, mercy, and forgiveness has brought relief and freedom into my life. Though the old tapes still surface at times, I am learning not to let them define me. Instead, I seek God daily, pray often, ask forgiveness when I stumble, and remain alert to destructive patterns of thought.
There are no “do-overs” in life—we can only move forward. Guilt, regret, and despair have no power to heal. The path to freedom has already been given, and when we walk it, we discover that no one—truly no one—is beyond redemption.
Originally published March 2013 - Revised January 2026
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