I’ve been thinking recently about something pretty important that happened years ago when I was weaker in my faith and seeking God for all the wrong reasons. I went to Christian camps every summer and my intentions were mostly good. Every year I’d be driven to one of these camps and hope I’d come back a changed person. I guess I would – for about a week. Then I’d forget everything I was taught and fall back into old habits. That would make me even more cynical for the next year and so the cycle repeated. I remember we’d have routine quiet times every morning and I’d try my best. I’d pray, but I was analysing every word in my head before I’d say it. I’d try to open up to the other girls in my dorm but I’d always hold a little back. I was terrified that people would be able to see through the act and know that I wasn’t the same girl at home than I was at these camps. I liked feeling as though I was getting it right for at least one week in the year.

I don’t know why I’m thinking about this incident now. I haven’t even told some of my closest friends because it put to rest one of my greatest questions as a child of God. Because of that, I’ve never really had to look back. I guess on some level I know even Christians will doubt it. Lately though, because I’m growing so much in my faith, it feels natural to look back. I feel God speaking all the time now. I feel his presence constantly. I’m renewed and transformed and I’m the girl that the old me would look at and admire. Perhaps feel slightly jealous off. But want to be like because I saw how fulfilled she was in knowing her Saviour on a deeper level. So, having finally been brought to this point, I keep thinking of the one miracle that stands out in my mind, from days when I was constantly searching and felt like I was getting it wrong. God reassured me that I‘d be at this point some day when I was at my lowest. So, the miracle…

Years ago, when I was around 14, I was at one of these camps. I sat up the night before leaving and I was so fed up. I knew I’d leave and break all my promises. I knew I wouldn’t follow through and that there was little point in trying. I doubted whether I was actually saved. I was surrounded by people that seemed to have it sussed. Surrounded by women who couldn’t go a day without consulting God, and here I was, the spiritual weakling.  I suppose in my young mind it seemed a good idea. I thought that if I asked God to show me that I was actually saved I’d suddenly be transformed. That everything would fall into place. So, I asked for a 10p coin. I didn’t elaborate on how I’d get it, who from or at what exact time but I did ask to get it before leaving the next day.  So I went to sleep, and of course, promptly forgot about it. Now, when you leave your dorm for the last time in these camps, you’re told that you can’t go back in. I never really knew why, but I assumed that it meant the leaders knew every room was left in decent condition, and being just a kid, I thought that breaking that rule would result in bad things happening! So, I was the last girl in the room, literally about to walk out the door, suitcases in tow, when for some reason I felt the urge to check under my bed. It’s unexplainable. I hadn’t even remembered my prayer at this point – I was just scared I’d left something behind. Then, as I walked toward my bed, I found myself on my knees checking under a bed that definitely wasn’t mine. It was like a momentary lapse in concentration. It didn’t make sense and I didn’t even feel like I’d done it. It was like for a split second, someone else cut my action short and controlled my movement. Then I saw it. The goldy glint of a one pound coin lying under the bed. Then I remembered. I’d asked for 10p, yet here I was staring at ten times more than that.

Some will think it was a coincidence. Others may actually believe it was divine intervention. But from that point on, I’ve never doubted my faith in the same way. 4 years on and I still believe in that little miracle, as simple as it was. It taught me all I needed to know at that point. Yes, I still struggled. It didn’t change my approach to my faith entirely. But it assured me that it was worth continuing to struggle because I truly was saved – I didn’t have anything to lose anymore. It wasn’t wasted efforts.

I feel more loved than ever now. I’m happy in my faith and I’m awaiting more miracles. I don’t care how small people perceive them to be, because you can’t measure personal growth. I’m glad I can look back and still believe like my 14 year old self did. Gods truth holds strong, regardless of time or age. I’ll look back when I’m 80 and still believe in what that pound coin stood for and that is how I know its worth.