Nowhere but Up by Pattie Mallette, with A. J. Gregory Page B

ask for prayer. I was a spiritual sponge.
    The more knowledge I soaked up, the more I distanced myself from my partying friends. I didn’t think I was better than them because my life was changing in a different way; we just didn’t share much in common. I didn’t want to spend nights and weekends getting blitzed out of my mind or carousing for guys. I wanted to clean up my act. I was heading in a different direction from my friends, and little by little the relationships I had formed, mainly through the common tie of partying and getting wasted, started fading away.
    A few months after my encounter, though, I found myself frustrated because certain issues I struggled with weren’t going away. I thought that after experiencing a second chance at life, I’d turn into a totally different person. I thought I would automatically be rid of bad habits, be less insecure, and have fewer hang-ups. I thought my not-so-healthy tendencies, my anger, and my bitterness would magically disappear. I thought I would turn into a Pollyanna who smiled all the time, was always positive, and never said a bad word (either out loud or in her mind).
    I think many well-meaning Christians try to use Scripture as a Band-Aid to cover a gaping wound. Sometimes this leads to confusion, as it did with me. One of the Scriptures I wrestled with was 2 Corinthians 5:17: “Whoever is a believer in Christ is a new creation. The old way of living has disappeared. A new way of living has come into existence.” I struggled with that because while I was spiritually new, the old way of living hadn’t completely disappeared for me—I wasn’t fully rid of all my bad habits, insecurities, and hang-ups.
    I found myself fighting the urge to smoke and encumbered by heavy feelings of rejection and bouts of crippling anxiety. I had a tough time reconciling the old me and the new me. I didn’t understand that I still needed a lot of healing. Healing that would take more time, therapy, and effort. Particularly more time. Without that understanding, I became more and more frustrated. I constantly beat myself up for not being perfect. I had to learn how to little by little “work out my salvation” (see Phil. 2:12).
    The battle that raged in my heart showed up in my behavior, like the way I overreacted to things. I was on an emotional roller coaster, guarded one minute, incredibly sensitive the next. One day I’d want to talk to someone about my problems, and the next I’d want to be alone, purposely shutting out the people who loved me the most.
    I also felt alone. While I was fortunate to have so many people in the church to love and teach me, they were much older. They had spouses and families of their own to take care of. I wanted—really I needed—to hang out with young people I could relate to and talk to about school, music, and your average teenage stuff. I needed friends my own age. In the absence of any spiritual peer support, I made a slow but deliberate detour. A few steps backward here and a few more there, and before I knew it, I was back at parties, drinking beers and smoking joints.
    I was just looking for someone to relate to. That’s all. I didn’t intend to return to my old partying ways, though John had warned me it could happen. Though I promised him I wouldn’t indulge while hanging out with my old friends—in fact, I swore that I would be a good influence on them—he knew better.
    “Let me put it this way,” he told me as he slid a chair out from his desk during one of our many mentoring meetings. “Stand on this chair.”
    I obliged.
    John reached out his hand. “Now take my hand.”
    Almost immediately after I grabbed his hand, his strong grip pulled me down.
    “Think about it. Is it easier for you to pull me up or for me to pull you down?”
    Point taken.
    But the telling analogy didn’t stop me from visiting my old turf. It was awkward at first, being at parties completely sober. I felt out of place. Hanging out at parties