Where Christ Met Me in My Story

I sat across from him in our prayer exercise during our intensive, as he asked, “What’s the source of energy behind your words?”

I paused to reflect, and a memory surfaced at once.

I remembered my mother’s words.

I was ten, standing by the fence near the diving boards at Lakeside Swimming Club. I had just finished a frustrating practice—barely managing a flip off the low board. I felt like a failure. So, I just quit.

I stood there in my Speedos, leaning against the fence. I heard my mother speak words that I would carry for years—spoken in front of others. What I heard was simple and absolute: You will never amount to anything because you quit everything you start.

At the time, I didn’t understand she was trying to motivate me through reverse psychology.

I walked home alone, tears streaming down my face, making a quiet vow:“I will never attempt anything again.”

Something shifted in me that day. Without much encouragement or oversight in my life, I edged away, pulling myself away from anything challenging—especially in school and academics.

Decades later, sitting in that chair during a prayer exercise, I realized how much of the energy I felt in that moment still lived in me. I always felt intimidated by intellectual settings (Imposter Syndrome) from my reaction to her words: You won’t amount to anything.

The contradiction makes it stand out even more. I have earned a master’s degree, am a certified chaplain, pastor of churches, and graduated as salutatorian from my college. Yet sitting among therapists and peers with PhDs in this class, that energy surfaced again out of nowhere, and shut me down.

That night, my thoughts spiraled, filling me with doubts and insecurities I hadn't felt in years. I questioned everything as if it were the whole picture of my life, feeling more self-defeated than I had in a very long time.

It amazes me how, in these moments, I have tunnel vision when emotions feel so deep and truthful. As I processed with my wife that night, she said, “You know that is not true.”  I agreed quickly and added, “But it feels so deeply true.” It took me back to the moment when, as a boy, I embraced something untrue. It was like a younger part of me came alive in me once again, with the stage perfectly set to reinforce something so unbelievably untrue.

Then my peer invited me to consider something I had never considered:

“How does Christ see that memory?”

When I revisited the memory, imagining Jesus’ presence in that moment, it became less intense. His presence was steady and full of compassion. He didn’t speak, but I felt seen in my aloneness and understood in my anger. Somehow, His presence took the authority of my mother's words away, and the focus of my heart shifted toward Him, defining my moment differently.

Something loosened in me.

I realized that while the words came through my mother, their weight came from a much darker place—one that distorted truth and fed discouragement. As a child, I received those words under her authority, but not her heart.

For much of my life, I didn’t know what to do with painful memories such as this one. At times, I tried to analyze and fix them on my own, like an endless pace running on a hamster wheel.

But this was different.

That old belief still had emotional strength, even fifty years later, with its surprising visit. Yet in that moment, something shifted with Christ. The weight of truth reestablished how I understood myself and how I was seen by Christ. It felt like a fragmented, wounded part of me integrated into something more whole and truer.

Later, my supervisor reflected on the exercise he witnessed. He spoke about the courage it took to be open and affirmed how untrue those old words were, knowing me. His encouragement helped anchor what God was revealing.

This experience changed something in me.

I have known the truth of Christ as my Shepherd for years. But in that moment, He felt real within that wounded place in my story and not just something I knew. I met Him there in reality, not theory. That knowing runs deeper than anything I could reason my way to.

Scripture often mentions knowing the truth that surpasses knowledge. No one can convince me otherwise about what I experienced. This transformational experience was integrated into my full story.

~

Here is to my mom, who is amazing, and all the mothers who did their very best.

His grace abounds to you and all of us.

I leave you with this:

Are there places in your story that still carry such weight or energy?Could those be the very places Christ wants to meet you to see and know yourself differently?

This experience has stirred something deep in me—a growing curiosity and openness to Him and healing.

I hope your curiosity about your story and Christ’s love for you is awakened.

Peace,

Rob

If you need space to reflect on your story, I would be honored to sit with you.

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