Fired, Molded, and Set Apart
5) Pruned for Purpose: Embracing Change Through Faith
With the excitement of my newfound faith, I was consumed by a joy so overwhelming that my past plans and commitments seemed to dissolve, forgotten in the radiance of this new beginning. The day I fully surrendered to the Lord was the single greatest day of my life. My cheeks burned from smiling, the muscles unaccustomed to such relentless joy, but I couldn’t stop. It was as if an invisible weight I hadn’t even realized I was carrying had been lifted, leaving me lighter, freer, and utterly transformed.
Everything felt fresh and new, as if the very air I breathed carried a renewed sense of purpose. Colors seemed brighter, sounds clearer, and even the simplest things—a passing breeze, the warmth of the sun—seemed to hum with life. I was overwhelmed by the sheer delight of it all, a moment of pure, uncontainable gratitude for the transformation that had begun. This joy, I knew, wasn’t fleeting but rooted in something eternal.
This newfound joy deepened with time, revealing itself as more than an emotion; it was a wellspring of assurance that I was loved, forgiven, and made new. Marveling at the magnitude of this change, I realized I was only beginning to glimpse the fullness of what lay ahead. It wasn’t just a feeling—it was a foundation, one that led me to the next profound step: publicly declaring my faith through baptism.
This newfound peace led me to take the next step in my faith journey: baptism. A week or two later, I stood before the congregation, preparing to share my testimony and publicly declare my commitment to Christ. Jesus Himself said, “Whoever acknowledges me before others, I will also acknowledge before my Father in heaven” (Matthew 10:32). This sacred act wasn’t merely obedience—it was a moment of profound alignment with Him.
Stepping into the water, the warmth against my skin steadied me, even as my heart raced with anticipation. This was more than a ceremony; it was a threshold. The water symbolized the boundary between who I had been and who I was becoming. As I descended into its embrace, I felt as though it carried away every mistake, every fear, and every jagged piece of my past.
In that moment, it was just me and God. The congregation, the sounds, even my own thoughts seemed to dissolve, leaving a profound stillness. The water enveloped me like an embrace, soothing and reassuring, and I emerged feeling utterly transformed. There was no dramatic sign—just an all-encompassing peace and the certainty that I was His. The joy of that realization surged within me, deeper and stronger than anything I had ever known.
Leaving the church that day, I felt as though I had stepped into a new world. It wasn’t just the start of a new chapter; it was the beginning of a life anchored in grace. The One who had brought me to this moment would continue to lead me, every step of the way.
Confessing Jesus as Lord marked the start of a journey that would reshape every aspect of my life. It was the moment I stepped fully into God’s kingdom, surrendering my restlessness and emptiness to embrace His lead. The tensions and challenges I had faced—even the strained relationship with my stepmother—took on new meaning. They weren’t obstacles; they were part of a greater plan, preparing me for this surrender.
Standing at this threshold, I couldn’t have imagined how profoundly my life would change. The confession was just the beginning. The journey ahead would be shaped by learning the depth of His Word and discovering the living truth revealed in Scripture. When my father handed me my first Bible, it felt less like a book and more like a key—one that would unlock answers to questions I hadn’t yet asked.
That afternoon, as sunlight filtered softly through the windows, I sat alone with my Bible resting in my lap. The stillness around me felt alive, as though the air itself was waiting. Flipping through the pages, the words seemed to leap off the paper, not as text but as vibrant truths. It was as if someone sat beside me, guiding me gently, pointing out what I needed to see.
Each verse felt deliberate, chosen, and deeply personal. I could almost feel a hand turning the pages, pausing on scriptures that resonated with questions I hadn’t voiced. In that quiet moment, John 1:1 came alive: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” It was no longer just a book—it was an encounter with the Author Himself.
Hours passed unnoticed as connections formed between passages, each verse weaving a tapestry of understanding. The Spirit Himself was teaching me, whispering truths into my heart, making scripture come alive in ways I couldn’t fully articulate. By the time I closed the Bible, a deep peace had settled over me—not the peace of understanding everything, but the assurance that I wasn’t alone. The Author of these words was walking with me, teaching me, and preparing me for the road ahead.
Shortly after that, another moment of divine timing occurred. A letter arrived from the apprenticeship program for Heavy Duty Mechanics—a trade I had been passionate about pursuing. Six months earlier, I had applied and been told the waiting list was two years long. But here it was: an invitation to begin immediately, right in the city where I was already living.
The timing was unmistakable. While I had been floundering, unsure of what came next, God had been orchestrating every detail. This wasn’t just a career opportunity—it was a clear sign of His providence. The path He had prepared wasn’t simply unfolding; it was a testament to His faithfulness and perfect timing.
Looking back, I see His hand in every step. Each moment of doubt, surrender, and trust was a building block in a greater story—one I am still living.
As my faith deepened, I noticed a bittersweet change: the friendships I once cherished began to fade. The friends who had been constant companions before my prayer with David Mainse now felt distant, as though we were living in different worlds. It wasn’t that I cared for them any less, but our paths were clearly diverging.
In those moments, I found comfort in Jesus’ words: “If the world hates you, keep in mind that it hated me first” (John 15:18).
One day, I visited a close high school friend. Sitting on her front steps, we laughed and reminisced, slipping into the ease of familiarity. When I shared my news of accepting Jesus into my heart, her reaction was sharp and unexpected. “I don’t want to hear about it,” she said, her tone cutting.
Her response stunned me, but peace quickly followed. I understood it wasn’t my job to change her heart—that belonged to the Lord. Smiling, I shifted the conversation to lighter topics, though the shift between us was undeniable. Our easy camaraderie was gone, replaced by a quiet realization that our lives had taken different directions. It was painful but necessary. God was pruning me, removing what no longer aligned with His purpose for me.
As we talked, I noticed something remarkable: my speech, once filled with unworthy language, had changed. My friend, who had heard my careless words countless times, surely noticed too. Even if she didn’t want to hear about Jesus, my transformed words silently testified to the work He was doing in my heart.
That day was the last time I saw or heard from her. Though it was bittersweet, I trusted God’s guidance. True to His promise, He didn’t leave me alone. Through my church, He surrounded me with new friends who shared my faith and supported my growth.
One friend had a quiet but profound impact on me, influencing me in ways I hadn’t anticipated. He wasn’t one for grand speeches, but his actions carried a quiet authority. During a routine conversation, he reached over, plucked the pack of cigarettes from my hand, and tossed it into the garbage.
“You don’t need these,” he said, his tone casual, almost matter-of-fact.
For a moment, I was stunned, frozen by his audacity. My first instinct was to protest, to defend something I’d clung to for so long. But the look in his eyes stopped me. It wasn’t judgment—it was certainty, a quiet conviction that pierced through my defenses.
The faint smell of tobacco lingered in the air, but for the first time, it felt like a chain. I glanced at the crumpled pack in the trash, and something shifted inside me. There were no dramatic tears or declarations, just a quiet resolve: He’s right. You don’t need these.
From that moment, I never touched another cigarette. The habit that had once felt impossible to break seemed to lose its grip overnight. It wasn’t just his words that freed me—it was the certainty behind them, a reminder that I was becoming something more.
Looking back, I realize it wasn’t just my friend who spoke that day. It was the Shepherd, gently breaking another chain and guiding me toward freedom. Within a month, I found myself shedding old habits effortlessly, as though God Himself was leading me forward.