How I Figured Out that Jesus Likes Me

For most of my life, I've taken Jesus for granted. I grew up as a missionary kid in Turkey, and am told (though I don't personally remember it very well) that I prayed to ask Jesus to save me when I was five years old. I believe he did, all the way back then, but it was a long time before I really started to understand what that actually means, and I think even now I am only just starting to dig into the fresh life and freedom I have available to me because of what Jesus did.

My parents had devoted their lives to living among Muslims telling them about Jesus, so growing up I knew it was very important and expected that we were probably right and the Muslims were probably wrong. I could tell the difference because all the Muslims I knew, especially the really serious ones who were extremely kind and humble and faithful and giving, seemed like they were always stressed out and weighed down at the very core of their being.

We Christians would get stressed out (say, on the way to church), and I could tell my parents and our other missionary friends were often under a lot of pressure, but it was never a question of life and death - the stresses were circumstantial, masking the profound calm that deep down really defined our lives. Looking back I took even this for granted, but it was a great blessing to be able to grow up without my life hanging on the question of whether I had really been good enough, really, when it all came down to it.