When I was in my 20s, I was obsessed with the fear that I was not actually saved — that my so-called “faith” was nothing but an elaborate web of self-deception that would end in eternal damnation.

I wasn’t sure what to do to rescue myself, but leaders and fellow church members kept reminding everyone to strive for holiness and “press into” God, which I interpreted to mean “try harder.”

So I did.

I eliminated magazines, movies, TV shows and dates from my life. I read my Bible, prayed, volunteered at a local nursing facility, invited hundreds of people to church, led a small group, sang in the praise band and shared the Gospel with almost everyone I met.

While I grew more confident in my personal holiness, I grew more insecure about my ability to keep “pressing into” God. This insecurity was fed by the fact that all of the external changes I was making weren’t fixing me on the inside. I knew I was still proud, angry, narcissistic, vain and lustful. But not only did I know it, Jesus knew it. And I felt pretty sure He was ticked off.

Then something amazing happened . . .

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