The Need for Jesus

Every believer has a testimony, a unique story of when they first gave their hearts to God.

For some Christians, their salvation stories are quite dramatic, revealing glimpses into a past filled with wrong turns, bad decisions, and utter hopelessness. This type of salvation experience in adults seems to be on the rise.

The Barna Research Group revealed in its 2025 State of the Church annual report that “66 percent of all U.S. adults say they have made a personal commitment to Jesus.” This is a 12% increase since 2021, the lowest recorded statistic on adult declarations of salvation in over three decades of Barna’s data.

In direct contrast, the story of salvation is more sedate for other Christians, one that dates back to childhood. As many as 72% of adult believers had no times of deep sin or separation, no prodigal journeys, just a quiet, continual development of their faith.

In fact, statistics gathered and published in January 2024, from Infinity Concepts along with Grey Matter Research and Consulting, show that “Only 46% of evangelicals can recall a specific point in their lives when they decided to trust Christ. Thirty-seven percent (37%) say they were raised as a Christian and do not remember a specific point of decision, while 16% say it was a gradual process rather than a specific decision point.”

My testimony falls somewhere in the middle of these two opposites. Yes, I attended church with my family throughout childhood, until the day I married and left home, eventually raising my own sons in church. And yes, I can look back and see continual growth and development of my faith.

But there was no gradual childhood realization that all I had to do to be saved was call on the Lord, confess my sins, and surrender my all to Him. That would have been too easy and not dramatic enough for me, the girl who thought obedience and compliance equaled weakness and boredom.

Looking back, the future drama teacher and fiction writer in me probably needed a memorable testimony, a moment of absolute surrender that I could never doubt or deny. And that is exactly how God saved me – in an undeniably dramatic way.

Keep in mind that I was only eleven years old, so my sins were not monumental. But they were constant, consistent, and intentional, usually involving my mouth and my rebellious nature. The only time I was quiet back then was when I was reading or practicing my piano skills. Those were two of my favorite pursuits as a child, and I imagine my mother was grateful for those quiet respites.

But the more I read those classic kids’ books, and the more I played the hymns from the handy-dandy red hymnal I had confiscated from church (and had to pay for, after I confessed my transgression to our pastor), the more I learned about Jesus. He became more than just a character on our Sunday School flannel board. And the more I read and sang, the more I realized that other people had a relationship with Jesus that I was lacking.

I doubt I could have given anyone a definitive explanation of sin or rebellion. Those words were not part of my daily vocabulary or thoughts. But I was learning the meanings of both words slowly but surely, even though I was not putting into play any of the things I knew to be “right.” Not until one night, long, long ago, in our very safe and sheltered home in the tiny town of Algoma, Mississippi.

It’s important to note that my daddy was the local school principal, and we lived on campus in a beautiful, old white house. It sat on the corner of the school campus, right in front of various school buildings.

That night was no different from others. My little sister and I followed the same routine: supper, family television time, then bathtime, prayers, and bedtime.

We shared a bedroom with matching twin beds and pink frilly bedspreads. Located in the back center of the house, our room had originally been the back porch until it was renovated and closed for additional space.

As a result, the entire back wall of our bedroom was a set of four windows. Decorated with equally frilly tie-back curtains and white pull-down window shades, these large windows ran the length of the wall. The headboards of our matching beds were pushed up to the windows, and we slept facing the interior wall.

That night, we went to bed as usual and fell asleep quickly, no big deal. But then, in the middle of the night, three teenage boys who had been in trouble earlier in the day decided to set fire to one of the school buildings.

And that was when my day (or night) of reckoning began.

I awoke in my safe, sheltered, pink-and-white, frilly bedroom to what appeared to be flames dancing on the wall in front of my bed. Between the dancing flames and the acrid smell of smoke, I was absolutely terrified. It seemed as if fire was consuming my room. Unable to see or hear my sister sleeping nearby, I thought I was alone in that fire.

As I watched those orange flames dance ever higher on the wall, I immediately thought I had died and gone to hell. And worst of all, I knew that I deserved the doom I was facing.

It was a momentary terror, though, for soon, the firetruck sirens sounded, and the rest of my family awoke.

My mom rushed into our room to check on us, and when she turned on the light, I realized that those flames of hell had only mirrored the fire at the school. The blazing flames had been reflected through my white window shades onto the shiny white wall of my bedroom.

But, oh, what a realistic picture they had painted. Suffice it to say, I realized without a doubt that I needed salvation. I did not want the eternity of hell that I had imagined for myself.

So, I walked to our pastor’s home and knocked on the door of his office. When Pastor Lowell Johnson opened the door, I cried as I shared the horror of those flames. He talked to me, prayed with me, and lovingly guided me as I gave my heart and life to Jesus.

It was the best decision I ever made.

I could not have survived the last 53 years without God guiding me, holding me, and loving me every step of the way. In the good times and on the worst days, He was there. He never left me forsaken and alone. He has been my ever-present Lord and Savior.

But my journey with Jesus started on a night long ago, with some flames on the wall, reflected through plastic, white window shades.

Thankfully, those flames gave me an instant picture of the hell that I deserved and the heaven that I could never deserve or enter – without Jesus.

And that, my friend, is a testimony worth sharing!