I grew up in a time when, if a parent spoke, you listened. When you were told to do something, you did it. There weren’t explanations and there weren’t debates. Obedience was expected, and questions weren’t really part of the conversation.
On top of that, my brother and I were being raised in a church that felt much the same way. Faith followed a clear structure: you were taught what was right, what was wrong, and what was expected of you.
My mother had found this church through her grandpa. During the Depression, he spent years listening to Herbert W. Armstrong on the radio. Long before I understood anything about doctrine or church history, those beliefs had already become part of our family’s story. By the time I officially became part of the Worldwide Church of God, it was already a church in transition—even if I didn’t realize it then. Herbert W. Armstrong had passed away just a short time before, and leadership had moved to Joseph W. Tkach. Outwardly, much of church life still looked the same. Sabbath observance, holy days, and long-held teachings were still practiced. For those of us entering during that time, it felt steady and familiar.
But underneath, things were beginning to shift.
As a child and young person, I wasn’t aware of theological debates or leadership changes. I wasn’t thinking about doctrine or church history. I was learning how to obey. I was learning what was expected. Faith, at that point in my life, looked like doing what I was told and trusting that someone else understood the reasons.
Looking back, I can see that my faith was shaped in a space where obedience came first and understanding came later.
As the years went on, the church began changing more noticeably. Teachings were questioned. Long-held beliefs were reexamined. And eventually, the church moved in a direction that looked very different from where it had started. For many people, that season was confusing and painful. For me, it quietly planted the first seeds of something I would not fully understand until much later—that faith isn’t static, and growth often comes through tension. I didn’t have the words for it then. I just knew something was shifting.
That early experience—entering a faith shaped by rules, structure, and obedience during a time of quiet transition—became part of the reason I now believe growth takes time, grace, and patience. God does not rush understanding. He walks with us through it.
That season marked the beginning of a new chapter in my faith, even though I didn’t realize it at the time. It forced questions I had never been taught to ask. It exposed places where obedience had existed without understanding. And slowly—very slowly—it began pushing me toward grace.
This isn’t a story about blaming a church or rewriting the past. It’s simply the soil my faith grew out of. And understanding where it began helps explain why my faith today looks the way it does—why grace matters so deeply to me, why I’m careful with conviction, and why I believe God works patiently with each of us over time.
Faith doesn’t start fully formed. Sometimes it starts with rules. Sometimes it starts with obedience. And sometimes, it takes years for grace to catch up to what we were taught first.
This is just the beginning of my story.
