Religion or Relationship

If I had to pick one Bible verse that could describe my entire life, it would have to be Luke 12:48.
But he that knew not, and did commit things worthy of stripes, shall be beaten with few stripes. For unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required: and to whom men have committed much, of him they will ask the more.
I chose the aforementioned verse because it very much applies to everything you will soon read, as I recount my successes and my failures. None of this is easy to share with you: my intimidating audience. However, my goal here—as in everything I write—is to be transparent and draw my fellow believers closer to Christ. If a little vulnerability on my part is the price to pay, then so be it.
My name is Ashley Pearl, and I am Nathan and Zephyr’s daughter. If you follow No Greater Joy on social media, you probably hear from me a lot.
As far as childhood goes, I pretty much hit the jackpot. I grew up homeschooled in a predominantly Christian community, where everyone I knew went to church. Having awesome parents who didn’t tolerate disobedience made me a good kid, and being surrounded by a culture that exonerated Biblical values certainly helped.
One sunny afternoon, when I was seven years old, I became a child of God. I didn’t understand very much about the world then, but I knew two things to be true:

1. I was a sinner, heading straight for hell unless I did something about it.
2. I wanted my own relationship with God.

Jesus saved me that day, and He completely changed the course of my life. The problem is, it didn’t feel that way for a long time. I still went to church, like I did before. I was still pleasant (most of the time), basically obedient to my parents, kind, and happy.
I never had to defend my faith because everyone I knew also went to church. I definitely loved Jesus; my family talked about God all the time and was constantly reading the Word. However I never had to personally act on my faith. I mean c’mon, I was seven! Seven-year-olds, even Christian ones, don’t have to be Jesus warriors…right?
When I was nine, my family moved to Kauai (for a year, ostensibly) and then ended up staying for over three years. Talk about culture shock! Kauai was completely different from anything I’d ever known in my little valley in middle Tennessee.
And then there were my parents, who exemplified what it meant to be followers of Christ. They didn’t just talk about Jesus, they PURSUED him. And they pulled us kids with them, never letting us sit on the sidelines. They did this with everything. Work and ministry were the same thing in their eyes, and they were constantly ministering to others. We kids never felt left behind or neglected because we were right there with them. And yet…
Speaking for myself and not my siblings…for a long time, I wasn’t pursuing God. Not really. I was just doing what my crowd was doing. What difference did it make that my crowd was the good one if my heart wasn’t right? Sure, I was doing good Christian things, but not JUST because I wanted to obey God. I was doing good things because the thought of disappointing everyone made me feel so sick that I threw myself into every good thing I could think of.
Don’t misunderstand; I believed in what I was doing. I loved God and I wanted to please him. I strove to be obedient to him and check all the boxes: obey my parents, be kind to my siblings, love others, share the gospel . . . It took me years to realize there was one huge problem: God requires so much more from me than my obedience.
He also wants my thoughts. He wants my fears and my dreams and my joy. You see, when I became a Christian at seven years old, I didn’t just secure salvation and a relationship with Jesus; I gave my life to him—my whole life. He requires everything from me, not because He is cruel, but because He loves me and desires fellowship with me. Yet in my heart, I was giving more to my peers and mentors than to the One who died for me and calls me his friend.
I unconsciously thought that as long as I did what my parents were doing, I was obeying God, not realizing that as a believer, I had my own relationship with God to pursue. Thanks to my parents’ intentionality, at the tender age of twelve, my understanding of God and the Bible was more mature than some adults. They had given me all the tools I needed and provided a safe and secure home. I had a Bible and a solid church full of strong believers. The only excuse I had was that I was young, and even that was shaky.
I can’t tell you at exactly what point my perception changed, but I know something—or rather someone—that certainly contributed. I don’t remember her name, but I remember her all too well.
I was still twelve at this point, on my first “official” mission trip in the Philippines with my family.
The Philippines was great. It was amazingly wonderful. We were only there for about a month, but even now I still think on my time there. Unfortunately, the Philippines is not really part of my story today.

Fast forward to the last week of our trip. My family was getting ready to leave. I was sad to go, but the trip was technically over at this point—we were done preaching and supplying churches with Good and Evil books. It was time to rest before we embarked on the long flight home. My siblings and I spent the majority of our last days hanging out with the village kids.
They were impoverished, lacking appropriate housing, basic hygienic items, and shoes; we absolutely loved them. Sometimes we ran up and down the sea wall and threw rocks at coral snakes, but mostly we taught them how to swim with snorkel fins and they showed us the best way to fish with a piece of string and rotten octopus.
On one such night, I was sitting on the edge of the dock with two girls my age. One girl in particular, the one whose name I don’t remember, was very eager to talk about religion. It had been weighing heavily on my heart that I hadn’t shared the gospel with them yet, and since it was nearing the end of the week, I knew that if I didn’t act soon, I’d never get the chance.
We were taking turns fishing and chatting about life when the girl asked me about my faith. I had already told her I was a Christian and that we were in the Philippines to share the gospel, but I had never actually told her what that was.
This is along the lines of what she told me that night: She was Catholic, and she knew there was a God, but her family was very against the Bible so she’d never read it before. She didn’t know if she was going to heaven or hell, but she hoped that God would let her in heaven.
I felt the Spirit prodding me more forcefully than ever before. “You have to tell her,” He seemed to say. “Tell her about me.” It was a scenario every Christian dreams of: a quiet night with no distractions and a tender soul, hungry for the truth. She would listen if it came from me, the fascinating Amerikano. We had given her a Good and Evil book days before, so she had access to the gospel, but I felt that the Spirit wanted me to talk to her.
I opened my mouth. The weight of the words I could say were heavy in the air, and only I could feel it. I knew what to tell her; I had spent nearly a month sharing the gospel. Why was it so hard now? I told myself that she already had a Good and Evil. If I shared the gospel wrong and messed it up, she’d never want to read it, or she’d get in trouble with her parents. Besides, the mission trip was over, right? I closed my mouth and went back to fishing and chatting about life.
I felt grieved in my heart for my inaction, and I greatly regretted every word I didn’t say. I looked for her the next day, determined to share the gospel no matter what. I never found her. In fact, I never saw her again.
Now you see why I began this article with Luke 12:48—so you understand the urgency of the gospel, and the responsibility of the knowledge that you hold. We all come from a different place, and your childhood may look a lot different than mine. But our Father is the same. Luke 12:48 is your verse too.
I am nineteen years old now, and a lot has happened since I was a little girl in the Philippines. If I told you every faith-growing experience that has occurred in my life since then, it would take you hours to read. I’d much rather you go through growing experiences of your own.
But I will leave you with what I have learned through trial and mostly error:
When the Spirit calls you to do something, DO IT, no matter how silly you may look or how difficult it is to do the thing He is asking of you. Never let an opportunity slip past you, because more often than not, you won’t get another chance. The times that I have obeyed aren't here (there wasn’t room) but I can tell you that I have never been more blessed or full than when I give Him my all.
The moment you gave your life to Christ, you became His ambassador. Jesus wants to use you to share His love with others, and no one else can do it for you. At some point you will have an opportunity to either share the gospel or retreat into comfortable anonymity, and most of the time you will be alone. It is your responsibility to seek His will and then submit when you find it.
Get outside of your comfort zone. Like way out. It is when we are pulled away from everything we know and are forced to face that daunting open maw of the unknowable that we truly look to the one unshakable force: Jesus.
Grow up. God gave us more than enough tools to succeed; we just have to pick them up and apply them to the task at hand. You have the blueprint, the foundation is laid, everything is ready, you must act on it.
None of the things I listed are easy, but all of them are worth it.
I could tell you more, but I would rather just point to Jesus and say that He is Wonderful, Faithful, Good, and He is worth knowing. More still, He is worth following.