“Are we really bound for the promised land?” I asked

When I am blessed to hear the testimony of how others came to Christ, many times they begin, “It wasn’t this big ‘Aha!’ moment.” Almost immediately I think, “Mine was.”

It was like an orchestra quietly building momentum until they broke forth in beautiful harmonic release. Often when describing it to others, I’ll say, “Everything was muddy and contradictory, and suddenly it became black and white with clarity.” As time has passed, my mind has filled with clouded memories of tears shed when God was asking my life of me and asking me to completely trust in Christ, while at the same time I felt incredible joy that He did ask it of me.

I grew up within a loving Roman Catholic family. I was put into the best of schools, and sent off to college like my siblings. But something was always missing. I would try to occasionally read the Bible, but it didn’t make sense. I would end up pulling out random verses that seemed to fit together and read only of God’s love, never His wrath. High school had been a difficult, rebellious time, and only at the end of it did I see where my sins had led me. College was a time to try again, to pull up my boot-straps and be a better daughter.

For a moment, I thought about becoming a nun. Instead, I got over-involved in student government, delightfully drowned in my school books, justified the occasional uncomfortably crowded party as “the college experience,” and was determined I could do anything. “The way of the fool is right in his own eyes” (Prov. 12:15), or, in this case, her own eyes. But the Lord was (and is) good to mercifully humble me, showing me my error and what was true.

I met Joe Allyn at the age of 20. I was a sophomore at the University of Missouri-Columbia, and he was a senior. At the time, I had been going sometimes to evening mass on Sundays, depending on my workload. Looking back, I was comfortably stuck in my sins. On my list of things to do, time with God wasn’t even on the radar. Late nights procrastinating on papers with friends were common. As Joe and I began to get to know one another, he began inviting me to Reformed University Fellowship (RUF), a campus ministry of the Prebyterian Church in America (PCA). He was cute. I thought I’d give it a try. He even lent me a Bible since my own Catholic Youth Bible sat in my parents’ home gathering dust.

At first, I didn’t know what to think. If what the RUF campus minister preached was true, I didn’t really know what Christ did for me at all. I was trying to build my own way to heaven, when Christ had already done it for me. Those first few months, I had so many questions. I turned to my uncle, a Roman Catholic priest, for answers, but all I received back were things akin to, “The Catholic church is the only way.” But what about Christ? He said Himself, “I am the way, the truth, the life. No one comes to the Father except through me” (John 14:6, emphasis mine). And God says in the 10 commandments, “You shall have no other gods before me.” At that time in my life, what was Mary, the mother of Jesus, to me? I had placed her in Jesus’ place as eternal mediator and was asking her to ask her Son to ask His Father to answer my prayers. The same was true with various saints.

I had met Joe in October 2005 and by March 2006 I felt like my world was unraveling.

I knew in my heart that God was calling me to put my faith in Christ alone and become a Christian. Often I’d find myself crying on Joe’s shoulder about the pain I would cause my family, especially my parents, if I left Catholicism. At the same time I was so joyful that God was opening my eyes to His truth.

Joe was patient. Sundays were now days of research, going with Joe to his church for morning service and going to mass at night. We’d sit down late Sunday night and talk about the differences, pulling out Scripture to see what God said about His desire for His worship.

Slowly, like a building orchestra, these things gained momentum. I asked my parents if I could go to Memphis, Tenn., for spring break with RUF for a mission trip to the inner city. That trip solidified two things for me: that working for Christ and God’s kingdom was the way I wanted to live, and that I loved Joseph Charles Allyn. He felt the same about me, so much so that he yelled it off the rooftop of Memphis’ historic Peabody Hotel. I came home from that trip overjoyed, but again I was humbled by the trials that lay ahead of me.

After working with an inner city couple on their roach-infested kitchen that was rotting away, coming home to luxury felt wrong. Not giving up comforts for the sake of others felt wrong. Everything felt wrong. God was working in my heart, preparing me for the road that lay ahead. When I came home I searched the Scriptures for everything I had been taught, and only a portion of what I had been taught was there. I remember around Easter time talking with my friends about Veronica, the woman who wiped Jesus’ face during the journey to Golgotha. My friend Sarah blankly said, “Who?”

“Veronica. You know that lady who came out of the crowd and wiped Jesus’ face. And in return He left an imprint of His image on it.”

“What gospel is that in?”

“I don’t know. Let’s look!” As we paged through the four gospels’ intertwining tale of Christ’s crucifixion, I looked and couldn’t find Veronica. Later that day, I looked it up online to search the Bible for Veronica, only to find there were no women with that name in God’s holy Word.

It continued like that with many things. With Mary, with various saints (like Mary’s mother, Anne, and her supposed immaculate conception), with stories that I was told in school. At first it was heartbreaking, but then I grew more and more hungry for what God’s Word did say.

That May I went on the RUF summer conference trip to the sunny panhandle of Florida’s beaches. Joe wasn’t going, so it was healthy time to be apart and time for me to grow in Christ with the women I was with. God used the waves of the Gulf to wash over me, calming my anxieties. He gave me a week of good preaching and teaching to learn what He desired of me. Then, the moment I consider my “Aha!” moment happened.

One night we were singing the hymn “On Jordan’s Stormy Banks” (by Samuel Stennett) and everything just clicked with the chorus: “I am bound, I am bound, I am bound for the promised land.” Wait…what? I am bound for the promised land? My mind raced with the implications. If Christ died so that I may have life, if I profess with my mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in my heart that He is risen and reigning. If I’m not working my way to heaven because Christ already paved the way for me…then I am bound for the promised land!

I asked my friend Allie afterward if this was true. “Are we really bound for the promised land?” She looked at me with questioning eyes, like, “Yeah, Maggie.” The free offer of the gospel seemed too good to be true. I called Joe and asked him, too, and shouted excitedly to him over the phone, “I am bound for the promised land!”

Looking out that night over the vast ocean, with crashing waves, endless starry skies, and seemingly endless warm beaches, I could do nothing but weep silently for joy and to praise God for what He had shown me. God had removed my heart of stone and had given me a heart of flesh, my sins washed away with the blood of Christ.

The next morning I called my mom and told her I was a Christian. I don’t remember everything from that conversation, but I remember it was difficult. I think I understand my mom’s side better now that we have a son, as the child that she lovingly raised denounced what she taught her. It was rough for both of us. I then officially joined Redeemer Presbyterian Church in Columbia, Mo., and my life continued to change dramatically. I was more aware of my surroundings, what people were doing, what some were asking of me, what I often would allow and could never again. By calling myself a Christian, I was a daughter of the living God, an ambassador to my friends and family. My life needed to change, and, by God’s grace and mercy, it did.

Joe and I were married June 30, 2007. We had our son, Judah Knox, 3 years later, which was by God’s grace and mercy. I’ve had diabetes since I was 2 1/2 , and having a child isn’t something many diabetics even think about because of the risks of birth defects. But God is so good and so merciful because in April 2010 our first son was born to us, beautiful and healthy.

Since that day on the beach, I’ve learned so much, too much to share in a small article. Most days I sit stunned at how God is working and can’t help but praise Him. Other days I wonder what He’s doing, but take comfort in knowing that God is working all things for His glory and our good. One of those days was when I moved to Shawnee, Kan., to join my new husband, and after going through a list of PCA churches, began attending an RPCNA church that became home to us. The people there became our family, or “church family” as we lovingly call them. Although we had the joy of worshiping and serving among them, they blessed us beyond measure. As we came to know the congregation there and took to heart the distinctives of the RPCNA, it felt like the differences between my family and me only continued to grow. But like I did as I sat crying in Joe’s dorm fearful of the pain I may cause, I found comfort in Jesus’ words found in Matthew:

“Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I have not come to bring peace, but a sword. For I have come to set a man against his father, and a daughter against her mother, and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law. And a person’s enemies will be those of his own household. Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me, and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me. And whoever does not take his cross and follow me is not worthy of me. Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it” (Matt. 10:34-39).

I don’t hate my family and friends by any means, but I love Christ more. I ran like Christian in Pilgrim’s Progress, fleeing and crying out, “Life! Life! Eternal Life!” Often I have prayed that my family and friends would run to the wicket gate with me, that they too would flee from a life outside of Christ and to the life that He’s given me.

My heart still aches for the apathy others have shown for what I have gained. Many have asked me, “Why? Isn’t it easier to just do…whatever?” Yes. It is. But it’s not what He desires of me, nor what I desire. It’s always easier to do the thing you’ve been doing since birth. But when you aren’t of this world, and the world is trying to conform you to its image; when Satan is using guilt trips against you to pull you down into the mire, sometimes trying to do the right thing is painful. It makes you feel shame for following Christ, shame for doing what God Almighty is asking of you.

I think of my first Easter after I accepted Christ alone as my Lord and Savior. Joe and I came home to attend Friday night services with my parents. There was a general call for people to come up and kiss Jesus’ feet–in other words, the feet of a statue of Christ crucified. As my parents went up, I stayed in the pew watching. While I was silently crying and praying that my parents wouldn’t go and kiss an idol’s feet, my mom was silently crying that I didn’t go with them. My heart cries out during these times, “How long, O Lord? I don’t think my feet can run this race much longer.” But the Father, in His loving patience, gives me strength. He comforts, and He takes away the shame with His promises. His Word is the greatest comfort. But then I look at those I left behind and still wonder, “How long, O Lord? How long until they join me in Your courts?” I long for the day when my friends and family will join me in the joy of the gospel.

Yes, it is easier to do what is…well…easy. But Christ gave His life so that I could live. Why would I want to give Him anything less than all of me?

God is working mightily in our small family. Joe is in seminary at the Reformed Presbyterian Theological Seminary now, and I delight in serving him in this new capacity. God has stretched me in so many ways in the past few years. We’ve moved three times since we were married, almost once per year. I was prepared for our most recent move to Pittsburgh to be the most difficult, going so far away from family and friends. But God has taught me that, no matter where we are in the world, there are brothers and sisters in Christ.

The changeover to Pittsburgh has been so easy. Joe loves classes, and I love getting to know the other women and sitting in on a few classes. Transitioning so quickly and loving where God has us just confirms that we are where we need to be. As God continues to grow me and stretch me in ways I never dreamed, I can’t be anything but grateful.

Yes, often I think, “How long O Lord?” But how does Psalm 13 end? “But I have trusted in Your steadfast love; my heart shall rejoice in Your salvation. I will sing to the Lord, because He has dealt bountifully with me.” So bountifully.

–Maggie Allyn

Maggie Allyn busily lives in Pittsburgh, Pa. with her husband, Joe, and son, Judah. She is a member of the Shawnee, Kan. RPC, but is attending the Covenant Fellowship (Wilkinsburg, Pa.) RPC during their time at the RP Seminary.