I thought I would be able to come up with a reasonably coherent essay to explain my life and faith in Christ, but I was wrong. My search through my past has not yielded an obvious storyline. Instead, I have uncovered a selection of memories of things that deeply impacted me.

I have decided to call these memories puzzle pieces—pieces because I am not sure what the logical connection is between all these memories, and puzzle because I know they all belong together. The puzzle is incomplete. There are many things I have forgotten and many other things that may be added. But I am confident that God is putting this puzzle together. When He has finished, my puzzle will be included as part of an even bigger puzzle: the story of redemption in Christ for all His people.

Before I get to the pieces, let me give some background to my life. (I always like to start a puzzle with the sides!) I am an army brat, the son of an army chaplain. I was born in Pennsylvania, although I do not remember it because my family moved every three years or less. I grew up in a Christian family with two sisters and one brother. After high school I spent four years at Presbyterian College, four years at Reformed Theological Seminary (Jackson, Miss. campus), and became a pastor at Laramie, Wyo., Reformed Presbyterian Church as well as a chaplain in the Wyoming Army National Guard. I married my Clara in 2013 and we have three sons under three years old.

Now, here are a few of my puzzle pieces.

Fear

Fort Clayton, Panama, around seven years old. A man at our church received a military promotion, and my dad told me to join the receiving line to shake his hand and congratulate him. I refused. My dad told me again. I refused again. I never shook his hand. My dad punished me appropriately for my selfish behavior, but it did not change me then. I was terrified of people and would remain that way for a long time.

Faith

Okinawa, Japan, around ten years old. I was walking up the long driveway to Okinawa Christian School International. It suddenly occurred to me that, even though I was a Christian, God might not know I was a Christian and might not save me if I died. I prayed and told Him that I was, in fact, a Christian. This might sound like the nonsensical logic of a young mind, and that is mostly what it is. But I have always found this memory significant as my first faith-related memory. The question was immature, but it was not a question of unbelief. It was faith seeking understanding and assurance. I was already a Christian at that age, with my conversion lost to memory sometime before then.

Depression

Fort Meade, Maryland, 8th grade. I attended a public school during our first year in Maryland. I do not blame the school, but that is the context where this puzzle piece was formed. I can still see it clearly in my mind. Every day I came home from school and told my mom that my day had been horrible. Then I laid on my bed with the door closed and listened to the radio for hours. A dark place was growing in my mind that would stay there for a long time. When I allowed myself to think about it, I hated myself.

Confidence

Fort Meade, Maryland, 9th grade. I began to have an interest in theology and discovered the doctrine of predestination. About that time, I heard a sermon at my new school, Granite Baptist Church School, about the statement, “Lord, I believe; help my unbelief!” The preacher claimed that there are two levels of belief. If you don’t have the right level, you won’t be saved. That shook me a bit. Did I have the right level? But Reformed theology became a rock for me. If God had predestined me, then I did not have to worry about “believing hard enough.” Though I have had many other struggles of faith, I have never struggled with assurance of salvation since then.

Repentance

Fort Bragg, North Carolina, 11th grade. My dad was deployed to Afghanistan. There were many good things about my life, but I was also beginning to struggle more significantly with sin. I wrote an email to my dad to confess a particular sin and to ask for counsel in fighting it. I thank God for the providence of that deployment, because I doubt I would have had the courage to speak to him in person. With the thousands of miles between us seeming to offer some cover for my shame, I opened up, and, through my dad, I exper­ienced the power of God’s acceptance, forgiveness, and restoration. Psalm 32 is true.

Friendship

Clinton, South Carolina, first year of college. A friend called me late one night and said, “I want you to come with me to Waffle House. Don’t ask why. Just trust me.” I did, and spent that evening hanging out with him and two friends who were women. For many people that might sound entirely normal, but at that time my fear of interacting with people, and especially women, was still very high. It is probably not an overstatement to say that I never spoke to a woman unless I was forced to, and I didn’t do much better with men. But as soon as I arrived at college God began giving me strong friendships with godly men and convicting me not to avoid people out of selfish fear. Going to Waffle House that night was a big step for me in my slow and very awkward process of learning to be friendly and learning the value of friendship.

Freedom

Clinton, South Carolina, first year of college. Reading the Bible one night, I reasoned that justification meant that I could legally get away with sin. If I was justified, and if that included future sins, then I could do anything and still go to heaven. I was shocked, but I could not deny it. Some fear this logic because they think it will lead to license. For me, the logic led elsewhere. I immediately recognized the difference between what I “can” do and what I “want” to do and realized that God had not only justified me but was also renewing my desires in order to keep me from sin (see Rom. 6:1–4). The logic did not lead to license but to freedom. If I was justified, then it would never make sense to feel guilty again. How can a justified person feel guilty? And I praise God that for most of my life since that time, I have not.

Love

Jackson, Mississippi, second year of seminary. I was engaged to Clara and allowing her to get to know me more than I had allowed anyone else to get to know me. She was discovering that dark place that had been in my mind for a long time. It hurt her deeply to know how viciously I could hate myself. I had previously had counseling, which had helped me cope with this, but there had been no cure.

One night, after seeing how much my self-hatred hurt Clara, I realized that if I was going to become one with another person, then to hate myself would be to hate her too. What an absurd and destructive mindset to bring into a marriage! If we were to be one and love one another, then I was a fool to hate myself. So, I stopped. It was a decisive turning point in my life. Through Clara, I had learned a valuable lesson about self-image and about love.

It did not take me long to realize that this was not just a truth for marriage. This was a truth for my relationship with God, who loves me with an everlasting love and gives Himself to me in Christ. The darkness of my mind has not been fully dispelled, but it has been largely displaced as the light of love has shined further and further into my life.

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Fear. Faith. Depression. Confidence. Repentance. Friendship. Freedom. Love. These are a few of my puzzle pieces. The full picture is not yet clear to me, but I am full of hope. I know I am a sinner. I know Jesus is my savior. He has rescued me from many dangers, and He has never left me. He never will. When every piece is in place, I know that this puzzle will be a picture of God’s glory and of my joy in Him!

Derek Moore is the pastor of the Laramie, Wyo., RPC. He is married to Clara, and they have three children: Caleb (3), Paul (2), and Asher (10 months).