Ania: My Story

By Ania Salus    1st February 2002    0 responses

My name is Ania and I’m 20 years old. I was born into a Polish Catholic family. The fact that family members go to church on a Sunday, is the only thing a typical Polish Catholic family has in common with God, and, apart from that, everyone lives their own lives. For them, Sunday is just like any other day, except that people don’t go to work/school and they must perform their “christian” duty of going to church ( because, if they didn’t, what would people say?). As a rule, the father of the family goes to church, then to the pub for a beer, and comes back after a few hours, expecting dinner to be on the tabe. This is how it was in my house.

I had always thought that I was a good Christian, with “deep” faith. I was different, because I went to church several times a week, I served in the church, I worked with the young people, and with children, but I never had a relationship with God. I didn’t understand the essence of the Christian faith, about Jesus, the cross, etc etc. I had, as it were, two lives; mine, and the life I led at church.

When I finished primary school (in Poland, this is after exams taken at the age of 15), I had to think about the next stage of my life, and what I wanted to do. I had to choose which school I would go to next, and what kind of career I wanted. My parents pushed me to go to a school in Skawina, my home town. I really didn’t want to go there. I protested and didn’t study. I neglected my schoolwork and didn’t go to lessons. As a result, I completely messed up my first term. By this time my parents had realised that it didn’t make sense for me to be in that school and allowed me to move schools. So, in the end I was able to go to the one I wanted to attend.

But school wasn’t the only problem in my life. The biggest worry for me was my family. It’s never been good in my house. My mum is an alcoholic, and my dad is not far behind her. My family life was totally void of love and acceptance, thre was always some argument or other going on, and we had more than one visit by the police. When I moved schools, the situation at home only got worse. Very soon I left home and went to live with my grandma, scared that, psychologically, I wouldn’t be able to cope for very much longer in such conditions. I was at rock bottom – I hated my life, my family, myself. Then I met someone with whom I had been friends, years ago. Well, we had been acquaintances. But any friendship between us had completely died when I found out that Dominic had left the Catholic church to go to a Pentecostal church. For a typical Catholic, anything outside the Catholic church is considered to be a sect. I also thought Dominic had got involved in a sect, and I would have given anything to “rescue” him from it. I thought that, if I could do this that I would help him and that I would feel better about myself, because I had helped someone. However, when we met again, instead of “getting Dominic back,” I opened up and poured out my soul to him. He suggested, shyly, that maybe he could pray for me. I agreed, thinking “why not?” But his prayer really surprised me, because I had never heard anyone pray like he prayed. For me, prayer had been random nonsense, mumblings I had learnt by heart and had said many times over, throughout my life, without ever really thinking about it. When Dominic prayed, I felt that, in that moment, something had finished and something new had started. I had no idea that God had found me and had started to lead me on.

Dominic invited me to his church to an event called “Days of Joy.” I didn’t know what to expect. I just knew that there would be some concerts, some sort of message, some food. I was scared of these new “different” things. I was scared about the reaction of my English teacher, because I knew he was the assistant Pastor at this church. But I decided to go.

When I went to the church with Dominic, it was so cool. Everyone was really nice. I still didn’t know what was going to happen but I really liked it. First there was a concert and then an American pastor gave a message. His name was Mr Pawlak and he spoke about the essence of Christianity. About Jesus, who He was and about His plans for each one of us. He also spoke about what it meant to give your life to Jesus. At that point, something got to me. I remembered that, several years before, on a church youth camp, eveyone had accepted Jesus in their hearts, as their personal Lord and Saviour. And I had done this, too. But at this point, at the Days of Joy concert, I realised that I didn’t know what it meant. I had done it because someone said that I should. Everyone was doing it, so I couldn’t do anything else. But this message, on the 21st September 2000, showed me the truth. At that moment I knew what it meant to say that God is Lord of my life. When the Pastor invited people to pray, and said that everyone who wanted to change their life could repeat a prayer after him, I felt like it wasn’t the Pastor who was talking to me, but God Himself. Jesus was speaking to me, telling me that He wanted to help me, to change my life. Then I prayed and gave God what should be His – myself.

It’s three and a half years since I became a Christian. At the beginning it was especially hard for me, because nobody at home, none of my friends, could bring themselves to accept the changes in me – that I wasn’t a Catholic anymore and that I felt better in a different church, and one which they still thought of as a sect. My Dad didn’t talk to me for about six months. I heard many times that I was stupid, that I was simply trying to be the centre of attention…but God didn’t allow me to be hurt. From this point on He really changed my life. I can still see Him working. Relationships in my home are getting better all the time. I can see the desire of my family to change themselves, they’re searching for the meaning of their lives. Now nobody thinks that I’m an immature girl who just wants to be “original.” God has given me friends to replace those who left me after I became a Christian. Jesus gives me the strength, patience, hope and love, which I had lost. Love for myself, my family, for life, and for other people. I know that there is still a long way ahead of me, that there are still many lessons to learn, but I also know that now I don’t have to be scared of what is waiting for me.

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By Ania Salus

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