Having grown up to be a pastor in my parents’ church, one would assume I was the epitome of  the perfect pastors’ kid. That could not be further from the truth.
            Throughout elementary and junior high, I was often rejected by my peers. When my family moved across town my freshman year, I transitioned to a new high school and saw my opportunity to establish a new reputation for myself. I was determined to do anything necessary to have a fresh start and make new friends. I desperately wanted to be loved and accepted.
            Immediately I made friends with the “popular kids,” made the cheerleading squad, and attended all the big parties. Just as I was beginning to think my plan was a success, everything began to unravel. On the last day of school I was handed a note signed by all my “friends.” I read the simple message, “We don’t want to be your friends anymore.” I was devastated. I resolved to live my life in such a way that I could no longer be rejected.
            My new plan was to be perfect, literally. I made a list of 13 things I “had” to be perfect at, listing three reasons for each item. This drive for perfection pushed me from the moment I got up in the morning to the moment I went to sleep at night. I never bothered to seek counsel from God and I never discussed my plan with anyone. All I knew was I had been hurt before and I had to avoid that pain again.
            That year the Holy Spirit began to move more strongly in our church. While I knew what was happening was real and bore fruit, I saw this renewal only as another reason to be ridiculed. I saw people healed and transformed but I held my distance. It’s okay for them, but not for me, I thought. For me to be touched by the Holy Spirit and have a power-encounter with God would mean that I had to give up control. Control was exactly what my plan was all about. I was more concerned with what I would look like and what people would think of me, than with receiving the love of God the Father. Before long, my 39 reasons to be perfect caught up with me. Life became more about doing than living. I lost my joy and even considered committing suicide.
            Finally I came to a point of desperation. I realized I needed God to intervene. As I allowed His love to filter through my hurt and pain, He revealed Himself to me as Father. I felt His arms and I began to understand His love. For nearly one year, every time I received prayer, I could only sob. It was as though the Holy Spirit was peeling back the layers of an onion. For the first time, I understood I did not have to be the perfect PK or the perfect student – I just had to be Cristin.
            The lines of communication with my parents opened up as well. As I told my parents of my hurts and struggles, they helped me also embrace the Father’s love. My father even wrapped his arms around me and told me, “Cristin, you don’t have to be the perfect pastor’s kid. If people leave the church because you’re not ‘good enough,’ that’s their problem and not yours.” I felt a
new freedom.
            I now allow the Holy Spirit to touch me in whatever way He sees fit, even if people think I am strange. I learned it was necessary to have a power-encounter with God and to keep experiencing the presence of the Holy Spirit if I wanted to move beyond being a wounded Christian. It is only after being healed that one moves into the fullness of God’s call on their life and into His fresh levels of anointing.

Cristin Budd is the associate pastor at Open Bible Fellowship in Tulsa, Oklahoma, overseeing the children’s ministry, junior high youth, and Firestorm School of Ministry. She serves with her parents, Joel and Linda Budd, and says, “I am loving every minute of it, as well as life!”