I was born and raised in church. I was the pastor's oldest grandson. I was taught all my life about Jesus Christ and salvation. I knew all about it. I was the annoying kid who always won sword drills or bible trivia, and corrected everybody's mistakes on obscure bible stories. I was on my way to hell, and I didn't even know it.

One day when I was fourteen I went on a youth activity with our church's youth group. Our youth pastor gave a short message on knowing that you are saved. In my head I was thinking, "Of course I am saved! I've been going to church all my life. Do you think that I could go that long with out getting saved? I know Jesus is the Savior."

But then the youth pastor said something about accepting Jesus Christ as your personal Savior. That's when it hit me. All this time I had known that Jesus was the Savior of the world. That He died, was buried, and rose again the third day. But I had never personally accepted Him as my Savior. It didn't matter about all the facts and figures I knew. It didn't matter how fast I could find Zechariah 11:9. It didn't matter that I had gone to church all my life, or that I was the pastor's grandson. I had never accepted Him. I was a sinner and all I had done could not save me.

I asked Jesus to take care of my problem right then. I placed my forehead on the cold, damp, cinder-block in front of me and, ignoring the mosquitos, told Jesus Christ that I knew He is God, that I knew He is the savior, and I asked him to be mine.

I went home that night knowing and believing that Jesus was my savior.