Growing Into
Godly Character

I came into faith the way a child comes into almost everything—through dependence.

As an infant, I was completely dependent on my parents, and much of what I grew to know came from watching them. Long before I had language for spiritual maturity, I was already learning through imitation.

Paul’s words about being “carnal, even as unto babes in Christ” (1 Corinthians 3:1, KJV) later gave me a picture for that stage of my own life. I had been raised Christian. I was born again and spiritually alive, but I did not yet understand what that meant. I was not equipped to know how to be and live like Christ in the ordinary decisions of life.

So I did what children naturally do: I looked around me and copied what I saw. The world became a teacher before I understood that I had to choose what would shape me. Romans 6:16 would later confront me with the seriousness of that formation: “Know ye not, that to whom ye yield yourselves servants to obey, his servants ye are to whom ye obey; whether of sin unto death, or of obedience unto righteousness?”

Those words helped me see that character does not appear suddenly. It grows quietly in the direction of what we repeatedly yield to. The things I watched, followed, excused and obeyed were laying a foundation in me before I was mature enough to recognise it.

There is a part of this story that is difficult to write without softening it: through my teenage years, I did not grow much spiritually. I lived like the world around me and was governed by my body—by what I felt, wanted and could see in front of me. I lived selfishly. In my own words at the time, I was “under the sway of the devil.”

I also knew very little about the responsibilities of God’s Kingdom, so I was not carrying any of them. My life revolved around me. Prayer was easy to postpone. The Bible stayed closed. Church became something I could be too distracted for. I was spiritually alive, but I was not intentionally allowing God to form the way I lived.

When I look back now, that is one of the clearest contrasts in my story. Spiritual drift did not require one dramatic decision to reject God. It happened quietly, while everything else became louder.

Then, nearing adulthood, something in me began to wake up. I started asking questions—real questions. I wanted to understand more about God. I wanted to know whether there was something deeper than the version of faith I had carried without really understanding.

The words of 1 Peter 2:2 began to mean something personal to me: “As newborn babes, desire the sincere milk of the word, that ye may grow thereby.” Hunger became the beginning of change.

My questions did not become the end of my faith. They became part of the doorway into a more deliberate one. I began to realise that being raised Christian and becoming spiritually mature were not the same thing. Faith may have been part of my story from the beginning, but maturity would require my participation.

“I began reading the Word and spending time with the Father.”

Something in me was learning to choose the faith I had inherited.

When Faith Became Personal

From inherited faith to intentional surrender

As I grew into adulthood, my spiritual life became intentional in ways it had never been before. I began reading the Word. I started spending time with the Father. I went to church—not simply because church was part of my background, but because I was learning to participate in my faith rather than merely inherit it.

I discovered what it meant to serve, and then what it meant to remain committed to serving. One of the changes that seems small on paper but became deeply important to me was learning the value of keeping my word. If I said I would be there, I wanted to be there. If I accepted a responsibility, I wanted to carry it faithfully. Character was becoming practical.

My relationship with God deepened, and I began learning to listen to and yield to the Holy Spirit. Romans 8:14 puts words to that season: “For as many as are led by the Spirit of God, they are the sons of God.” Whether in obvious decisions or ordinary moments, the shift was profound: I was learning that I did not have to be governed by my flesh. I could learn to be led.

I also began discovering what belongs to me in Christ. That discovery became a journey of learning how to walk in the reality of what Christ had done for me, not simply agree with it in theory. I was learning to govern my flesh and to exercise spiritual authority through Christ. The faith I had once carried mostly as an identity was becoming something I wanted to live from.

The change eventually moved beyond my private devotional life. I accepted responsibilities in the church and became involved in advancing the Kingdom of God. That matters to me because it stands in such sharp contrast to the person I had been. There was a time when I accepted no Kingdom responsibility because I did not understand it; now I was learning that maturity means carrying something that is bigger than myself.

But growth did not suddenly become a straight line. Even as I began to grow into adulthood and spiritual maturity, I sometimes felt as though I was living between stages. I was constantly learning and growing. There were—and still are—moments when what I could see, feel or reason from circumstances became louder than what I knew from the Word. I've come to call that being dominated by “sense knowledge.” Sometimes I knew the Word and still did not act on it as fully as I wanted to.

There is a kind of honesty in admitting that. Maturity is not pretending there is no tension left. It is recognising the tension and learning which voice will lead. The old pattern had been to let the visible world and my own desires decide for me. The new pattern was to keep returning to God’s Word and to the leading of His Spirit.

For me, spiritual maturity began to look less like arriving at a perfect version of myself and more like becoming increasingly responsive to God—quicker to listen, more willing to obey, more dependable in what I carried, and less willing to let my feelings have the final word.

“I realize that growing spiritually is a process and I will never stop growing.”

Maturity has become a direction, not a finish line.

Still Growing

Maturity is not arrival

When I look at my life now, I can name characteristics that were not present in the same way before. I am acquainted with God through the Word. I have learned how to yield to the Holy Spirit, and I know what it is to operate in the Gifts. I am learning to walk in the realities of the new creation rather than letting old patterns define what is possible.

I trust in the Lord and am learning not to lean on my own understanding. I want to be led by the Spirit of God. I have become an encourager. Forgiveness is no longer a place where I remain trapped. I can accept responsibility and carry it out.

Those things matter to me because they are not abstract descriptions of maturity. They are evidence of distance travelled. The girl whose life once revolved almost completely around herself has learned that love, service, obedience, encouragement and responsibility ask us to look beyond ourselves.

At the same time, I do not want to turn any of those things into trophies. I still have moments when sense knowledge tries to dominate me. I still have moments when acting on the Word requires a deliberate choice. Growth has not removed my need for God; it has made me more aware of it.

That is why I can hold both of these at once: I am growing in maturity, and I am still constantly learning. Maturity is not the absence of dependence. It is learning to depend on the right One.

What keeps me moving forward is not the idea that I have finally become mature enough. It is the understanding that spiritual growth requires daily participation.

I identified four disciplines that I need to keep practising if I want to continue growing.

I used to think growth was something I would eventually arrive at. Now I understand it as a lifelong response to God. I am still learning. I am still being formed. I am still discovering how to live from what Christ has done rather than from whatever is loudest around me.

And perhaps that is the deepest change of all: my life no longer has to revolve around me. I can be rooted in the Word, led by the Spirit, faithful with what I carry, and willing to keep growing.