From as early as I can remember, my imagination wasn’t drawn to the ordinary — it was drawn to the sky. Not in a poetic way, but in the literal sense: UFOs, alien abductions, mysterious lights, and the possibility of otherworldly visitors.
While other kids were trading baseball cards, I was reading Whitley Strieber. Communion, Transformation, Breakthrough — Strieber’s world of abductions and “visitors” lit a fire in my imagination. His writing didn’t just entertain; it unsettled, intrigued, and nudged me toward the idea that there might be more behind the curtain of reality.
Other fringe interests came and went.
But alien encounters?
Those were the gravitational pull of my childhood curiosity.
This wasn’t rebellion.
It wasn’t paranoia.
It was restless curiosity — a trait God would later refine and redirect.
Baptist Roots, Pentecostal Exposure
I grew up in the independent fundamental Baptist world — Bible saturated, earnest, reverent, and at times leaning toward a practical legalism. The doctrine was strong; the culture could be strict. But God used it to lay a firm foundation under my feet.
On my mother’s side, things were more Pentecostal/charismatic. Tongues. Prophecy. Emotional highs. I wasn’t engulfed by it, but I saw enough to understand the appeal — and the instability.
No one ever confessed to faking anything.
But even as a kid, I sensed something wasn’t quite right.
A quiet internal check that whispered, “This doesn’t match Scripture.”
So from early on, I lived between two worlds — the strict Baptist structure and the charismatic swirl — while carrying a mind wired for the unexplained.
From UFOs to Bible Mysteries
When Christ saved me, my curiosity didn’t vanish — it migrated.
I went from studying alien encounters to studying:
- Angels
- The “sons of God” in Genesis
- The unseen realm
- Apocalyptic imagery
- Prophecy
- The symbolic world of Scripture
Yet my eschatology was not fringe — it was mainstream. I was shaped by the Left Behind era of American evangelicalism.
Tim LaHaye and Jerry Jenkins framed my imagination:
the Rapture at any moment,
a seven-year tribulation,
a one-world government lurking in the shadows.
It wasn’t weird.
It wasn’t niche.
It was normal for an entire generation.
And I carried that framework for a long time.
Reformed Theology Arrives
About twelve years ago, a couple of brothers at my church introduced me to Reformed theology. Slowly, they walked me through:
- The doctrines of grace
- The sovereignty of God
- Covenant theology
- A Christ-centered reading of all Scripture
And it was like oxygen rushing into my lungs.
My curiosity found direction.
My questions found depth.
My faith found ballast.
Then, around 2018, the cracks began to form — not in my faith, but in my eschatology.
I increasingly realized the mental gymnastics required to keep dispensational premillennialism afloat. Passages I used to accept uncritically now felt stretched, forced, or stitched together from assumptions rather than exegesis.
So I drifted into panmillennialism — “it’ll all pan out in the end.”
Not out of conviction, but fatigue.
But the deeper I studied, the more I saw a different story emerging — a victorious Christ reigning now, discipling the nations now, advancing His kingdom now.
By early 2021, I found myself leaning toward postmillennialism — cautiously, humbly — still unsure if it was the right path.
Then came Sproul.
Then came Gentry.
Then came Beeke.
And the fog lifted.
The pieces started fitting together — biblically, historically, theologically.
Yet even that wasn’t the full turning point.
Grief Clarifies Everything
When Isaac died, all the speculative noise in my life went silent.
You don’t cling to elaborate charts at a graveside.
You don’t reach for prophetic timelines when you’re choosing a casket.
You don’t anchor your soul in theories when your world collapses.
You reach for Christ.
For the resurrection.
For the promises that have stood for two thousand years.
For the kingdom that cannot be shaken.
Suffering didn’t weaken my faith — it distilled it.
It separated the hollow from the solid.
The noise from the truth.
The temporary from the eternal.
It was after Isaac’s passing that my eschatology became galvanized.
Not because I needed emotional comfort, but because suffering exposes which doctrines can bear the weight of grief — and which cannot.
The Reformed Fringe — Familiar Instability
Even within the Reformed world, I eventually wandered into some of its quirky corners:
- Exclusive psalmody
- Theonomy
- Hyper-preterism
- Micro-debates that felt bigger than they were
Some had substance.
Some were unnecessary.
Some were simply odd.
But the pattern was familiar:
Men building their entire identity around secondary doctrines.
Rigid.
Brittle.
Combative.
Different subject matter, same instability I’d seen elsewhere.
Still Curious — But Rooted Now
I’m still a curious man.
I still love mysteries.
I still explore the odd corners of history and Scripture.
That’s how God made me.
But now I have anchors.
Now I have guardrails.
Now I have a foundation.
My curiosity is seasoning — not sustenance.
Side trail — not the road.
Interest — not identity.
I’ve seen what instability costs.
I’ve walked through valleys where only the gospel holds.
I’ve lived through grief too deep for shallow doctrine.
And I’ve learned:
only Christ can hold a broken man together.
For Those Wired Like Me
If curiosity runs through your veins, don’t repent of it.
God uses minds that explore, question, and probe.
But don’t build your home at the margins.
Don’t mistake novelty for wisdom.
Don’t let speculation outpace Scripture.
Don’t let secondary fascinations overshadow the Savior.
Make your home in what has stood the test of centuries.
Let Scripture anchor you.
Let historic Christianity stabilize you.
Let Christ define your life.
Visit the fringes if you must — think, explore, wonder.
But live in the center.
Live where Christ reigns.
Live where the gospel is unshakeable.
Because the fringe is where you wander.
Christ is where you thrive.
Soli Deo Gloria
TheoloJeep 
Leave a comment