Unashamed

by Lecrae

On the outside fringe were the artistic students. Being black and artistic meant you were a very, very rare breed.

A sinking feeling overcame me, and I felt the cloud of depression roll in. I thought college was my chance to finally find acceptance, but it turned out to be another letdown. I went back to some of my most reliable companions: women, drugs, and alcohol (though it was a little harder to come by alcohol as a freshman).

I smoked a lot of weed, but only in spurts. I was scared to death that I would fail my classes and let my mom down.

But by the end of my first semester, there was a tastelessness in my mouth. I had tried everything, and nothing satisfied. Nothing filled me up.

Sometimes God lets the darkness settle before He pierces it with light. And that’s what happened on my miserable walk that night. Because the light was about to show up and change everything.

Art Hooker helped lead Move, a ministry for black students that met on campus. Sometimes, when I was really desperate for something to do on Monday nights, I’d show up at their events and Bible studies. Art took an interest in me the first time I walked in, and since no one else seemed interested in me back then, it made an impression.

Art was also the social coordinator. He would throw parties on campus. They were Christian with names like “Praise Party” or “Holy Ghost Party,” and I’m thinking, “What in the world is this?”

Art told me that he thought there was an event coming up that would be perfect for a person like me. It was called Impact Conference, and it was in Atlanta. The attendees were people who looked like me and thought like I did. They were really accepting, he said, and I might find a tribe there that I’d fit in with.

But in Atlanta there was a wider diversity than other places. The city seemed to me like the kind of place I could really be myself.

I told Art to count me in. One way or another, I was going to be in Atlanta when that conference kicked off.

After we pulled into the downtown Atlanta Hilton, I went into people-watching mode. Thousands of black students from across the country had poured in.

He wasn’t a soft pushover Christian guy. He was cool and he seemed like a serious musician. The most impactful session was about sex. I had never heard a Christian perspective on sex, and since I was having a lot of it, I could relate.

The most impactful experience for me was what I kept observing while walking around between sessions.

For me, everything was leading up to the talent show the second night.

I had been in a dark place, so I chose a song of lament. The lyrics were real, not some fake song I scribbled just for the conference. It mentioned God, but it wasn’t a Christian song. It rapped about God like Tupac often did. I edited out a bunch of curse words on the fly, and it totally connected with the crowd.

He was talking to us, not at us. He spoke our language, using terminology that was popular at the time so we could all understand.

“Sure, Jesus was sensitive, but He was also like a lot of you tough guys in the crowd,” he said. “You

roughnecks out there—how dare you call my Jesus a punk!”

But it all came to a head when Pastor White looked down at the pages of his Bible and read 1 Corinthians 6:20: “For you were bought at a price; therefore glorify God in your body and in your spirit, which are God’s.”4 The words hit me like hurricane winds. Wait. I was bought at a price. The price that Jesus paid was for me? The beating and whipping and nails and dying were all done for me? For me?

Even though He knew all my mistakes, God still died for me. I

don’t even like God, and God loves me. Despite everything, God bought me at a price.

“Please forgive me, God. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. I’m so sorry.”

All of the baggage and all of the depression and all of the pent-up anger had been released. It felt like someone had cleaned the filthiest and ugliest parts of me—parts that even I was too ashamed to deal with. Before that night, I wasn’t sure what I believed, but now I knew. God created this world. God was working through history. God sent Jesus to earth. Jesus died for me. The Bible was true, this Jesus thing was true, it was all true. Maybe this was the rescue I’d been hoping for. Maybe God was the father I’d been wanting. He had chosen me, and I had been bought at a price.

For the first time in my life, I felt a sense of purpose and identity.

It was like the God of the universe had looked down on that dark rooftop in Atlanta and spoke to His son, Lecrae, saying, “You have the answer to all of your questions . . . The answer is Jesus.”

There were obvious vices that everyone agreed weren’t good: no getting drunk, no smoking weed, no sex with girls. But that soon broadened to no parties at all—except “Praise Parties,” of course—and not going anywhere that would make it appear like I was getting into trouble.

But in addition to the potential for legalism, there is another problem with spiritual highs—like all highs, they are temporary. Eventually, you sober up. And

that’s when you find out what you’re really made of.

I stayed on my spiritual high for a couple of months, but my life started fraying as I took my decision public. Dhati asked a handful of us who had become Christians to write out our testimonies. My testimony was printed on the back of a pamphlet; the other side had an invitation to Bible study

it. Now everywhere I went, I acted like a door-to-door salesperson: “What’s up, man? My name is Lecrae. Check out this flyer with my testimony on it. Want to come with me to Bible study?” It was an aggressive strategy for sure, but I had nothing to lose. I didn’t have any real social capital since I wasn’t fully part of any group on campus.

I’ll never forget the response I got from one of my friends on campus when I handed him a pamphlet for the first time. He read it, looked up confused, and then said, “Wait. You mean you’re never going to smoke weed again? You’re going to stop getting drunk at parties and stuff? You’re never going to sleep with girls again until you get married?” “No, I’m not,” I responded. “You’re crazy, man,” he said, laughing. “This won’t last.”

The next night I went to Bible study and pretended nothing had happened. And this began an ugly cycle of living two separate lives. With my Christian friends, I was “Legalistic Lecrae”—a guy who stayed on God’s good side by passing out pamphlets, coordinating Praise Parties, and staying out of trouble. With my other friends, I was “Life of the Party Lecrae”—a guy who liked to party, get drunk, and mess around with girls.

My personalities really split, which sent me into the same state of depression I thought Jesus had freed me from forever. As I learned, the only thing worse than being unhappy is being unhappy right after you think you’ve found the secret to joy. One dark day, I was smoking weed in my car and Dhati walked up.

I don’t want to find out that you’ve been causing trouble. Instead, I want you to get back into this Bible.” I nodded my head, and he let me go. There are moments in life when God tries to get our attention.

Kim said she was torn. She recognized that her life was a mess, but part of her felt like she should have the baby. “You need to let go of that thought, Kim,” I told her. “This isn’t even a conversation.”

I was pretty callous. It was yet another wound I’d tuck away like the rest. I buried this skeleton like I’d done so many times before. I was becoming numb to the greater meaning behind my actions.

After that day, Kim’s depression worsened. It became clear she wasn’t going to snap out of it, and I told her it wasn’t working for me any longer.

My identity was wrapped up in people’s perception of me, and that fluctuated almost as often as my mood swings. One night, at my lowest point, I decided it was time to push the ejection button. I wasn’t doing the world any more favors than the world was doing me.

“Pull over, Lecrae! There’s a hospital right there!” a third voice inside shouted. “Go into the hospital and tell them you’re going to hurt someone!”

In a matter of minutes, a police officer was bending my arms behind my back and placing cuffs around my wrist. They questioned me, and when it was clear to them I was a danger to myself and others, they decided to take me to a facility that could help me. There was no going back now. I was on my way to rehab.

If a kid goes to rehab, a mom in a black neighborhood might even hide it from the rest of her family. That’s why rehab is seldom talked about, even though people sometimes go there.

“Ma, it’s not your fault,” I said. “I did this. It’s my fault. But don’t worry. I’m getting out of here, and I’m going to get things right.” Few things are worse than seeing your own mother break down in tears and knowing you were the cause of it. I’d

My days in rehab cycled between group counseling and isolation. Being with a group was almost an out-of-body experience. I went into observer mode and remained mostly quiet.

There was only one item in my room to keep me busy. I noticed a small book sitting on top of the desk. Leather-bound and familiar, it was a Gideon Bible like you often find in hotel rooms.

It was like a blindfold fell off my eyes. I’d been celebrating things I should have been ashamed of, and I had been ashamed of what I should have been celebrating. I had been set free, but I was still living like a slave to my old life and old habits and old ways.

I had been going hard for months, but rehab gave me hours to sit alone with God. With a Bible in one hand and a crayon in the other, I began reading the Word and writing down everything God was saying. And He was teaching me mind-blowing things that no one else had ever told me.

You’ll actually experience more temptation, not less, after you become a Christian.

We fool ourselves into thinking that when we’re “born again” we come out of the womb walking. But spiritual infants are like physical infants. When a child begins to learn how to walk, they fall a lot.

I was able to discharge myself from Timberlawn a week after arriving, and I couldn’t sign those papers fast enough. My mom picked me up and immediately started planning the way forward with me. She was still blaming herself a little bit and wondering if this was all connected to my childhood traumas.

Since I no longer believed the lie that I could walk on my own, I knew I needed help. I moved in with my friend James. I was still paying rent at my current apartment, but I couldn’t afford not to make the move. James would sit with me and talk to me and encourage me. When I stumbled, as I often would, I could be honest with him about it and he wouldn’t bash me like some other Christians would have. Each morning, we would read the Bible together and just talk real with each other.