So much happened when I was 20 years old. It seemed impossible that only a couple years before that time, I had felt so 'together'. Confident, energetic, happy. I wasn't sure I was even the same person anymore. I felt a loneliness and keep emptiness that is hard to even describe. So weighty was the burden I carried it was like strapping on a daily boulder.
What had brought me to this point? Do I really want to open up and try to explain? I hate talking about negative things. I've written this paragraph over and over only to delete it in tears and think "It's too negative" but this part of the story can be no other way. This part of my story was essential if I were to ever begin to understand grace. This part is horribly negative...but it's raw and it's real, and it happened. So here we go...
The church I grew up in as you know if you've read other postings was perhaps the most extreme legalistic type system you could ever encounter. At least close to it. Our security was in the 'right' church. Our hope was in 'doing the right things'. Our confidence was in 'having the correct answers'. If you were asked "Where will you go if you die right now?" your answer would be "I hope Heaven". Presumptuous it was to think you could *know* you were saved so none of us really knew...not about ourselves and certainly not about our brothers and sisters. So the mindset, the perception, was we had to be 'right' to get to Heaven. How right? I don't know, we didn't analyze that far, you just had to be right. You can imagine what this mindset did for unity when everyone thinks they are right, everyone else is wrong and you must 'stand firm' on this or that or go straight to Hell. Yes, frightening doesn't even begin to adequately describe it.
We actually had a list...a literal list, of churches we called 'the brotherhood' that were the only churches we deemed acceptable. We claimed we were not a denomination so I've never understood this but there ya go...we had a brotherhood...a nondenominational denomination and it blew up in our faces. Not just our 1 congregation but multiple ones, the whole 'brotherhood'...imploded. The List of sound churches torn to shreds. A prominent brother and sister had had a terrible falling out and everyone lined up behind one of them or the 3rd option...neutral... which made the other factions dislike them even more and so it all just fell apart. As a 20 year old young lady, I could do nothing but watch in disbelief, in horror...as all I had ever known and believed was shaken to it's core and I knew a truth in every fiber of my being: What I had been told was 'truth' all my life was in fact, not. And that sent me into a spiritual tailspin that could have destroyed my faith utterly had it not been for the grip of grace holding me tightly...a grace to whom I had yet to even be introduced.
I saw people I grew up with and loved with all my heart just walk away from each other. Lifelong relationships over in a moment. The carnage was people like me, youth who saw the reality for what it was and were just young and open-minded enough to be done with the whole thing. So I just walked away from the whole scene. Not to one side, or other, or neutral...from the whole scene entirely. Just done. Adios. There has got to be more to church than *this*, was the scream in my heart. I knew there had to be more just by reading the Word. This was nothing like the church I read about in scripture, no matter how much we claimed 'restoration' as our mantra...it just wasn't there. If there was nothing more than this, just take me now, Jesus, because I want you...but your bride who scripture describes as radiantly beautiful has turned leprous and I have no idea what to do from here.
So it was a very torn, beat up, hurting gal who walked through the doors of The Yellow House, YH for short, in February 1996. YH was a campus Bible chair at Stephen F. Austin State University, the school I had just transferred to. I remember the day well. The sunshine was so brilliant it was like a summer day...unseasonably warm. Happy weather. It made me feel the contrast of my own darkness yet the more and I knew I needed help. I thought maybe this group of fellow students might be what I needed. Technically YH was a ministry of a church like the one I grew up in but on the 'liberal' side of the spectrum...which just meant a lot healthier, vibrant, 'with-it', and balanced from my perspective. I was surprised when lightening didn't strike me when I entered. They weren't on The List ya know. :-) Not even a light year from being on The List.
I found such wonderful friends/brethren there. Fellowship for which I had been literally starving. Spiritual worship I had craved. Healing I desperately needed. I found sanctuary. It was one of the most beautiful times that began when I walked through those glass double doors into that 2 story brick building that looked like a Frat house for the Lord. :-) I loved it. I thrived. Imagine meeting people that could relate to my pain and help me through it in a healthy way. It was glorious. I even remember singing so passionately during worship times I would see the light fixtures trembling. Glorious. It just was. I loved it.
Mental walls falling down, boxes in my mind crumbling.... It was an amazing time of discovery! I was questioning everything and reading scripture without the filter to which I was so accustomed. Letting it just speak and not running everything through a prescribed lenses. Such an amazing time of growth! I felt like Paul when the scales fell from his blind eyes. I truly felt myself seeing for the first time...IN COLOR. Oh, the joy!
Summer rolled around and a friend from YH who was a youth minister at a nearby church invited me to be a counselor at a church camp. I had never been to church camp...I grew up thinking those things were 'innovations' and wrong. So of course I jumped on the opportunity. Thought it would be fun and I could get away for a week and hear some good teaching and enjoy more good singing.
About midway through the week I found myself late one night in the mess hall with my friend who had invited me and the pulpit-minister of a nearby church. The minister was named brother Mays. I had never met him before this camp and never saw him again, but the man changed my life. The 3 of us just got to talking about different things in our spiritual walk when I just opened up and told him I'd never actually been sure I was saved. Ever. Never real abiding peace. Not even after 2 baptisms and now that the '1 true church' idea had fallen apart in my mind when I saw the behaviors that were still seared in my memory, I didn't have security in anything. Spiritually floundering. I lacked a solid foundation on which to rest. I wasn't it. The church wasn't it. Not even 2 baptisms were it. On what do I rest?? --was my soul's aching cry.
Brother Mays was so patient. He gave me his Bible to use while he made me turn to select scripture mainly from Romans. He made me read it to him and then answer questions he would ask. He didn't actually give me the answers...he made me do the work based on what he had me read. I could not possibly put all the quotes here that he had me read...chapters at a time from Romans and other passages elsewhere. The light of grace was just 'switched on'...literally... that night. He told me I could be SURE I was saved, I could KNOW it, on the basis of the finished work of Jesus, not my perfect obedience. The ideas he helped me codify were these: There is no condemnation for those in Christ, we obey and produce fruit of the Spirit because we ARE saved, not in order to be saved. Being saved means being covered in the righteousness of Christ himself...so the righteousness I now have, is not my own but His. Those basics. That his blood continues to regenerate me...continues to cleanse from all sin. He keeps me saved, not perfect knowledge, perfect obedience. Rather, perfect HIM. He IS the foundation on which I can rest.
Now I look back and think "That was Grace 101...why was I so moved to tears??" Because I didn't know those things at all! I had read the entire NT several times but never did I *get* Romans and any teaching really, about grace. This was the first introduction I had to the most beautiful part of the Gospel..it IS the Gospel. How did I miss it for so long?
Of course I did not fully understand grace that night as I don't fully understand it now...but the switch was turned on. God has shown me from that moment onward more and more beauty of his grace which continues to blow my mind.
You know what was crazy?? The weather that night. We were in the piney woods of deep east Texas in the middle of 'The Big Thicket' as it's called. A thunderstorm...and I do mean Texas sized Thunderstorm struck. Lightening, thunder...terrific rain. We were staying in these tiny little cabins that shuddered when the wind blew. Reminded me of a typical chicken coop...only *I* was sleeping in the chicken coop which afforded me my only protection
Everything in the cabin was moist and sticky from the hot stormy weather. What you'd expect weather to be like in the jungles of South America on the Amazon. ;-) Yes, like staying the nite in a chicken coop on the Amazon! That's it! That's how it felt! :-) There was a clap of thunder so loud it hurt my ears and the lightening lit up the sky so that for a moment it looked like broad daylight at 2:00 a.m. Unbelievable storm! I distinctly remember thinking "I could DIE at this camp!! That tree right there could just fall on this tiny cabin and that would be that".
I smiled, rolled over, and went to sleep. If the worst were to happen, I knew where I'd be going. There was no fear any longer. Not even in a chicken coop on the Amazon. No insecurity. No self condemnation. I had Jesus. That's all I needed. I went to sleep and for the first time in my life, slept the sleep of peace.
Saturday, February 15, 2014
Sunday, February 2, 2014
My 1st Baptism...then my 2nd...and how I nearly had a 3rd...(spiritual journey memoirs part V)
The Annual Summer Gospel Meeting. It was something our church anticipated all year long. Some churches called it 'Revival'...we shied away from that term because it conjured up images of Holy Ghost stuff that just might include emotional displays and things like speaking in tongues and such. No, 'Gospel Meeting' was properly subdued with the emphasis on GOSPEL and gospel meant baptisms. So many of us growing up in this tradition would plan our baptism around the 'Gospel Meeting'....summer Gospel Meetings...the season of baptizin'.
I was 9 years old. I told Mom I thought it was the time and Mom spent the couple weeks leading up to the Gospel Meeting of taking me through every scripture in the New Testament related to baptism to ensure a proper understanding. I knew what I was doing. "I got this," I thought, "I'm ready." So on the first night of the Gospel Meeting 'I went forward.' That is the same as responding to the 'altar call' in other church traditions. It was a happy nite...but I didn't actually get baptized that nite. The church didn't have a baptistry so we drove an hour to one of our 'sister churches' and for some reason their baptistry wasn't filled and it would have taken hours to fill so the next nite I was immersed into Christ. I felt good. I felt right. It was nice. "I did it, I'm saved," I thought.
The only problem was it didn't seem to change anything a whole lot. I was plagued with doubts. As a teenager I wasn't a whole lot different that my non-Christian friends though I did manage to stay away from the Top Biggies. I had serious faith crises over and over again. I began to doubt whether that baptism even 'took'. I mean, maybe I got something wrong! Maybe my faith just wasn't strong enough. There ya go...that's what it must have been. That's why I continued to doubt and sin...my faith wasn't strong enough and you had to have enough faith to be baptized so there ya go...my baptism had not 'taken'. I was tormented. I blew it. I had to get more faith, somehow...but even if I did, it wasn't during that baptism, so maybe I was just eternally doomed. I tried to just tell myself it was okay but for years would be plagued with knowing my baptism was not perfect...I had not gone into the water **absolutely sure, without a doubt** and my life had not really changed much. Maybe a little...but enough? I knew I wasn't obedient enough. Where would I go if I died? Would I go to Hell? Was Heaven just a mere 'chance'? How much of a 'chance' did I have? What was I to do? What could I do? I felt powerless.
When I was 19 my sister and I confided in each other that we had the same doubts. Evidently her baptism wasn't perfect either. We both had no peace. So we decided to do what any good young legalists should do... read the whole New Testament and get baptized together *and get it RIGHT.* I figured if I read enough, prayed enough, and basically 'psyched myself up enough' to have no doubts, I'd be good to go this time around. God would have to accept my baptism...He just had to. I'd get it right this time. I'd make a list, check it twice, and get it done...correctly. No mistakes. No misunderstandings. I'd make SURE. I could not and would not mess it up this time. It was too important.
So that's what I did. I even remember being under the water and thinking "I'm not doubting...nope...not doubting...not gonna do it". I BELIEVE!" "I did it!!" Let the choruses sing, Julie did it RIGHT this time.
I was happy with myself. By way of baptisms it was just about as perfect as one would hope. I aced it. Strong faith. Knew what I was doing. This one must have taken. Very much like my straight A status at school. I get an A+ on baptism. God must be so proud of me.
The problem was it was more seriously flawed than the first time around because it was even more *all about ME.* My faith, my form, my complete immersion (make sure arms and nose and all body parts are immersed because if you miss part of a limb that might not take as a proper baptism either). The problem with both my baptisms was the legalistic lenses through which I was viewing them.
The beauty and power in baptism is NOT about the person being immersed but into WHOM they are being immersed. The imagery of the death/burial/resurrection is supposed to show *Christ* as the focus...his death, burial, and resurrection which we are invited to mirror. The working in baptism is the *working of God* as it says in Colossians 2:12 "having been buried with him in baptism, in which you were also raised with him through your faith in the *working of God*, who raised him from the dead." Somehow I had missed this and thought my part had to be just right or it would not 'take'. So no wonder I had so much 'performance anxiety' and pressure. I was trying to save myself.
I have met many people who have the same experience of being baptized not once, twice, but even three, four, or more times...all because of fear that they were not good enough or did it perfectly enough. This whole idea is ironically the opposite of the Gospel message which is this: Jesus lived the life we could not, died for sinners who cannot get it right, and gives us the gift of a righteousness NOT our own.
So it comes down to this: What is the basis of my salvation? My own perfect obedience to baptism or anything I can do? No, the basis is *mercy*:
"But when the kindness and love of God our Savior appeared, he saved us, not because of righteous things we had done, but because of *his mercy*. He saved us through the washing of rebirth and renewal *by the Holy Spirit*, whom *he poured out on us generously through Jesus Christ our Savior*, so that, having been *justified by his grace*, we might become heirs having the hope of eternal life." Titus 3:4-7
In the past year of so much spiritual growth I actually had the fleeting thought of being baptized again. Maybe both baptisms were so legalistic as to be loathsome to God...maybe I needed one that was with the mindset of joy and grace...a focus of receiving rather than 'doing.' I briefly discussed it with my wise husband and he couldn't help but chuckle. "Do you see what you're doing? Think about it, Julie." Yes, I get it...I was falling in the same mindset as before...all about me...and doing it *just right* as if I'm the one saving myself by my act of perfect obedience.
In the end, I know God did not find my two baptisms loathsome....he had and continues to have...MERCY. They were flawed, yes. Seriously? Yes. Seriously flawed. He saved me in spite of that fact. He saved me, not because he owed me for my fine baptisms. He saved me because of his infinite mercy to someone *wholly undeserving*. He gave me a gift, not a wage but a free gift. What I was powerless to do, He did. What is amazing is that it is the gift that literally keeps on giving. Everyday he keeps saving me in spite of my imperfect acts of obedience. No matter how hard I try and fail...He keeps on saving me...there is the sense in which we are being saved on a continual basis.
"For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God." I Corinthians 1:18
Salvation has always been on the basis of mercy...by grace through faith. It has never been on the basis of my obedience...because I could never be obedient enough to merit salvation. Ever. No matter how hard I try. To even attempt is to literally never have a moment's true peace. Ever. Ironically, it is only because I am saved that I then can become obedient and glorify God by my obedience *which He is working within me*.
"To this end I strenuously contend with all the energy Christ so powerfully works in me." Colossians 1: 29
So there ya go. I could have been baptized 100 times and each time would have been just as flawed as the time before because I, Juliet Power, am a flawed person. Thank God for his mercy, which saves and continues to save me.
I was 9 years old. I told Mom I thought it was the time and Mom spent the couple weeks leading up to the Gospel Meeting of taking me through every scripture in the New Testament related to baptism to ensure a proper understanding. I knew what I was doing. "I got this," I thought, "I'm ready." So on the first night of the Gospel Meeting 'I went forward.' That is the same as responding to the 'altar call' in other church traditions. It was a happy nite...but I didn't actually get baptized that nite. The church didn't have a baptistry so we drove an hour to one of our 'sister churches' and for some reason their baptistry wasn't filled and it would have taken hours to fill so the next nite I was immersed into Christ. I felt good. I felt right. It was nice. "I did it, I'm saved," I thought.
The only problem was it didn't seem to change anything a whole lot. I was plagued with doubts. As a teenager I wasn't a whole lot different that my non-Christian friends though I did manage to stay away from the Top Biggies. I had serious faith crises over and over again. I began to doubt whether that baptism even 'took'. I mean, maybe I got something wrong! Maybe my faith just wasn't strong enough. There ya go...that's what it must have been. That's why I continued to doubt and sin...my faith wasn't strong enough and you had to have enough faith to be baptized so there ya go...my baptism had not 'taken'. I was tormented. I blew it. I had to get more faith, somehow...but even if I did, it wasn't during that baptism, so maybe I was just eternally doomed. I tried to just tell myself it was okay but for years would be plagued with knowing my baptism was not perfect...I had not gone into the water **absolutely sure, without a doubt** and my life had not really changed much. Maybe a little...but enough? I knew I wasn't obedient enough. Where would I go if I died? Would I go to Hell? Was Heaven just a mere 'chance'? How much of a 'chance' did I have? What was I to do? What could I do? I felt powerless.
When I was 19 my sister and I confided in each other that we had the same doubts. Evidently her baptism wasn't perfect either. We both had no peace. So we decided to do what any good young legalists should do... read the whole New Testament and get baptized together *and get it RIGHT.* I figured if I read enough, prayed enough, and basically 'psyched myself up enough' to have no doubts, I'd be good to go this time around. God would have to accept my baptism...He just had to. I'd get it right this time. I'd make a list, check it twice, and get it done...correctly. No mistakes. No misunderstandings. I'd make SURE. I could not and would not mess it up this time. It was too important.
So that's what I did. I even remember being under the water and thinking "I'm not doubting...nope...not doubting...not gonna do it". I BELIEVE!" "I did it!!" Let the choruses sing, Julie did it RIGHT this time.
I was happy with myself. By way of baptisms it was just about as perfect as one would hope. I aced it. Strong faith. Knew what I was doing. This one must have taken. Very much like my straight A status at school. I get an A+ on baptism. God must be so proud of me.
The problem was it was more seriously flawed than the first time around because it was even more *all about ME.* My faith, my form, my complete immersion (make sure arms and nose and all body parts are immersed because if you miss part of a limb that might not take as a proper baptism either). The problem with both my baptisms was the legalistic lenses through which I was viewing them.
The beauty and power in baptism is NOT about the person being immersed but into WHOM they are being immersed. The imagery of the death/burial/resurrection is supposed to show *Christ* as the focus...his death, burial, and resurrection which we are invited to mirror. The working in baptism is the *working of God* as it says in Colossians 2:12 "having been buried with him in baptism, in which you were also raised with him through your faith in the *working of God*, who raised him from the dead." Somehow I had missed this and thought my part had to be just right or it would not 'take'. So no wonder I had so much 'performance anxiety' and pressure. I was trying to save myself.
I have met many people who have the same experience of being baptized not once, twice, but even three, four, or more times...all because of fear that they were not good enough or did it perfectly enough. This whole idea is ironically the opposite of the Gospel message which is this: Jesus lived the life we could not, died for sinners who cannot get it right, and gives us the gift of a righteousness NOT our own.
So it comes down to this: What is the basis of my salvation? My own perfect obedience to baptism or anything I can do? No, the basis is *mercy*:
"But when the kindness and love of God our Savior appeared, he saved us, not because of righteous things we had done, but because of *his mercy*. He saved us through the washing of rebirth and renewal *by the Holy Spirit*, whom *he poured out on us generously through Jesus Christ our Savior*, so that, having been *justified by his grace*, we might become heirs having the hope of eternal life." Titus 3:4-7
In the past year of so much spiritual growth I actually had the fleeting thought of being baptized again. Maybe both baptisms were so legalistic as to be loathsome to God...maybe I needed one that was with the mindset of joy and grace...a focus of receiving rather than 'doing.' I briefly discussed it with my wise husband and he couldn't help but chuckle. "Do you see what you're doing? Think about it, Julie." Yes, I get it...I was falling in the same mindset as before...all about me...and doing it *just right* as if I'm the one saving myself by my act of perfect obedience.
In the end, I know God did not find my two baptisms loathsome....he had and continues to have...MERCY. They were flawed, yes. Seriously? Yes. Seriously flawed. He saved me in spite of that fact. He saved me, not because he owed me for my fine baptisms. He saved me because of his infinite mercy to someone *wholly undeserving*. He gave me a gift, not a wage but a free gift. What I was powerless to do, He did. What is amazing is that it is the gift that literally keeps on giving. Everyday he keeps saving me in spite of my imperfect acts of obedience. No matter how hard I try and fail...He keeps on saving me...there is the sense in which we are being saved on a continual basis.
"For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God." I Corinthians 1:18
Salvation has always been on the basis of mercy...by grace through faith. It has never been on the basis of my obedience...because I could never be obedient enough to merit salvation. Ever. No matter how hard I try. To even attempt is to literally never have a moment's true peace. Ever. Ironically, it is only because I am saved that I then can become obedient and glorify God by my obedience *which He is working within me*.
"To this end I strenuously contend with all the energy Christ so powerfully works in me." Colossians 1: 29
So there ya go. I could have been baptized 100 times and each time would have been just as flawed as the time before because I, Juliet Power, am a flawed person. Thank God for his mercy, which saves and continues to save me.
Saturday, January 18, 2014
My First Personal Great Awakening While Rakin' Fall Leaves and Singin' my Lungs Out...(Memoirs part IV)
We all have these pivotal moments in life we look back on as *the moment* something changed. Incredible is the fact that while the moment is transpiring it is an ordinary moment...there is no immediate realization that *this precise moment* is going to change my life. Only in retrospect does the moment become something extraordinary, something sacred from other moments in life.
Such was a moment in my life when I was 15 years old, out rakin' leaves during what must have been Christmas Break. I can still feel the crispness of the air with that slight Texas Fall chill. The smell of the burning leaves is still so familiar that anytime I smell burning leaves I feel an overwhelming sense of goodness and joy. I even took my 'jam box' outside and put in a cassette tape my dear cousin had given me of Acapella Praise and I would rake, sing, think. Rake, sing, think.... for 3 days straight (we had a big yard). Surprising is that the tape didn't warp after so much use. :-) Nothing like it!
At this time in my life, I had just finished reading the New Testament all by myself for the first time and it had not been at all what I expected. I had heard many sermons and I had read entire books of the Bible at a time with my mother but never had I picked up the Word and just read it for myself until that time. I had this most extraordinary 'brainstorm' while rakin' and singin'. I wanted to try and take what I had learned from scripture and create a 'Fantasy Church' that would be based entirely on the ancient scripture but relevant to the modern world in which I lived. The first time I can remember I purposed to think outside my usual box. It was glorious.
To understand why this was so significant to me personally you have to know what I was used to in terms of church. A very tiny church...maybe 20-30 of sweet, kind, salt of the earth folks...yet we did nothing beyond Sunday service. We even called it the "5 acts of worship"...singing, praying, giving, preaching, communion. Period. That was it. The rare times we had potlucks I felt euphoric....time to visit and bond with people! Admittedly it was rare. We just weren't that kind of church. The fact I thought a potluck was 'relationship intimacy' is telling isn't it? Wow. I was starving! Literally starving for real church. Real intimacy and *being the body*.
So as I read Acts the first time you can imagine how it touched my heart...deeply. Enough to move me to tears. I cried as I read how the early church *lived* together. The breaking of bread, the fellowship, the teaching, prayers, and time together. I read about being the 'body of Christ'...members like body parts...taking care of one another, each essential to the other. How moved I was to read we are 'living stones' building up to be the living *house of God*. I was overwhelmed at 15 with HOW MUCH MORE Church could and should be. It went so beyond distinctives of a denomination, so beyond even theology and 'issues'...even important ones. It came down to being a living, organic, messy body. A *body* and all that means and entails. So much more that I ever imagined! The scripture was pointing me to SO MUCH MORE!
I wanted that Church. Deeply so. I was raised to believe a huge goal is the 'Restoration of the 1st Century Church'. I realize how the real goal is far beyond that...we are not supposed to restore an imperfect 1st century church...we are to become like Jesus. I found however that even with the mindset of wanting to restore the 1st century church, we were light-years away. We had defined Restoration in terms of issues...the New Testament Church was defined in terms of *relationships*. We were speaking two different languages. The picture the Bible painted is of the *people*. That is what my soul longed for and what I needed so desperately...at a tender, formidable age I realized I couldn't be what Jesus called me to be without this kind of help and support. This living household made up of living stones. I needed that. I just couldn't be what Jesus wanted me to be without HER...his bride and all He designed her to be.
When the leaves were all raked and burned and the yard complete, I was so bummed. I wanted more leaves to rake. I never wanted those golden days to be over. The one thing I was left with however was this idea "Whatever it takes, I want to be part of this kind of body. A vibrant one. The one I read about in scripture". It would be 4 years before that journey would really begin but the seed was planted there. My own personal Awakening while rakin' the leaves and singin' until I lost my voice. "He Bore it All" was the song that I remember most from the tape. Before or since, I have never had Fall days like those three. Something you cannot re-create. My own personal Great Awakening as to how much I needed what the Bible describes as *church*...and all she was meant and able to be.
Such was a moment in my life when I was 15 years old, out rakin' leaves during what must have been Christmas Break. I can still feel the crispness of the air with that slight Texas Fall chill. The smell of the burning leaves is still so familiar that anytime I smell burning leaves I feel an overwhelming sense of goodness and joy. I even took my 'jam box' outside and put in a cassette tape my dear cousin had given me of Acapella Praise and I would rake, sing, think. Rake, sing, think.... for 3 days straight (we had a big yard). Surprising is that the tape didn't warp after so much use. :-) Nothing like it!
At this time in my life, I had just finished reading the New Testament all by myself for the first time and it had not been at all what I expected. I had heard many sermons and I had read entire books of the Bible at a time with my mother but never had I picked up the Word and just read it for myself until that time. I had this most extraordinary 'brainstorm' while rakin' and singin'. I wanted to try and take what I had learned from scripture and create a 'Fantasy Church' that would be based entirely on the ancient scripture but relevant to the modern world in which I lived. The first time I can remember I purposed to think outside my usual box. It was glorious.
To understand why this was so significant to me personally you have to know what I was used to in terms of church. A very tiny church...maybe 20-30 of sweet, kind, salt of the earth folks...yet we did nothing beyond Sunday service. We even called it the "5 acts of worship"...singing, praying, giving, preaching, communion. Period. That was it. The rare times we had potlucks I felt euphoric....time to visit and bond with people! Admittedly it was rare. We just weren't that kind of church. The fact I thought a potluck was 'relationship intimacy' is telling isn't it? Wow. I was starving! Literally starving for real church. Real intimacy and *being the body*.
So as I read Acts the first time you can imagine how it touched my heart...deeply. Enough to move me to tears. I cried as I read how the early church *lived* together. The breaking of bread, the fellowship, the teaching, prayers, and time together. I read about being the 'body of Christ'...members like body parts...taking care of one another, each essential to the other. How moved I was to read we are 'living stones' building up to be the living *house of God*. I was overwhelmed at 15 with HOW MUCH MORE Church could and should be. It went so beyond distinctives of a denomination, so beyond even theology and 'issues'...even important ones. It came down to being a living, organic, messy body. A *body* and all that means and entails. So much more that I ever imagined! The scripture was pointing me to SO MUCH MORE!
I wanted that Church. Deeply so. I was raised to believe a huge goal is the 'Restoration of the 1st Century Church'. I realize how the real goal is far beyond that...we are not supposed to restore an imperfect 1st century church...we are to become like Jesus. I found however that even with the mindset of wanting to restore the 1st century church, we were light-years away. We had defined Restoration in terms of issues...the New Testament Church was defined in terms of *relationships*. We were speaking two different languages. The picture the Bible painted is of the *people*. That is what my soul longed for and what I needed so desperately...at a tender, formidable age I realized I couldn't be what Jesus called me to be without this kind of help and support. This living household made up of living stones. I needed that. I just couldn't be what Jesus wanted me to be without HER...his bride and all He designed her to be.
When the leaves were all raked and burned and the yard complete, I was so bummed. I wanted more leaves to rake. I never wanted those golden days to be over. The one thing I was left with however was this idea "Whatever it takes, I want to be part of this kind of body. A vibrant one. The one I read about in scripture". It would be 4 years before that journey would really begin but the seed was planted there. My own personal Awakening while rakin' the leaves and singin' until I lost my voice. "He Bore it All" was the song that I remember most from the tape. Before or since, I have never had Fall days like those three. Something you cannot re-create. My own personal Great Awakening as to how much I needed what the Bible describes as *church*...and all she was meant and able to be.
Friday, January 3, 2014
When God First Broke My Heart (Spiritual Journey Memoirs: Part III)
I honestly never remember a time I didn't believe in God. My earliest memories are of my mother teaching me about God and me accepting what she said. The thing about a child's 'faith' however, is that they are as likely to believe in a monster in their closet or under the bed as well as they are to believe in God. Santa...God...both seem equally believable. That is the nature of childhood 'faith'. I'm more and more uncomfortable actually labeling it 'faith' because it is most accurately described as 'belief/acceptance' without any critical thinking or independent reasoning. It's a good thing, don't misunderstand...a step that many of us who were raised in Christian families share and an important part of our spiritual development. I was comfortable with God like I was comfortable with characters from my favorite stories. Then something changed. He broke my 10 year old heart.
There was a family at our small church...a dad, mom, and 2 sons. She was 39 years old. She had a nagging cough we all noticed that the doctors were fairly confident was 'walking pneumonia' but when it lingered and refused to respond to treatment further testing revealed she had lung cancer. Never smoked a day in her life. I remember how upset my mother was. She said we needed to be in daily prayer about this and to ask God for healing. The church I was part of at this time and my mother both had very healthy/balanced attitudes regarding healing and prayer. They both taught it had to be within God's will and naturally you had to ask in faith believing that nothing was too hard for Him to do. Somehow even though I was taught the truth about this, what I believed in my child's mind was that if I had enough faith and didn't doubt, then God would answer my prayer and heal this beloved sister. I knew the verse about '...if you have faith as a mustard seed you can say to this mountain be moved and it will fall into the sea...'. I knew that verse. I had my mustard seed. God had to heal her. He just had to. If I did my end of the equation, he was obligated to do his, right?
The part about it being God's will? Well, how could healing a mother of 2 kids who never smoked NOT be his will? I mean really? Wouldn't that just make him mean and cruel if it wasn't his will? This was the reasoning of my 10 year old mind.
So we prayed. And prayed. And prayed. In faith. When I doubted (because of course I did) I would psych myself up NOT to doubt...I would will my doubts away (sweep them under my mind's rug so to speak, not actually address them but deny/stifle them) and one day we received good news that the tumors on a checkup had shown no growth so a possible 'remission' was beginning. We praised God and I just knew it was because of my rock solid 'faith' without doubtings that had 'done the job'.
About two weeks later, this precious sister died. Her lungs and health were decimated from cancer and the treatment and she got sick...so sick her body could not survive. She died. Her funeral tore me to pieces. "How could you God????" "Are you even there???" "What kind of God are you if you ARE real that you would take a young mother from her kids?? I had enough faith!!! You didn't keep your end of the bargain!!" Those were my thoughts and accusations I hurled at God. I shook my 10 year old fist in his Divine face and threw a temper tantrum before the throne of Heaven.
For a time my faith was deeply injured...I spiritually pouted. I also felt so spiritually lonely. Who was God? I realized I didn't actually know. My 'faith' of a child was not gone per se, it was being cultivated for the first time, I just didn't realize it. God was preserving the mustard seed... now letting it begin to actually germinate into something much more real. To actually face doubts. To face Him...the real Him, and not a childish caricature I had of Him. He was showing me that the puny box I was so comfortable putting him in must be destroyed. My broken heart was allowing me to catch a real glimpse of Him for the first time. The God who does not answer to me or even make sense to me...a 10 year old who somehow thought I could comprehend God and not only comprehend Him but control what His Sovereign Will is.
Now as an adult, I still have thoughts such as "Why, Lord, Why??" I don't have all the answers. Now I turn to Job and read how God responded to his questions...then I am put in my place:
“Dress for action like a man;
I will question you, and you make it known to me. Will you even put me in the wrong?
Will you condemn me that you may be in the right? Have you an arm like God,
and can you thunder with a voice like his?
There was a family at our small church...a dad, mom, and 2 sons. She was 39 years old. She had a nagging cough we all noticed that the doctors were fairly confident was 'walking pneumonia' but when it lingered and refused to respond to treatment further testing revealed she had lung cancer. Never smoked a day in her life. I remember how upset my mother was. She said we needed to be in daily prayer about this and to ask God for healing. The church I was part of at this time and my mother both had very healthy/balanced attitudes regarding healing and prayer. They both taught it had to be within God's will and naturally you had to ask in faith believing that nothing was too hard for Him to do. Somehow even though I was taught the truth about this, what I believed in my child's mind was that if I had enough faith and didn't doubt, then God would answer my prayer and heal this beloved sister. I knew the verse about '...if you have faith as a mustard seed you can say to this mountain be moved and it will fall into the sea...'. I knew that verse. I had my mustard seed. God had to heal her. He just had to. If I did my end of the equation, he was obligated to do his, right?
The part about it being God's will? Well, how could healing a mother of 2 kids who never smoked NOT be his will? I mean really? Wouldn't that just make him mean and cruel if it wasn't his will? This was the reasoning of my 10 year old mind.
So we prayed. And prayed. And prayed. In faith. When I doubted (because of course I did) I would psych myself up NOT to doubt...I would will my doubts away (sweep them under my mind's rug so to speak, not actually address them but deny/stifle them) and one day we received good news that the tumors on a checkup had shown no growth so a possible 'remission' was beginning. We praised God and I just knew it was because of my rock solid 'faith' without doubtings that had 'done the job'.
About two weeks later, this precious sister died. Her lungs and health were decimated from cancer and the treatment and she got sick...so sick her body could not survive. She died. Her funeral tore me to pieces. "How could you God????" "Are you even there???" "What kind of God are you if you ARE real that you would take a young mother from her kids?? I had enough faith!!! You didn't keep your end of the bargain!!" Those were my thoughts and accusations I hurled at God. I shook my 10 year old fist in his Divine face and threw a temper tantrum before the throne of Heaven.
For a time my faith was deeply injured...I spiritually pouted. I also felt so spiritually lonely. Who was God? I realized I didn't actually know. My 'faith' of a child was not gone per se, it was being cultivated for the first time, I just didn't realize it. God was preserving the mustard seed... now letting it begin to actually germinate into something much more real. To actually face doubts. To face Him...the real Him, and not a childish caricature I had of Him. He was showing me that the puny box I was so comfortable putting him in must be destroyed. My broken heart was allowing me to catch a real glimpse of Him for the first time. The God who does not answer to me or even make sense to me...a 10 year old who somehow thought I could comprehend God and not only comprehend Him but control what His Sovereign Will is.
Now as an adult, I still have thoughts such as "Why, Lord, Why??" I don't have all the answers. Now I turn to Job and read how God responded to his questions...then I am put in my place:
“Dress for action like a man;
I will question you, and you make it known to me. Will you even put me in the wrong?
Will you condemn me that you may be in the right? Have you an arm like God,
and can you thunder with a voice like his?
Adorn yourself with majesty and dignity;
clothe yourself with glory and splendor.Pour out the overflowings of your anger,
and look on everyone who is proud and abase him. Look on everyone who is proud and bring him low
and tread down the wicked where they stand. Hide them all in the dust together;
bind their faces in the world below. Then will I also acknowledge to you
that your own right hand can save you." Job 40: 7-14
clothe yourself with glory and splendor.Pour out the overflowings of your anger,
and look on everyone who is proud and abase him. Look on everyone who is proud and bring him low
and tread down the wicked where they stand. Hide them all in the dust together;
bind their faces in the world below. Then will I also acknowledge to you
that your own right hand can save you." Job 40: 7-14
God's answer to Job is simply this: I AM GOD. Period. At first glance, that may not seem the most satisfying answer to the question but that is the answer. He is God. We are not. He never explains himself to Job, he simply highlights his Sovereignty and thereby puts Job in his finite, human place. It's as Aslan in Narnia stories "He is not safe, but He's good". He will not bend to our understanding and reasoning nor will He enter our puny and pathetic little 'cardboard' boxes. 'Cardboard' boxes we think can comfortably contain the power that created the universe. In the end, he gave Job *and us* the only answer that matters. He is God. We are not. I also find comfort in the fact that this God is so powerful that even when it defies our best reasoning he still is the God that "works ALL things for good for those who love him"...Romans 8:28
He broke my heart that first time. He has broken it many times sense. He will continue to break it as needed for his Sovereign will to unfold. Yet I trust him. I hope in him. I thank Him for cultivating a faith beyond believing because I understand but rather the opposite... Him sustaining and growing my faith when I do NOT understand. He is God. I am not. Period.
He broke my heart that first time. He has broken it many times sense. He will continue to break it as needed for his Sovereign will to unfold. Yet I trust him. I hope in him. I thank Him for cultivating a faith beyond believing because I understand but rather the opposite... Him sustaining and growing my faith when I do NOT understand. He is God. I am not. Period.
Sunday, December 29, 2013
Pure Religion (Spiritual Journey Memoirs part II)
When I reflect on the earliest, most influential moments of my spiritual journey, it will come as no surprise to those who know anything of my family that my mother was truly the most formative person in my life. Without her, I'm not sure at all about the person I would be but I thank God that in his sovereign plan He gave me her as my mother. Her life was a sermon to me growing up; the daily grind, her pulpit. I have early memories of her tender servant's heart for God's most vulnerable and fragile, particularly widows.
She really did have a gift. When I was really little--like any child who thinks any activity without toys is a waste of time--I dreaded sitting for what seemed an eternity while she talked, talked, talked. I would realize later that Mom was teaching me some of the most powerful lessons of my life. There was one particular lady who mom visited for several years. She would wash her hair, make her food and her favorite dessert: gingerbread. This little lady was of extremely humble means. I remember sitting on her sofa and falling into it. My child's heart, self-centered as it was, began to feel a deep feeling I had never felt before. It was compassion. Deep, deep compassion. I began to look forward to every visit. To hear her stories and see her big sweet smile. She loved my mother and it was my mother she called for when she lay in a hospital bed passing from this life. In her last hours on earth she blessed Mom in a very Abrahamic way, laying her hand on Mom's head and praying for God's blessings on her. She had already instructed Mom what to dress her in when she passed, a dress Mom had sown for her. She wanted to go out "pretty." I would pass her old house in recent years on the way to the obstetrician during each pregnancy. Every single time I would think of her and usually tell whoever was in the car with me the same stories.
Over the years there would always be widows such as her. At the time I didn't realize how much I was learning. I was too young to understand the power of her example. Not only did she teach me scripture directly and pray with me, but she made it real by living it out. I cannot read James 1:27 without thinking of her:
"Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this: to visit orphans and widows in their affliction, and to keep oneself unstained from the world."
Saturday, December 28, 2013
Sons and Daughters of Time
Sons and
Daughters of Time
He was the
first. The original son. Created good. Created free.
He was given
life, a garden, a beautiful companion, a soul and a terrible choice.
He fell.
With him,
into the chains of death we became bound.
Now sons and
daughters of Adam. Sons and daughters of
time.
From
generation to generation, the bitter robe of mortality in which to be clothed.
We fell.
Time passed.
Creation groaned. Sorrow filled the earth.
Sons and daughters
of time tethered in the bondage of sin’s depravity, decay, and death.
The curse of
a fate to love that which is destined to die.
The sorrow
of loss as inevitable as the setting sun.
Yet even
death was unable to destroy one item more powerful….hope.
We looked
ahead and groaned in eager expectation…
The chorus
of all Creation led by the Sons and Daughters of time…
Lifting
voices of “How long Oh, Lord? How long?”
The pendulum
swung and the moment finally arrived.
The Second
Adam came.
This time
Divine of Divine
God of God
The Eternal
One clothed in the flesh of time and mortality
The Timeless
one given just a few years
Destined to
die.
Creation
watched.
Like a
breath taken in sharply, waiting to exhale
Is He the
One?
Time bent to
Him, Creation obeyed his voice
Demons fled.
The earth shook. Death itself shivered.
The Cross.
The Sons and
Daughters of time joining together to take away life from the One who gave it…
The Father
turned his face, his earthy mother watching…wept.
The sword that
was to pierce her heart, found its mark.
“Forgive
them!” The God-man cried.
Even from
the Cross he saved…
Then the
Second Adam died.
Tombs were
opened, the dead even walked
The sacred
temple curtain torn apart.
Death
quaked. Death’s time was coming.
The pendulum
swung again.
Three days
later death’s turn came, his time no more.
The serpent’s
head was crushed and Eve remembered her Father’s words….
That which
is dead, is now made alive in Him…the Second Adam…
Death has
been dethroned, the crown snatched and given to his Nemesis named Life.
From chains
of sin, set free…
The blind
will see,
The dead
will rise…
Sons and
Daughters of time no more…
Now Children
of Eternity.
Thursday, December 26, 2013
The Crack We All Ignored: Part I
In college I remember a class in education where the professor made us write our 'reading autobiography'. We all felt strange having an assignment such as this, like this was a colossal waste of time and totally didn't see the purpose whatsoever. When it was over however, and we looked at the process it took to stand back and view how our earliest memories/experiences w/literature formed how we view reading, we saw the value. Our attitudes and methods reflected each of our unique experience bases and formed the very foundation that our classrooms would be built upon. Our students would be helped or hindered as a result of who we were and what we brought to the classroom. Turned out to be a very useful assignment...and I still have a copy of that reading autobiography. Only a few items survived college but this was one of them.
In the same way, I've found myself looking back over the years to my earliest memories of God, of church, and of the Bible and stepping back to see how those earliest experiences and memories have shaped so much of who I am and how the journey of faith has played out in my own life. As I was living the moments I was not really aware of how God was working in the moment yet looking back at the experiences of 37+ years, I can now see in retrospect that God, in his mercy, has always been there for me w/a plan much larger than me, yet allowing me to participate in a tiny way in the Gospel plan that was in his mind before the foundation of the world. It is humbling. I hope the next few blogs will be my 'spiritual autobiography'...mainly for my own therapeutic purposes...but also something to leave my children to read someday...and hopefully something that can help those w/ similar backgrounds to read and feel a certain kinship. It will be funny in part, serious in part...but in the end it is my story. Much of it is of course, biased. It will be what I saw and experienced from the time I was about 3 years old and after...so experiences and church, etc, as seen through the eyes of myself *as a child*. Keep that in mind as you read. How a child saw church, God and the Bible...
The earliest memories I have of church is a giant crack. Yep. But I'll get to that in a sec. Our church building was a tiny building and for some reason every church that was like ours had the same architecture...a big room w/pulpit in front, baptistry behind...door on each side of the baptistry. The pews, or in our church...it was the horrifyingly uncomfortable wooden fold chairs that were connected like a pew...so 'pew-chairs' that literally were a pain in the backside. Mom would bring a mat to lay on the floor and beg me to sleep through church. There was no nursery, there as no 'children's church'. There were no Bible classes. All of these things were considered 'unscriptural innovations' so my earliest memories was that church was not and I mean NOT for kids. You just sat down, shut up, and behaved or you'd get carried out and no joke, you'd get swats from a tree switch if you misbehaved. Yes, I have very distinct memories of being swatted w/a tree switch, as many kids did back then.
I remember a lot of feet....I'd lay on that mat mom brought and look at all the feet...I liked to look at shoes. There was one gal about 4-5 years older than me...I loved her sandals and would always search them out and look at them while laying on the mat. Then I'd look up at the ceiling....from the pulpit all the way to the front door was a huge crack down the ceiling. NO JOKE. I would look at that crack and think "Am I the only one afraid the ceiling is about to cave in?? Why does NO ONE SEEM TO NOTICE THE CRACK???" I even ask Mom about the crack. She'd didn't know anything about it other than it was there and it never caved in so it must be okay. Not a Sunday passed that that crack didn't bother me.
Don't remember any sermons except I could have sworn one was about Mork and Mindy but remember, I was a kid...most likely it was an illustration in the sermon but all all I remember of years of sermons was something about Mork and Mindy.
I remember there was always a strange 2nd sermon...when this older fellow would get up and talk, talk, talk before dismissing...and he'd be tinkering w/the hymn book and I just remember thinking "Please make him stop...I'm so tired..what is he talking about?? Is he going to ever address the crack in the ceiling??". To this day I don't know what he talked about....maybe it was announcements but gee whiz, it seemed to be longer than the sermon but no mention about that crack.
I remember communion because we kids like to follow the same older gentleman after church because he would throw the left over grape juice down the restroom sink and for some reason we liked to watch it do down the drain spiraling all purple like that, and sometimes he'd let us pour it down the drain, which we thought was 'way cool'.
After church I'd go climb on our car...yes ON THE CAR. I'd lay on the windshield looking over the roof of the car and watch passing cars and 'preach to them'. I'd tell them all about Hell and how not to go there...and I'd just preach, preach, preach. To this day, I have no idea why I did that. I think I was always a mimic-er. I liked to mimic. And I did a fine job...lots and lots about Hell. I never remember preaching about Heaven.
My knowledge base for the Bible did not come from church at all until I was a teenager. Mom taught me all I knew about the Lord and his word. She'd tell me story after story after story...while washing dishes, while folding clothes, while cleaning house. Jesus was her 1st love. Honestly, she taught me a great deal. I would ask her to tell me another story. One day I said "Mom, tell me one I haven't heard before". That was the day she told me about Balaam and his talking donkey. My mother. She was the one who taught me Jesus and to love Him and his word above everything else. Though I thought church was not for kids, it didn't bother me because I didn't know there were alternatives to this set-up. I looked forward to growing up and having church but in the meantime, one thing I knew. Jesus was for kids.
I talked to God as a kid...probably more in line w/how kids talk to invisible playmates but the wonderful thing was, was that I felt I could talk to Him. I loved him and wanted to know him more and more. Those were my earliest memories of him.
Even though church wasn't for kids back then, my sister and I sure played church at home...we even played communion w/saltines and grape juice. We'd lead songs, we'd preach. Other friends even tell me they played baptisms...like w/cats and dogs. Baptizing a cat. I wish I would have thought of that...that would have made a great memory indeed. LOL We didn't baptize animals but we still played church nonetheless.
It never occurred to me that anything was really amiss. It was what it was. A kid doesn't think to analyze and ask is there another way or better way. It is what it is. Like the crack going down the entire building. It didn't bother anyone else. It bothered me. I couldn't quite define why...but there was always something in my soul gently whispering that something was very very wrong..this would develop over many years but at that young and innocent age, it simply was what it was...yet even then I realized a crack like that shouldn't be ignored. Maybe just maybe, there was something better, something more but would be years before I would mature enough to begin to see it and address it.
In the same way, I've found myself looking back over the years to my earliest memories of God, of church, and of the Bible and stepping back to see how those earliest experiences and memories have shaped so much of who I am and how the journey of faith has played out in my own life. As I was living the moments I was not really aware of how God was working in the moment yet looking back at the experiences of 37+ years, I can now see in retrospect that God, in his mercy, has always been there for me w/a plan much larger than me, yet allowing me to participate in a tiny way in the Gospel plan that was in his mind before the foundation of the world. It is humbling. I hope the next few blogs will be my 'spiritual autobiography'...mainly for my own therapeutic purposes...but also something to leave my children to read someday...and hopefully something that can help those w/ similar backgrounds to read and feel a certain kinship. It will be funny in part, serious in part...but in the end it is my story. Much of it is of course, biased. It will be what I saw and experienced from the time I was about 3 years old and after...so experiences and church, etc, as seen through the eyes of myself *as a child*. Keep that in mind as you read. How a child saw church, God and the Bible...
The earliest memories I have of church is a giant crack. Yep. But I'll get to that in a sec. Our church building was a tiny building and for some reason every church that was like ours had the same architecture...a big room w/pulpit in front, baptistry behind...door on each side of the baptistry. The pews, or in our church...it was the horrifyingly uncomfortable wooden fold chairs that were connected like a pew...so 'pew-chairs' that literally were a pain in the backside. Mom would bring a mat to lay on the floor and beg me to sleep through church. There was no nursery, there as no 'children's church'. There were no Bible classes. All of these things were considered 'unscriptural innovations' so my earliest memories was that church was not and I mean NOT for kids. You just sat down, shut up, and behaved or you'd get carried out and no joke, you'd get swats from a tree switch if you misbehaved. Yes, I have very distinct memories of being swatted w/a tree switch, as many kids did back then.
I remember a lot of feet....I'd lay on that mat mom brought and look at all the feet...I liked to look at shoes. There was one gal about 4-5 years older than me...I loved her sandals and would always search them out and look at them while laying on the mat. Then I'd look up at the ceiling....from the pulpit all the way to the front door was a huge crack down the ceiling. NO JOKE. I would look at that crack and think "Am I the only one afraid the ceiling is about to cave in?? Why does NO ONE SEEM TO NOTICE THE CRACK???" I even ask Mom about the crack. She'd didn't know anything about it other than it was there and it never caved in so it must be okay. Not a Sunday passed that that crack didn't bother me.
Don't remember any sermons except I could have sworn one was about Mork and Mindy but remember, I was a kid...most likely it was an illustration in the sermon but all all I remember of years of sermons was something about Mork and Mindy.
I remember there was always a strange 2nd sermon...when this older fellow would get up and talk, talk, talk before dismissing...and he'd be tinkering w/the hymn book and I just remember thinking "Please make him stop...I'm so tired..what is he talking about?? Is he going to ever address the crack in the ceiling??". To this day I don't know what he talked about....maybe it was announcements but gee whiz, it seemed to be longer than the sermon but no mention about that crack.
I remember communion because we kids like to follow the same older gentleman after church because he would throw the left over grape juice down the restroom sink and for some reason we liked to watch it do down the drain spiraling all purple like that, and sometimes he'd let us pour it down the drain, which we thought was 'way cool'.
After church I'd go climb on our car...yes ON THE CAR. I'd lay on the windshield looking over the roof of the car and watch passing cars and 'preach to them'. I'd tell them all about Hell and how not to go there...and I'd just preach, preach, preach. To this day, I have no idea why I did that. I think I was always a mimic-er. I liked to mimic. And I did a fine job...lots and lots about Hell. I never remember preaching about Heaven.
My knowledge base for the Bible did not come from church at all until I was a teenager. Mom taught me all I knew about the Lord and his word. She'd tell me story after story after story...while washing dishes, while folding clothes, while cleaning house. Jesus was her 1st love. Honestly, she taught me a great deal. I would ask her to tell me another story. One day I said "Mom, tell me one I haven't heard before". That was the day she told me about Balaam and his talking donkey. My mother. She was the one who taught me Jesus and to love Him and his word above everything else. Though I thought church was not for kids, it didn't bother me because I didn't know there were alternatives to this set-up. I looked forward to growing up and having church but in the meantime, one thing I knew. Jesus was for kids.
I talked to God as a kid...probably more in line w/how kids talk to invisible playmates but the wonderful thing was, was that I felt I could talk to Him. I loved him and wanted to know him more and more. Those were my earliest memories of him.
Even though church wasn't for kids back then, my sister and I sure played church at home...we even played communion w/saltines and grape juice. We'd lead songs, we'd preach. Other friends even tell me they played baptisms...like w/cats and dogs. Baptizing a cat. I wish I would have thought of that...that would have made a great memory indeed. LOL We didn't baptize animals but we still played church nonetheless.
It never occurred to me that anything was really amiss. It was what it was. A kid doesn't think to analyze and ask is there another way or better way. It is what it is. Like the crack going down the entire building. It didn't bother anyone else. It bothered me. I couldn't quite define why...but there was always something in my soul gently whispering that something was very very wrong..this would develop over many years but at that young and innocent age, it simply was what it was...yet even then I realized a crack like that shouldn't be ignored. Maybe just maybe, there was something better, something more but would be years before I would mature enough to begin to see it and address it.
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