Who am I, and why should you read this blog?

That’s the million dollar question, one I’ve been sitting here staring at this screen for days pondering. In short, I’m no one. I was the accidental third child of my parents. The only granddaughter. My father became a deacon at some point in my childhood. I was saved at 14, but didn’t really start growing in Christ for years. In all honesty, I struggled. There were times that I was frustrated by life, confused by the behavior of self-proclaimed Christians around me, and convinced that everyone was a hypocrite. Then there were times that I felt incredibly close to my Savior, walked closely, but I never really kept it up long term. I have always been active in my church, teaching Sunday School, and other children’s services and singing in the choir and sometimes singing specials. But, sadly, as my children entered teenage years, I let myself get busy. Church became less important. I was arrogant about a lot of stuff, and my biblical knowledge was one of those things. I started thinking I could do without some church services.

A pivotal moment came in a women’s study. The lady leading the study made an off-hand comment about me being a leader in the church, and it shocked me. Was I really a leader in the church? I couldn’t fathom it. It actually made me a little angry. I didn’t want that kind of responsibility placed on me. I just wanted to be a pew sitter…. who also taught Sunday School. I think the responsibility it implied was what I got hung up on… because I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I wasn’t living up to the responsibilities it indicated. I had started skipping services. No real reason, I mostly just sat in the recliner or caught up on laundry. I was always doing multiple things when I should have been listening intently to the sermon, my mind wandered… many times, I was basically just a warm body filling a pew .

And then came 2020… The year started oddly enough with me making a New Year’s resolution and then almost immediately breaking it. I made a deal with myself that I wouldn’t miss anymore church services. My kids had gone off to college, I’d moved to within 2 miles of my church, and, to be honest, I’d run out of excuses. I’d been knowing that I was not really in a good place with my faith for a while. Going to church had begun to feel like work, something I did, because I always had, and it was expected of me. Almost immediately, I got sick. Sicker than I’d been in years. I missed a lot of days of work and 5 weeks of church. It was pre-Covid, but it was some unidentified virus that knocked me on my backside and caused constant coughing and heavy congestion. I went to the doctor more in those 5 weeks than I had in the 5 years previously. I finally got well enough to return to church and everything came to a screeching halt. Covid had reared its head and made church attendance impossible.

Suddenly, I couldn’t go… even if I wanted to. It hit me like a ton of bricks. I waited with bated breath for the recordings to be posted on Sunday Morning. I checked my emails on Wednesday for the studies coming out from our pastor. I had lots of time to think… all of the various “activities” I had been keeping myself busy with were cancelled. It was also during this time that I had a minor health scare (when they send you down to the cancer center for tests, it feels like anything but minor, but it was nothing that couldn’t be fixed) During that time, I had to deal with my own mortality. I discovered something: I was completely confidant in my salvation, and unafraid of death. Even during a time that I was hiding my medical tests from my family while I dealt with processing the possibilities myself, I had an incredible peace.

Covid created a kind of weird space for me. I was suddenly running the family business with little to no help from my parents. They were safely ensconced at home. It was a new level of stress that I wasn’t quite prepared for. I began talking to God a little more often. I thought about that summer in 1985 when I first gave my heart to God. The undeniable joy and peace that followed my salvation experience was something I wanted back. I’m sure at this point the Holy Spirit prompted me with the short section from Psalm 51: “Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation” I searched it out. And began to read it daily. Oh how I wanted all of it! I wanted to feel that super clean feeling again, to be filled with the Holy Spirit to overflowing, I wanted to feel that incredible closeness with Him again… But, I also wanted to maintain my autonomy, my control over self… and to have both of those things at once, well, that’s impossible, but I wasn’t ready to admit that quite yet.

Then one day… I was just hoeing in the garden, one of those mindless tasks you do while pondering life… or what you’re gonna eat for supper. And, I knew, no God did not speak to me with an audible voice, but I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I needed to surrender everything: my right to anything worldly, far more than the “Lord save me! I can’t do this without you” child-like prayer from the day of my salvation. I was being asked to give over everything from my possessions to even the safety of my children into His hands: ‘just let Me take this from you, I’ve got it.’ I don’t remember physically opening my hands, but on the spiritual level, I gave every single thing over to Him and said out loud, “Alright, Lord, whatever happens, here it is.” The wave of peace, joy, acceptance, and love that washed over me will be indescribable for the rest of my life. There’s no way anyone can ever take that away or convince me that it is less significant than I know it is. I went instantly from being a marginal Christian, who loved God, but didn’t really want Him running her life, to one that is so sold out that I find myself smiling in the weirdest situations.

After that day, I developed a new kind of hunger for the Word., and a new desire to ‘do’ for Him. It’s funny now, because when I look back on the email exchanges between me and my pastor, God’s hand is evident. The devotionals I was drawn to, the amount of quiet time I had to myself to commune with God, it was all worked together for my good. I sent email after email saying I knew I needed to do more, but “I’m not a communicator;” “I can’t speak”, “can’t explain things well”, and at the same time, I was opening up multiple devotionals that spoke about trusting God, that He qualified the called, not called the qualified. My personal Bible studies all led me in one direction: to tell my story, whatever it is, to share the road I’m going down. It isn’t perfect. I’m not perfect. In fact I’m quite the foul-up. I’m impatient, impetuous, and at times a little ignorant. But, I love me some Jesus, and I’m just bold enough to talk about Him, given a chance.

So, here we are… I have no fancy degree in theology, I have no life of Bible study. I’m still learning, I’ll never stop learning. But, I have a relationship with a Savior who knows me inside and out. A Savior who loved me enough to die for me, even though He knew how bad I was gonna mess things up. And I will happily spend the rest of my days telling people what He’s done in my life. If that sounds like enough qualifications, then read on, friend. We can make it through this crazy life together, and one day at a time, with His help.

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