Let Me Tell You a Story...

Several things have happened in the last week that led me to this point. I'd share them all with you, but you don't know the people involved or the backstory, so truth be told, it might not mean that much to you anyway.

When I was a little girl, not much older than my youngest grandson, I went forward at a revival and made a profession of faith, mainly because the song my mother was singing as an invitation scared me absolutely to death. A couple of years later, Daddy baptized me in a pond in the neighbor's pasture. The thing I remember most is that my sandals got stuck in the mud on the way out which caused me to giggle which caused my Daddy to give me a very stern look.

In retrospect, I probably didn't even understand what those two actions indicated, but being the daughter of a preacher and in church as much as I was at home, I thought I did. The denomination in which I grew up placed a lot (and that should read A LOT) of emphasis on the things a person did to show that they were a Christian. My problem was that I just didn't seem to be able to get it right.

I had good intentions. I went to church. I purposed in my heart to make good choices on Sunday, but by lunchtime on Monday, things had usually gone fairly well south. This led to an endless cycle of error, guilt, and apology (to God and occasionally to other people) with a dose of fear thrown in for good measure. I told my sixth grade Bible study students that I can remember waking up in the night so consumed with fear that Jesus had returned and I had missed it that I would creep through the house to my parents' room just to make sure they were still there.

As I got older, my rebellious tendencies grew, but the cycle didn't change. The harder I worked, the worse the inevitable fall affected me. Finally, I gave up. I couldn't do it right, so I wouldn't even try. I pursued (and rather relentlessly) satisfaction from my work, my social life, but at night, when the lights were off and I was alone, it did nothing to fill the aching hole nor stop the unceasing longing that consumed me.

Throughout those years, I had encounters with God. I heard him speak clearly, call me, reassure me of His love. I believed every word in the Bible was true. I believed that Jesus was God's only Son, born of a the Virgin Mary, crucified for the sins of the world and resurrected to give us new life. But in spite of all that head knowledge, nothing really changed inside me. I was far more concerned about what I wanted to do with my life than what Jesus wanted me to do with my life and any obedience that happened was a result of fear rather than love.

My pastor once gave this illustration: If you walk into the street and have an encounter with a log truck, you will be changed by the experience. The people who see you will know that you have been changed. An encounter with the Creator of the Universe, a being with power so far beyond a simple log truck that it is beyond our understanding, should produce an even greater change.

I'm a pretty visual person, so that's really stuck with me.

It's what happened to me one sunny, summer morning.

After months of struggling with a lifestyle that was so out of whack that it boggles the mind to consider it, I came to the point of surrender. I had started attending church again, and my pastor helped me to see that my understanding of grace was flawed. I came to realize that the ability to "do" Christianity had never been mine at all. We are saved because Jesus wants us to be saved, because He paid the ultimate price to secure my identity as a child of God. Living the Christian life happens because we are filled with the power of Christ through the work of the Holy Spirit.

Trying to "be" a Christian under your own steam is like trying to use your computer without plugging it in - just a lot of futile hammering away.

One morning I took a walk, and I talked with God, much like I'm talking to you right now. I confessed my failures and my flawed understanding of grace. I told Him that I had come to see that I didn't have the right to choose my own destiny. Rather, as someone who had long ago given myself to Him, I recognized that my sole purpose (and thank you Rick Warren for that life-altering book) was to do, well, whatever it was He wanted me to do.

It will sound cliche, but I swear that it's true, I felt my heart grow wings and soar. Have you seen the commercial for Claritin, the one where they peel the film off the landscape and the sky is bluer and the grass is greener? That actually happened.

That conversation with God changed me. It is changing me. And on the day when I pass from this life to the next one, it will change me forever. I don't just have head knowledge. I have heart knowledge.

Don't get me wrong; I'm not perfect. There are still failures and I still have to apologize to God, but I rest assured that Jesus sacrifice is enough to cover any sin I commit. I read the Word and, with the help of His Spirit, follow His guidelines because He is enough, because I love Him so much for never giving up on me - even when I had given up on myself, because I am sure that every single Word is for my good and His glory.

I've quit trying to figure out if I was saved as a child or on that sunny, summer morning. What matters to me is that I'm safe in Jesus' arms right now. I'm His daughter and His servant, all that at the same time, and there's NO WHERE else and NO ONE else that I'd rather be.

I remember who I was, and I'm so sorry for all the missed opportunities, but I am so happy that there are opportunities ahead to tell my story and opportunities to know Him, to love Him. And I hope, no, I pray, right now, wherever you are and however you came to read this, that He tears that film off your eyes and you run to Jesus, fall into His arms and let Him forgive you of all your sin and fill you with His joy and His purpose.

More than a cheeseburger

It's Saturday and DW is on duty, so I went to the Farmer's Market this morning and availed myself of the bounty of the cool and wet summer we are enjoying here in Deep Southern Illinois. As I stood at the counter slicing cucumbers and onions, I was listening to the radio - unusual for me as I usually bask in the quiet when I am home alone.

As I listened to the weekend edition of Focus on the Family, a man (sorry folks, I didn't catch his name) was talking about healthy eating and exercise (two of my least favorite topics). He gave some interesting information about the way food products are developed, so interesting in fact that I may try to track down his name and book on the Focus web site, but what really impacted me had more to do with the way I view healthy eating and exercise (see parenthetical note above).

From his perspective, our eating and exercise habits are acts of worship. We eat healthy foods and engage in exercise because our bodies don't belong to us - they belong to the FATHER, and he needs bodies that are able to work, bodies with sufficient energy and clarity of thought to complete the tasks he sets before us. Just as his children avoid other things that hurt our minds, our hearts and our relationships (porn, illicit sexual relationships, gossip, lying, drunkeness, etc.), they should avoid eating habits that harm the body that Christ purchased with his own blood.

Radical thinking, eh?

It's not about how I look. It's about how I function. God doesn't care what size I wear, but he does care if my habits hurt me.

I look Daniel and his friends - in spite of having the most delectable things in the world available, they chose to eat fruits and vegetables, and they looked better and thought better than any of the other young men that the king had chosen.

Now don't get me wrong. I don't think it is a sin to eat the occasional cheeseburger or ice cream sundae.  But after hearing this guy speak, I also think that my attitudes about eating and exercise could use some work. I think maybe I'll start with what I bought at the market this morning.