The first memory about God I can recollect was when I was about 6 years old. A local church brought a group of young people to the orphanage to share the Gospel. They had colorful people and shapes made out of felt that they used to tell Bible stories. I remember sitting crossed-legged on the floor and listening to this young girl talk about how much God loved her. She shared John 3:16. She said He loved me too and wanted me to live forever with Him. WOW! Really? Hope and desire were planted in my heart for this God who said He loved me. I liked the thought of being loved very much. Up to that point I don’t think I had really ever thought about being loved. It was as if I was just there and no one really cared one way or the other. There were to be many times in my life that I would ask this God to help me. But it would appear that at the time of the crisis, He wasn’t there and after a while I just quit asking Him for help. The idea was imbedded in my mind that no one was going to take care of me, so I had better take care of myself. Manipulation became the tool I used to get what I wanted. Self-sufficiency and a lack of trust would plague my life and be detriments to the love and approval I so desired from others.
I met my husband on a camping trip. My first impression of him was not a good one, actually. But oddly enough after just two weeks of knowing each other I moved into his apartment. Where I was living at the time was not a very good arrangement to say the least. I was only going to stay with him until classes started at the university, but as things turned out three years later we would marry, with a little one on the way. I wish I could tell you that everything worked out, but I can’t, we divorced eighteen years later.
June third was one of the happiest days of my life. I gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. He was the absolute joy of my life. He was the sweetest little baby, he hardly ever cried. However, one warm summer evening he was fussy I could not seem to comfort him. I decided to take him for a walk in the stroller. On the corner of the street we lived on was huge redbrick church. As we came close to the building we could hear singing. My little one hushed his crying and listened. As I turned to walk back home, the singing began to fade, and he began to fuss again, so I walked back to the church and sat down on the curb, moving the stroller back and forth. He fell into peaceful sleep. It was a Wednesday.
It was a strange occurrence that on Wednesdays we would find ourselves outside that church listening to singing. As the weather grew cooler I decided one evening to step inside. I sat in the back pew and listened. When the service was over several of the ladies came over to introduce themselves. They cooed and giggled over the baby and were genuinely happy that we were there. One of the ladies told me she had noticed me setting on the curb, but by the time the service was over I would be gone. They let me know they met every Wednesday at 7:00pm for prayer meeting and I was welcome to come back. I don’t know if it was loneliness or a sense of needing to belong or what, but I started coming to prayer meeting on a regular basis and it wasn’t too long after that that I was attending church also. Once again hearing those words of God’s great love manifested in the cruel death of His Son on the cross, and His incredible desire to save us all regardless of where we came from or what our experiences had been, rekindled that desire that had been planted in my own heart when I was but six years old. I wanted to know Him better and wanted others to know Him too. In February of 1979 I was washed clean in the waters of baptism and raised with the hope of everlasting life. In the entries of this blog you will read how the journey has continued.
Jeremiah 31:3 “The Lord hath appeared of old unto me, saying, Yea, I have loved thee with an everlasting love: therefore with loving-kindness have I drawn thee.”
He is drawing you too. Blessings.