Tuesday, December 13, 2022 My Story, Part 11, The Grand Finale

I was going to be starting a dietetic internship at the end of the summer. The closer it got, the more it loomed ominously over my head. Nervous? Yes. Shortly before leaving home, I had an unusual experience that was probably about as close to a “vision” of Christ as I ever had or would have. I was praying, “If I am lost, and you are truly looking for me, what is missing?” I wrote down the strong impression I had that “He picked me up and held me as a child and my cheek felt the roughness of his robe and I could smell the earth in those folds. All of my doubts and fears lifted…” There were very strong sensory aspects to this impression that stayed with me for a long time; if I think back, I can still feel that sensation of being held by Him, cherished and safe in those arms. Was it all in my imagination? Perhaps. Was I in Christ at this time? Again, perhaps, but I had made no public proclamation and would not have called myself a Christian.

I prayed that the Lord would give me a committed knowledgeable Christian friend among the interns, someone from whom I could learn. I discovered early on that one of the interns, Tamie, was the answer to this prayer. I had been thinking about what church I should go to. There was a large United Methodist Church just up the street, but I knew instinctively that this would be a church in which I could easily be anonymous and unchallenged. Tamie invited me to the church she’d started going to, an Evangelical Free Church. I accepted the invitation, but told her I wasn’t yet a Christian, thinking it would be best to put all the cards out on the table. She seemed to take that in stride and decided to give me some Last Days Newsletters (written by Keith Green before he died) as some edifying reading material. Unfortunately, she had given me an issue all about modesty. I was still very much in feminist mode (hear me roar!) and was thoroughly enraged by the thoughts expressed in that newsletter and fumed privately about how much I did NOT want to be a Christian -what a bunch of busy-bodies they were! Tamie took me to church the next day and as we sat in a pew waiting for Sunday school to start, she asked innocently, “So, did you get a chance to look over any of those newsletters?” “Yes,” I said, working up a good self-righteous lather, “and I was really offended by the one about modesty! Women ought to be able to come to church STARK NAKED if they want to!” At this, poor Tamie looked around nervously to see if anyone else was close enough to hear my outburst. We didn’t get a chance to continue this interesting discussion since Sunday school started, no doubt much to Tamie’s relief.

I struggled with what it meant to be saved. I didn’t like the humility of needing to be saved, or of acknowledging that there was no hope without Christ. I didn’t understand what the point was of becoming aware of my sins, knowing that my sinful nature wouldn’t change by claiming salvation in Christ. I read through Ephesians and copied many verses in my journal that answered a lot of my questions. I was becoming increasingly aware that I didn’t fit in anywhere – I was straddling two worlds.

On Labor Day I went to a church picnic with Tamie and others. We ate good food, played outside games and eventually sang some praise songs together. I didn’t know any of them, but these were the types of songs that after the first pass through, you got the general idea. “They’ll know we are Christians by our love,” “It only takes a spark,” “Our God reigns,” and so forth. The Holy Spirit was calling, that sweet irresistible call – I was feeling a stirring of conviction in my heart that I could no longer deny. I went back to my dorm room that night, laid down on the bed and said, “Okay, Lord, I am all yours from this moment on. I know I’m a sinner, I know I need a Savior. Lord Jesus, thank you for saving me, for loving me and for making a way for me to be forgiven. I give myself to you.” I felt absolutely giddy with relief. I felt joyful, peaceful, happy, excited and just HAD to tell someone, even though it was after 10:30 p.m. I called my friend Sara, woke her up out of a sound sleep and told her the good news. “That’s great, Lynnie – wow!” Wow, indeed.

It seemed appropriate to have my spiritual birth happen on Labor Day. What a long and torturous labor and delivery that was! As a newborn Christian, I still had a lot to learn and twice as many things to unlearn, but oh, what a difference it made being on the other side.

Is the Hound of Heaven pursuing you? I rejoice to hear it! He will by no means give up, even when you believe you have closed the door on Him. Does it frighten you to think that He will not hesitate to do surgery on your soul and remove your cherished idols? I can think of nothing that He took from me that I would want back at the expense of knowing Him. The horror story of being chased by a hound becomes the love story of being ardently pursued by the One who knows every bit of the blackness in your soul and still wants you to be His. Do you look around at the messy group of people in His family and recoil at being related by faith to them? The joke is on you, my friend. Look in the mirror – you’re no great prize either.

I started this story in January of this year, not realizing that it would take me the whole year to finish it up. I’m a wordy person – perhaps you noticed that. And I took some lengthy breaks. But here we are in Advent season, on the cusp of celebrating the birth of our Lord. What better time to finish the best and truest story I have to tell! Thank you for joining me.

P.S. If you are interested in what happened next, start here:
Adventures of a Young Christian

My Story Part 1
My Story Part 2
My Story Part 3
My Story Part 4
My Story Part 5
My Story Part 6
My Story Part 7
My Story Part 8
My Story Part 9
My Story Part 10

I’ll probably delete this in the morning and start all over again. NOT.