During a church revival, I came
under conviction, and asked many questions, on the way
home. I remember the fear, not wanting to go to hell.
It was my father that
came into my bedroom, which was kind of odd, being that
dad and I had never talked about much of anything. But,
mom wasn't saved, yet, herself. So, she reneged on this
one. Though, it wasn't bad at all ... our first
meaningful conversation. Dad brought a kitchen chair
into my bedroom, I sat on the bed, and we talked. He
explained several things and led me as to how to ask
Jesus into my heart.
It has been said that I began carrying my Bible
everywhere and that I went to every house, in the
neighborhood, to tell others about Jesus, also with
Bible in hand. I have no idea how I might have used that
Bible, if called upon to do so. But, carrying it was the
Christian thing to do. Though, I wish I could remember
that; the joy of my salvation. But, instead, I was sort
of robbed.
There were many preachers and evangelists at the church,
this week. They had come for the revival. And, they all
wanted to meet me. My parents did ask if I would agree
to the meeting, for which I did. But, still, it was a
bit intimidating, having to answer to all those giants.
You see, they didn't believe I was yet at the age of
accountability. They thought I was too young and said
that it was almost unheard of. Their concern was that I
wouldn't understand what I was doing.
I may have only been six years old. But, they were
wrong.
Then, once mom got saved, her and dad began mission
work. Today, it's called 'church planting' and, of
course, laborers were few. Thus, new converts were often
my teachers. It was the era of Hell, Fire, and Brimstone
preaching and that was the only God these new converts
knew.
This was also the age when it was, yet, the common and
expected thing to do ~ to go to the altar, seeking
forgiveness. It didn't help to not even have a memory of
the joy of my salvation. So, there were times I
questioned if I had been saved at all.
One of our preachers even testified that he had been
called to preach, but had not yet done so ~ and that God
told him He could even take his children if he didn't
agree. My concept of God gradually developed to envision
a monster that couldn't wait for me to mess up, so He
could hit me over the head. And, I was sure that is what
happened when my marriage turned into an abusive
nightmare.
Truly, there was much deliberation between 'kill or be
killed' or to 'take my chances with God'. With the
support of family and a team of officers, I escaped and
filed for divorce. In my training, divorce fit right up
there with the unpardonable sin. Even though he had also
been unfaithful, I was more than shocked that God didn't
strike me dead.
There had been no prior training to be anything other
than the virtuous woman. A child had been conceived in
rape, which was my only hope of not living my remainder
years alone. Another marriage wasn't within options God
allowed, or so I thought. I hadn't prepared to be the
breadwinner. Really, I thought my life was over ... and
I was only 18 years old.
For three days, I sat in a trance while listening to the
record "Like a Bridge Over Troubled Waters'. Only, the
song had never been explained to me. I thought I was
that sinking bridge, as I just couldn't be that strength
anymore.
Books on overcoming the effects of abuse had not yet
been written. The only answer I could come up with was
this ... if I just did all the right things, I would
never have to live like that again. In such thinking, I
had adopted the lifestyle of legalism. Still cold and
dead inside, none would be the wiser. Only, God knows
what service is from the heart ... and I didn't have
one. If I didn't feel, no one could ever hurt me like
that again.
I did remarry and, eventually, a miracle child was
conceived ... and I was sure this was the child God
would take. Labor did not produce birth and, with each
contraction, the baby's heart rate diminished. Hour
after hour, doctors deliberated as to whether or not to
do a c-section, then still did nothing. This was the
beginning of the new (barbaric) era of natural child
birth.
Only, there was no doubt, death was imminent; mine, the
baby's, or both. Unknown to anything else, mom said she
had felt it, too ~ and she was miles away.
I fully understood that I deserved for this baby to die.
And, so, I could accept it. But, this was my husband's
only biological child and he would not understand why
God would do this to him. Thus, I asked God to preserve
that relationship between God and my husband. The baby
didn't yet know me. So, she would not know to suffer my
loss. I was prepared to go, even if in her place. Only,
I had another child that really needed me and there was
no other answer for that.
All considerations were in love and I was ready to live,
die, or whatever God decided. Maybe that was a good
thing, that I had opened my heart to love again. Though,
once I had finished talking with God, I began to make a
scene. Nurses had said that, if the mother became under
stress, the doctors would then act. So, I behaved very
badly (on purpose) and they couldn't get me into surgery
fast enough. It was then that peace came. It would be
alright, now, whatever that meant.
Anesthetics kept me asleep most of the first 24 hours.
Though, between each spurt of alertness, I watched
people carefully, trying to determine if they were
telling me the truth. Finally, I pinned a nurse down and
asked straight forward, "Why won't you bring my baby to
me?"
The nurse promised that, as soon as I could stay awake
(so as to not accidentally injury the baby), they would
bring her to me. Except for being in an incubator the
first days, precautionary being that she was so small,
all appeared to be well; with no heart problems either.
Only, a hard year followed. Baby and I took turns at
being ill. A year later and I was, still, crawling to
get up the stairs. Finally, I determined that Satan was
never going to allow us health to go to church again,
and I knew just the thing for that. If neither of us
were running a temperature, we were going ~ no matter
how bad we looked or felt. It was then that things
started improving.
By a year and a half after the baby's birth, I was able
to attend regularly and participate in our church choir.
My piano teacher had, once, taught me how to feel the
music when I'd play and I had used those same tools to
spiritually go there, to imagine and feel whatever I was
singing.
Then, one day, while participating in the choir, in the
middle of a song, God said, "You know how to feel it.
Now, I want you to learn how to see it."
I thought, "Ok. But, I have no clue how to do that."
God said, "Find a spot on the wall and focus. Imagine a
picture of Jesus, whatever you envision him to look
like. Do you see it?"
"Yes, I see it."
"What is he doing?"
"He's suppose to be doing something? I don't know."
"Well, look."
I looked up, at that picture of Jesus, and studied it
for a few seconds, to see whatever I might see.
Honestly, I had no idea what I was suppose to be looking
for. But, God said to look.
Keep in mind, we were still standing in the choir ~
singing. Then, suddenly, I noticed Jesus changed from a
portrait to a full body image, making him appear farther
away. He was holding something. But, I couldn't make out
what it was. So, I watched closely.
Now, keep in mind, I was on live television, in that
choir. I have no idea if I kept singing or not. But, the
image gradually became closer and closer. I thought,
maybe Jesus was carrying a lamb. But, wait. Oh, no! Oh,
NO! It was my baby!!!
I do not know if or how I maintained composer. I must
have done ok, being that I didn't get scolded for
messing up the TV program. But, my knees felt so weak
that I don't know how I even remained standing. Jesus
had my baby in his arms and he was giving her back to
me. Tears rolled and flowed, and must have turned into
an avalanche. Jesus, Jesus, ... Jesus had become My Lamb
and I will never be the same again!
My God is not a God of Hell, Fire, and Brimstone. He is
a God of Love. Love is who He is. He has saved us. He
continues to save us. And, HE will save us. And, now, I
have the memory of a true salvation experience and I
pray God gives me the bodily function to always remember
the Joy of My Salvation!
And, now that I 'know' God's love, I love God enough to
live for Him and, through hard times and all, I can be a
bridge that won't fall ~ because, the joy of the Lord is
my strength.
Yet, each Christmas, all else aside, one of my favorite
places is to return to Bethlehem, to envision caring for
God's baby. God gave an even greater love than Himself.
He gave His Son. It's the least we can do, to love him,
too.
© 2003 by Joyce C. Lock
http://my.homewithgod.com/blessingsandlessons/
