Chapter Two

After that supernatural intervention I was left with a new kind of hunger, an insatiable desire to know more about God. When I asked my mother what she knew about the Lord, she said that she didn’t believe in any of that. Then her boyfriend chimed in that he didn’t like church people either. He went on a rant about how evil they were, and how the way they acted PROVED there was no God. He said that “All church people want is your money, and to look down on you ‘cause they think they’re better than everybody else!” I didn’t know anything about church people, but I knew that the encounter I’d experienced was real, God loved me enough to save my life, and now I needed to know more.

Accepting that it was a futile effort to learn anything about the Lord from those two, I decided I’d go out on a search for people who not only believed in God but knew Him personally. So when the weekend arrived I planned to begin an investigation, into the various churches in our small town.

Now these were different times, and it was commonplace back then for parents to tell their kids to go out and play, and not expect them back for hours. So on the weekends especially, I knew I could be gone all day, without anyone even noticing. I was fairly certain though, that if I were caught inside of a church building, or talking to church people, my mom’s boyfriend would take it as a personal attack on him, and retaliate. So I decided it best not to mention where I was going, or to ever bring up God in that house again.

Then early on Sunday morning I walked down the road into town, and went into the first church I came to. I hadn’t until this moment thought about the clothes I was wearing, but as I walked inside I realized that the people were all dressed up in their Sunday best. I felt nervous and out of place as I took a seat on the back row, hoping not to be noticed. After some time of the towns people having some social interaction, the sermon began, and I leaned in to listen to what he had to say. Pretty quickly however, I knew I wasn’t connecting with the things the preacher was saying, and I couldn’t feel the Presence I’d encountered that day, so I couldn’t see any reason to stay, or talk to any of the people. So about midway through the service, I just got up and went home. The next Sunday I tried a different church a little farther into town, and again I quickly decided God wasn’t there either. So I stayed for a while on the back row, and then slipped out quietly. At this point I thought that maybe the problem with the church people my mom’s boyfriend had met, was that they didn’t actually know God, just how to have a church service. One thing I’d seen so far, was that they sure knew how to pass a basket, and ask for money. Even at such a young age I could see that KNOWING God, and going about the business of having church, were two very different things. But feeling certain that someone out there had to have had a similar experience to mine, and have some answers, I continued to venture out even farther on that following weekend. This time I walked for miles. I walked out along the highway, and out along the interstate. I’d seen a church out there before, on the way to my grandma’s house. As I walked the long distance, I thought about her and the feeling of being there. I loved that moment of stepping into her home, the smell of coffee brewing, while biscuits and gravy were cooking on the stove. It was nothing like life with my mom. When I knew I was on my way there I would watch intently trying to memorize every turn, because secretly I fantasized about one day running away, and going there to visit. I knew I couldn’t live at my grandma’s house, but I thought I could come over sometimes and visit, while living out in woods somewhere like PiPi Longstocking. The smell of coffee still comforts me to this day. I’d walk in and get greeted with a smile, hugs and a warm meal. I remember just soaking in the normalcy of it all, before she’d head off to work and the boys (my mom’s little brothers) would go off to school. Not that I knew what normal was…it just seemed more like, what life was suppose to be. Grandma always lived in the same place, and that made me feel safe. Life with my mom on the other hand, was a roller coaster ride that after a time, just made me sick and tired. My mom would move us at least once a school year, which made me forever the new kid in class. Where ever we landed I had to adapt quickly, and try to fit in. By the time I’d make some friends and the kids would start to get used to me, she’d move us again. Looking back I can understand why the kids at school had a hard time accepting me. My mom kept my hair incredibly short, like a boys hair cut. I didn’t have nice clothes like most of the other kids, and my shoes usually had holes in them. I think the kids rejected me, at least in part, because I made them uncomfortable. We moved from one rural area to another pretty often, while most of the kids in these small towns, had grown up their whole lives together. I remember a lot of their mocking had to do with the fact that I was poor, and looked like a little boy. It hurt me a great deal that just the sight of me, seemed to upset them so much. The rejection at school was then compounded by the fact I saw that same look of disgust in the eyes of my mother and her boyfriend. It imprinted on my heart and mind that there was something wrong with me. Something ugly, and that I simply didn’t belong anywhere. But I had no power to do anything about it, so I’d just look down and away, ashamed to be such an outsider at home and in public. I wanted to just disappear, vanish, go away. You would have thought I’d become accustom to it, but I never did. The most painful thing however, wasn’t the rejection of the school children or their joking at my expense, but when I saw other kids with their parents. I was fascinated by how they were loved and cared for. My heart ached for that feeling of being loved, of belonging. I spend hours contemplating what it was about me that caused my own father to not want me, and my mother to be so angry at just the sight of me, or the sound of my voice. These concerns stayed at the forefront of my mind, and everything seemed to lead me back to this same contemplation of thought. I had no ability to focus in any given situation, because these questions were ever present, and all consuming. What was it about me? What could I do about it? What was going to happen? In what scenario could things ever get better? I remember coming to the conclusion that if I were only beautiful, they’d love and accept me. So that became my hearts desire.

I wonder if maybe my mother wasn’t so much angry with me, just about the way her life had turned out. Was my birth a turning point? Could she trace everything that had gone wrong in her life, to my conception? I can’t really say for sure, but I suppose that keeping my hair short, could’ve been her way of protecting me, from the type of men who like to find themselves alone with little girls. Maybe my mom thought if I looked like a rough unkept little boy, it would keep that type of predator away. It didn’t, but maybe that’s what she thought. Strangely however, those things had little significance, in light of the encounter I’d experienced that day. Now I knew that Someone DID LOVE ME and the “search and understand” mission I was on became my priority. So when Sunday morning finally arrived, I woke up at the crack of dawn, and made my way out to the church on the interstate. I got there a few minutes early, tired and thirsty from the walk. So as soon as I entered the building, I went to find a water fountain for a drink, then settled in on the back row. Right away I noticed that the energy that emanated through the building, and the people there were different. They had a peace about them, and were genuinely loving toward one another. Then the music began and God’s very real and tangible Presence filled that place. Within moments, the Holy Spirit had taken over the room. Tears of joy streamed down my face. I felt like I had come home, but to no home I’d ever known. After some time caught up in this celebration of God’s people, I listened intently to the sermon about Salvation. The pastor spoke right to my heart as he taught us about surrendering our lives to Jesus, being baptized in water and then receiving the Holy Spirit, who would comfort us in all our troubles. Everything he said resonated with my spirit. I was so excited to give my life to Jesus, that I almost jumped up and yelled out “YES! SIGN ME UP!” But using as much restraint as my 8 yr old body could muster, I was able to to wait until the end of the sermon, to go find the pastor. When the service came to a close and church let out, there were people heading toward the parking lot, some gathering in small groups greeting one another, and some had congregated around the podium to speak directly to the pastor. In time I was able to get down to the front, working my way through all of the adults who surrounded him, and then finally I stood right beside the pastor who’d preached, waiting… He spoke to one person after another, shaking hands and giving hugs, and periodically giving in to a deep heartfelt laugh…then he’d turn to speak to yet another adult. My impatience grew as this pattern continued to repeat itself. After a while the church began to empty, and I just kept hoping he’d look down and acknowledge me, but he didn’t. I waited a bit longer, afraid to interrupt his conversations, but still he didn’t look down. So finally I reached up to the bottom of his suit jacket, and gave it a couple tugs. He turned, then seeing nothing at his eye level, looked down and saw me standing there gazing up at him. He seemed a bit startled at my being a short little young person. He looked around as if to see who I belonged to, then knelt down on one knee and made eye contact. A smiled a smile spread across his handsome face, as he greeted me with a warm “Well hello, I’ve never seen you before.” I cleared my throat and swallowed hard, before speaking up to say very matter of factly, “Sir, I want to give my life to Jesus and be baptized!” I believe he was caught off guard by my sudden declaration, because he stared blankly for a moment, blinking on occasion, then he raised up to scan the crowd and again try to determine who I’d come to church with. Seeing no one who seemed to claim me, he said “Oh well that’s wonderful…let’s just find your parents.” I interrupted abruptly and said “NO! They’re not here. They don’t believe in God, but I do, and I NEED to be baptized.” This kind man seemed confused, then took a deep surrendering breath, and on exhale said, “Ok, let’s sit down and talk for a minute.” I agreed with a simple, “Ok” as he took my hand and lead me to a pew. We sat down and he turned to face me, then with a serious look on his face he said, “Young lady…do you believe that Jesus is the Son of God?” I nodded confidently, as he continued, “Was born of a virgin, then crucified on the cross to die for your sins?” I responded with a simple but certain “YES.” He went on to say, “And that He was laid to rest in a tomb, but then raised back to life, on the third day overcoming death?” Again I nodded. Then he said “Well let me ask you, do you believe you need forgiveness, and the sacrifice that was made for you?” I looked down at the floor and spent a long moment going back through my mind, thinking of all the times I’d lied. I thought of the time I had stolen another child’s lunch at school, and of how guilty I felt about it when I got caught. I thought of all the things that had been done and said to me to me, that made me sad. Things that made me feel ashamed. I thought of how undeserving I felt for Jesus to love me, and to have died for my sins…then with tears welling up in my eyes, I pushed past the lump in my throat to respond with an adamant “YES. I know I need to be forgiven, and I want to give my life to Jesus.” Then as my head fell, and tears came down my cheeks I whispered, “Please baptize me Sir.”

The pastor reached his hand out towards me, gently lifted my chin, and looked into my eyes. Then for a moment he seemed to get lost in thought, as he cast his gaze out over my shoulder. Then as if returning to the present, he said “Ok…can you come back next Sunday?” I was overjoyed as I jumped up and gave him the biggest hug, and said “I’ll be here Sir! Thank you!”

On the next Sunday when I returned, everyone in the church seemed to know why I was there, and that this was a special day. People greeted me curiously, but with a warmth and love that I hadn’t seen much of out in the world. The pastor asked me if there was anyone I’d like to call, but I said “No…there’s no one.” So we proceeded to the back of the building behind the platform, where he handed me off to a woman who was there, who lead me to a private area where I got changed into a white oversized jumpsuit. She was kind enough to help me adjust things, and manage the size difference, while the pastor was announcing that there was a baptism today. Then the woman who’d lead me to the dressing area, guided me to the baptismal pool where the water was ready, then she helped me down several steps into the pool. After some time of the pastor speaking to the congregation, then saying a prayer…he laid me back, submerging me into the water in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, then lifted me up again. The feeling I had coming out of that water, was the same as the day I’d been introduced to the Lord, on the day I’d planned to die. Again I started to glow with the Father’s LOVE. Applause erupted throughout the church building, as everyone celebrated this momentous occasion. I hadn’t had birthday parties as a kid, but this moment has always stood out in my mind as what one would’ve been like. My biological family seemed to see my coming into the world, as the demise of everything they’d hoped for my mother, but my rebirth was a convivial event. I stepped out of the pool feeling elated, as I walked back into that same private area to change back into my clothes. When I joined everyone in the sanctuary, some of the men from the church walked me to a chair in the front between the podium and all of the pews, and sat me down. There they surrounded me, explained that they would be praying and asking that I receive the baptism of the Holy Spirit, then they did just that. I remember feeling that same warmth that I’d felt before, washing over my body then radiating from within. It felt like electricity flowed through their hands in through the top of my head and then on through my entire body until my hands and feet lit up burning hot. Peace enveloped my whole being, as a sort of Divine effervescence took hold. For the first time in my life I felt as though I belonged. That was the last time I went to that church because just a few days later we moved again, but my life was never the same. God became my new best friend. Talking to Him was the first thing I did in the morning, and the last thing I did at night. The places I lived and people in my life were in a constant state of flux, yet I was no longer alone. God is home to me.