Everyone believes in something.Thus, having invited Jesus into our hearts, we begin to experience Him; for which we then "know" this isn't like other belief systems. Then, as we welcome Jesus also into our daily lives, we begin the process of also becoming "Christ-like" ... and discover that Jesus is real in all ways.
During a church revival, I came under
conviction and asked many questions, on the way home. I
remember the fear of 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 in 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 seemed 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, I didn't expect the pastor's
office to be standing room only filled with wall to wall
preachers. 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 (error) 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.
Thus, 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. Consequently, 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',
as there didn't appear to be another out. To 'take my
chances with God' didn't seem to be a viable option. With death
or prison the only other solutions and with the support of family
and a team of officers, I took a flying leap into the unknown,
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 began to adopt 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.
In time, 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 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.
Fully understanding that I deserved for this baby to die, I was prepared to accept it. However, 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 the relationship between Him and my husband. The baby didn't yet know me. So, she would not know to suffer my loss, as was my thinking. 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 for most of the first 24 hours. Between each spurt of alertness, I watched people carefully, trying to determine if they were telling me the truth. Finally, pinning a nurse down I 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 injure the baby), they would bring her to my room. Except for being in an incubator the first days, they were taking precautionary measures because she was so small, and 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 my strength was still at the stage of crawling to get up the stairs.
Finally, I determined that Satan was never going to allow us to be healthy to go to church again, and I knew just the remedy for that. If neither of us were running a temperature, we were going to church no matter how bad we looked or felt.
It was then that things started improving. Within six months, baby and I were able to attend church regularly and I joined 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 see it."
I thought, "Ok. But, I have no clue how to do that."
God said, "Find a spot on the wall and focus. Envision seeing Jesus."
"But, all we have are pictures. I don't know what he looks like."
"Whatever you envision him to look like will be fine. Do you see it?"
..."Yes, I see it."
"What is he doing?"
"He's supposed 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 supposed to be looking for, but God had 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, I was on live television in that choir. I have no idea if I kept singing or not, but, the image gradually came closer and closer.
I thought, maybe Jesus was carrying a lamb. Yes ... it's ... it's a lamb. Ok. But, wait. The image is a little fuzzy. Something is happening. It's transforming. What is it?
I do not know if or how I maintained composure. I must have done okay, being that I didn't get scolded for messing up the televised 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. Now I have the memory of a true salvation experience. I pray God grants me the mental capacity to always remember the Joy of My Salvation!
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.
© by Joyce C. Lock
http://iam.homewithGod.com/glimpsesofgod/
This testimony may be used in its entirety, with credits in tact, for non-profit ministering purposes.