So, I once thought that I was born a Christian, like it was hereditary or something. Ok, not really. But I don’t remember a time when I didn’t know the name of Jesus, or not believe that he died on the cross for my sins. As I said in my bio, I asked Jesus to come into my heart at the age of four, so you’d think by the title of this blog I’d be done at this point.
The story doesn’t end there. In fact, it’s really only beginning.
When most people are asked about when their faith really developed or grew, they usually talk about their “mountain top” experiences with Christianity, as if you’d find the word “mountain top” in the concordance of your Bible. These experiences often include times spent around a campfire, or large prayer meetings, “crusades”, revivals, missions trips, and even training camps. I must admit, I’ve been privy to these experiences, and I’m so glad I had them. It really is so cool that God manifests Himself when many believers join together!
But I’ve often found that the times I’m so thankful for, are the ones where I look back and see where God has lead my life, and that throughout all my striving (like Jacob) God’s been manipulating the steering wheel. He does this so subtly, and then years later, I find that it wasn’t subtle at all!
The greatest example is my relationship with my husband. Scott and I met in the late winter of 2002 at a bar in Boston. I had gone there with a couple friends, who were there to meet up with another friend from college (who happened to be Scott’s sister). This friend had invited her brother and his buddy to come along, although they vowed to stay away from all her friends. Well, by the end of the night, Scott and I had exchanged phone numbers, and had our first (and only) date the following weekend. During the date, I ranted about the white-picket life I was going to live, as Scott tried to be such a gentleman. After that date we spoke a few times over the phone, but it fizzled out.
That same spring I went out on a date with another guy (to the Red Sox), and that date turned into ten months. I knew from the beginning that we had one huge thing in common… we both LOVED baseball, and even more, we both LOVED the Red Sox. But there was something we didn’t have in common, which should have been a big red flag, and that was that he didn’t go to church, nor did he ever really want to discuss anything theological, or even how things affected him spiritually. I found that I was going to church alone, and then heading to his baseball games afterward. In the beginning, the relationship was great, we never fought, and we always had a great time. But as time went on, I felt like I was suffocating, and completely stifled. Any flame the Holy Spirit tried to ignite got snuffed out with the blank looks I got after talking about the last sermon I heard.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I didn’t feel like I had a tight relationship with Jesus, but I couldn’t see not having a relationship with Him at all. Furthermore, I wasn’t going to be a wife who goes to church alone with her kids. That’s not how I was raised, and I couldn’t see doing it any other way. I knew that I’d sway in one direction or the other, and I wasn’t willing to give up the longest relationship I’d ever had with a man, that is, Jesus. So, one day I did it. I went over to his place, explained why I couldn’t date him anymore, we cried, and I left. And he called. And called. It was one of the more painful experiences of my life. After all, it was the longest relationship I’d had with a guy.
Interestingly enough, Scott’s sister began attending my small group at a church in Boston which I hadn’t attended in a while due to internships. When I returned to small group, I got paired up as prayer partners with her. (If that’s not divine, I don’t know what is.) Later that same year, Scott and I inevitably met up again. This time, neither of us held any sort of front, or facade. We admitted who we were, just a couple of people who wanted to know Jesus, but we trip all over ourselves in the process (which we all still continue to do). In December of the following year, we were engaged, and by June of 2005, we were married.
It didn’t seem like a whirlwind (family and friends may differ), but as I look back on what God did, I’m amazed. He got me to the point where I admitted that He was my priority, and then He blessed me with a godly man. The first time around wasn’t the right timing (it was still God’s timing), but He was still preparing us (even though preparation included heartache on my end.)
And so it is through the reflections on my past that I’ve seen the still small way the Holy Spirit woos me into a greater relationship with Him.
