So, I sit here at my desk, and I begin to think a bunch of thoughts. I know from experience that many times, I feel the need to write, yet a whirlwind of thoughts is flying out of control inside of my head. I don't know why I am like this, but I do know that I was born to write. I am unsure as to where to start; so, I will begin where I know best - my life. I have a myriad of memories to tell the world, but especially, I want my children and grandchildren to read and remember my life. I believe it is the job of the parent to hand down to the child and grandchild the legacy of their being, their existence.
I start with a very special memory, dear to my heart. It all was around my 7th birthday, and it is my salvation experience. I have memories of being a talkative little girl. I loved to talk ALL of the time, and many many days this would get me in trouble in school. I was in 1st grade, and I had not caught onto the concept that I was to stay in my desk and do my seat-work and not worry what my friends were doing. My famous thing to do was get up out of my seat when the teacher left the room and visit my various friends around the room. No matter how many times my kite was put on the board or I lost my recess, I still didn't get it. Along with these things, my teacher, Miss Hill, would write a letter in my steno pad to show my parents. I think I would have caught on had I given those notes to my dad and mom! They definitely would have made sure that I realized that this was unacceptable behaviour! The only drawback was, I knew the rule in our household, and that was if I was in trouble in school, I certainly would be reminded of that punishment on my seat of understanding. You can relate to a 7 year old girl as she would be terrified to receive such action! :-) I would simply tear out the note in my steno pad and re-write my homework. Then, as smart as my mind was at the time, I would stuff the note,which soon became notes, into the back of my closet!
We car-pooled with a bunch of kids in my church, and this certain teen boy saw me tearing out the note one day on the way home from school. He took it upon himself to tell my mom as it was her turn to drive that afternoon. I knew as soon as she looked in that rear-view mirror that I was in DEEP trouble when I got home. I used to BEG her not to tell my dad! I could kind of handle her punishment, but my dad disciplined a little more and boy, did it hurt! :-) I remember being confused that afternoon when my dad knocked on my bedroom door and he just had his Bible. Granted, I was a little relieved, but it was kind of confusing. He sat down on my bed, and with tears in his eyes, he asked me if I knew that I would go to Heaven one day. I immediately said, "Oh, yes, Daddy! I know that I'm going!" He then responded with a, "Tell me how you know." I was sure I had the right answer when I simply said, "Because we go to church and you are a deacon and you and mommy are going; so I'm going!" I smiled because I really thought I was smart. He then told me that he knew what I had been doing. He asked me if I thought I did wrong. I bowed my head and shook my head knowing in my heart that he was disappointed. I knew I was doing wrong, but I simply did not care. He pointed out to me that I had been doing an awful lot of lying lately. He then asked me to read the verse in the Bible, Revelation 21:8, "But the fearful, and unbelieving, and the abominable, and murderers, and whoremongers, and sorcerers, and idolaters, and all liars, shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone: which is the second death." I read that verse, and then it occurred to me that I was a liar. My dad didn't tell me that I was. I believe the Holy Spirit made me aware of the problem. I remember my dad going through several verses and having me to read each and every one of them. He explained thoroughly how God loved me and He didn't want me to go to a place called HELL. It was topped off when my dad showed me a picture of a fire, and he then explained to me what HELL was like. I had a wild imagination, and I knew in my heart that I didn't want to go to that place. I don't believe my dad was trying to scare me into Heaven; he just came down to my level showing me visuals. I remember him showing me the Wordless Book as well and explaining it to me. Yes, I had sung that song many times in Sunday School, but I never before thought it referred to me. I knelt beside my bed, and my dad told me to ask Jesus to come into my heart. I don't recall the exact words I spoke that afternoon, but I remember simply asking Jesus to come into my heart and save me and take me to HEAVEN when I died. I remember saying that I didn't want to go to HELL but I wanted to go to HEAVEN. Just as simple as a child can, I prayed my own little prayer that day. I remember standing up, and I don't believe that feelings show that you are a Christian, but I had feelings that day. I remember feeling like I was walking on a cloud as I went into the other room and told my mom. She hugged me tightly, and I remember sitting down to dinner just feeling as if I was on top of the world. My dad tells me to this day that he remembers my countenance changing, and soon after, I began getting the concept of obeying and telling the truth. No, I didn't change overnight, but as a 7 year old can, I changed throughout the course of the year. By the time I was in 3rd grade, I remember receiving a CHARACTER award for having great character. I began to really buckle down and want to learn. I remember being hungry for learning. You may think this is silly, but I believe in my heart that I did change that day. I may not have lived a life full of sin, dropped to my knees at an altar and ask for forgiveness, but I still was a sinner like anyone else.
I want everyone to know that growing up in a Christian home didn't stop me from experiencing life. We can get to a point where we shield our children way too much, then they go out in the world and stumble and fall flat on their faces. We scratch our heads and wonder what happened. Alot of children who grow up in a Christian home really think they are saved, but in the end, they were "riding on their parents coat-tails." They grow up and wonder why life isn't working out for them, and in the end, they really aren't saved. Oh, they may give a testimony of "being saved at the age of 4 or 5" but some of the time, they are reciting what they learned all of their life. I know for sure that I was saved that day. My dad would tell you that he prayed with me when I was 5, but my mind has no memory of that. I believe him, but I am forever grateful that he took the time to listen to the Holy Spirit's prompting to just talk to me again at that time. That day is ingrained in my memory forever. I will tell you that I doubted my salvation a few times throughout my teen years, but that's another story for another time. I always look back at December 7, 1987, as the day I invited Jesus into my heart. And there's my heart, my greatest story.
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