Raised in a home where the words Jesus, Bible, and saved were common terms I guess you could say I was raised Christian. We always went to church on Sundays, said grace before meals, and prayed before bed. No, I never walked an aisle, or raised my hand, and couldn’t even tell you when I became a believer in Christ because I have believed since I can remember.
Yet as I grew older those words became too common. I could find you any passage in the Bible. I loved Jesus. And I knew the whole story by heart—Jesus was born of a virgin. He lived a sinless life only to be repaid by being hung on a cross, and arose three days later.
I found myself singing hymns on Sunday, but too busy with my unsaved friends for devotions during the week. Sure I was saved and truly believed that Jesus died on the cross for me, but I wasn’t “walking in the light.”
Years passed and I thought everything was under control with my everyday life and my spiritual life. What I didn’t realize was that I didn’t and was about to find out. One day my old friends didn’t fit when I tried them on. I found that the music I listened to not only didn’t bring glory to God, it wasn’t even godly. The television shows I watched without missing one episode I now deemed inappropriate. Yet as I morphed from caterpillar to butterfly my under control life spun out of reach.
Looking back I know the only way I made it through was by the grace of God. During this time the words, prayers, and messages I took for granted came alive in my mind. One night the story I repeated mechanically for years I now couldn’t fathom.
To think that an omnipotent, omnipresent, omniscient God gave His one and only Son sent my mind reeling. He came to a sin-infested earth as an unimportant newborn, born to a virgin and her betrothed in a damp stable where the only ones to witness this miracle were some barn animals. They called Him Jesus. He grew to make the blind see, the deaf hear, and the dead to rise again. Yet the people turned, and beat Him until He was unrecognizable. Soldiers showed a crown of thorns into Christ’s sweating brow, and nailed Him to a tree for me. He became the lamb led to slaughter that had done nothing to take away the sins of the world. But the grave couldn’t contain Him, and He arose three days later.
The words that I write still send goose bumps creeping over my arms and legs. At times tears spring to my eyes because the message is tangible. I can almost see it. In that defining moment I began a different walk with Christ. It is an everyday struggle, an uphill battle, but I know I can make it, as long as He holds my hand.
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