But that doesn't mean that I was always "all in." People come to their own spiritual awakening and recognize the voice of Jesus calling them on their own time. For me, it was relatively early on. I remember making the decision to be saved and baptized and asking my mom, after I'd prayed the prayer and was waiting on baptizing, if I would still go to heaven if I died before I had a chance to be baptized. I was ready for a new life, at the tender age of 8. I went through several re-dedications since then, and probably will continue to do so, as happens with the human nature, but my salvation is secured.
I used to think that my story wasn't that important because Jesus has always been there. But when I think back, I think of one key moment when I first FELT Him there. (And I realize that my story DOES matter, but, that's another... well... story.)
My friend Holly and I were at Camp Caswell as teens. If you knew Holly and I at that time, you would know that we were your typical teenage girls: absolutely 100% unquestionably obsessed with boys. We even had a rating system on how cute a guy was that was totally and completely arbitrary.
Mongoose = gorgeous. So, if you've never seen a mongoose, THIS is what we considered to be the most desirable features of the opposite sex:
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| Isn't he, like, all the rage? |
But I digress.
I just wanted to make the point that BOYS, in all their glory, was what was on our minds during what was supposed to be a camp experience aimed toward getting our hearts set on Christ.
Towards the end of the week, when we had effectively categorized all of the male species in the area to their appropriate animal counterpart, we were in a worship service. The place was packed. It was hot. The excitement was palpable. I don't remember what the song was, but we were in worship, all singing, raising a joyful noise, when Holly grabbed my hand (then promptly wiped it on my own shorts and then grabbed it again, because my hands were always sweaty) and whispered excitedly "He's HERE!"
I looked around, excited. A mongoose siting. Was he close, was he in our row, was he *gasp* looking at us????
That's when I looked to Holly for more direction and noticed that her eyes were closed. How could she see him if her eyes were closed? Which HIM was it?? Was it the guy we'd nicknamed JCC (short for Jimmy Crack Corn... oh yeah... we also had nicknamed all the mongooses)??? Was it the guy who had played a 3 Doors Down Song on his guitar for us on the porch one night??? Was it the one that had stood in front of us in the breakfast line???
I sharply elbowed her.
"WHO's here???"
Without opening her eyes, she smiled. "Him."
Oh. It took me a second. I looked around again. Most of the mongooses had closed eyes. So did the mosquitoes, despite the fact that they were clearly less desirable. Heck, even the poor unfortunate koalas had their eyes closed. (*Side note: we must have had a thing for animals indigenous to Australia.)
I had to check myself. HE was here, and clearly I was the only one more focused on other things.
And then, with my sweaty hand still clasped in Holly's, I closed my eyes. I listened. I could FEEL it. HE was HERE.
I'd been saved. My eternal soul was cleared. But I had never, never, felt the presence like I did that night. The mongooses, the mosquitoes, the koalas, the JCC's, the guy with his guitar, the breakfast line guy, the uncomfortably sweaty hand... they faded away. I got the experience for the first time that I call "God hugs." Nothing else mattered, and my joyful noise rose.
I've experienced it many times again since then, and Easter Sunday, I was so overcome by it, I couldn't even sing. I had to fight tears. It was beautiful, and I was reminded of my night at Caswell because I was sitting beside a young man, probably 10 or 11 years old, during the service. I know what it's like to be that age and sit in a packed room with lots of adults talking about adult stuff, like transgressions and servitude and redemption. I know what it's like to doodle, with half an ear open for what I could possibly gain from the guy in the front giving a speech. Even though I am content, as a preteen, with listening to this guy, and I know I'm doing what my parents want me to do, I am still counting down the time, listening to my rumbling belly. Doesn't that preacher guy know it's time to eat?
And then the service is ending and the music starts. It's a familiar song to me. I think, man, this song is kinda heavy for a big crowd to sing, but I like this song. I start to sing along. The others start to fade. He's here.
Then.
This little voice beside me starts singing along. Louder. Louder. Louder. Hands up. This 10 or 11 year old boy, eyes closed, belting out the words to "What A Beautiful Name."
He's here.
I try to keep singing. I close my eyes.
He's here.
Tears start to well up as I listen to this little voice beside me.
He's here.
I start to realize how much this young man must be exposed to the beautiful truths of Jesus, that he knows this song, that he knows the feelings, that he knows... He knows...
He's here.
I want that for Ella. She picks up on everything. She loves church, she loves to pray (and I'm okay with her ending her prayers with "a-sucker" because "amen" is what the adults say, she likes suckers, so she wants to say "a-sucker"), she loves to sing... she loves God. I want her to feel Him, to know He's here always, not just when we're in deep worship or the spiritual high of an amazing service.
So I tell you, I feel Him more often now. At home, in the car, at work... I feel Him. He's here. I hear so often that church is not needed for salvation, and I agree, to a point. What is needed for salvation is a relationship, a commitment, and the attestation that Jesus Christ is your personal savior. However, if you want to feel Him, and know that He's here all the time, I invite you to find a church that is LIVING. I invite you to come with me, to experience LIVE worship, LIVE praise, LIVE renewal.
So many people are attending dead churches. That's why they don't think it matters, that church matters. It's because they can't feel Him. They don't know He's here, they are going through the motions. Everything is routine.
But a LIVING church makes the difference. It's the kind of place you want to serve in, the kind of place you want to be, any day of the week, not just Sunday. It's the kind of place where relationships are built and maintained, where people love you, despite. Despite your differences, despite your past, despite your sin.
Despite your story.
Because Jesus gives you a new story. So ask yourself: is your new story a story of LIVING, or one of wheels spinning, head down, going through the motions? You were meant for more. You were meant to LIVE.
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