The 4th Strand Of The Tapestry

...It's ironic that the Lord would let me be blessed in any way by a female televangelist. But, then, He can do anything, any old way He wants to! Today, I believe and attend a church that believes the Bible is not antiquated in its exhortation that women should not teach and hold authority over men.

But this testimony isn't really about that, is it?

My testimony is ironic in more ways than that. The nature of it -- the consciousness of my conversion, the starkness of the contrast between the old me and the new creature are all things for which I'm thankful. The irony is that now that I know Truth and am compelled by His love to walk in the Light, my charge is to raise my children in such a way that they will not know such a watershed moment. Isn't that strange?

I'm thankful for my testimony because it was a watershed for me. Salvation skipped a generation down my branch of the family tree, so the fact that I've had to, "leave father and mother and sister for the sake of Christ," only deepens the sense of treasure for me. The most amazing thing about my testimony is not me or my circumstances -- it is the understanding that the Creator of the universe regarded a speck of dust; a vapor; a rebel against His holiness. And what's more, in His regard for what He has created, He pursues and quickens countless other millions of people just like me and performs a miracle for each and every one: salvation and the indwelling presence of the Holy Spirit. It is a miracle. It is my very favorite miracle, and it lasts forever and ever.

So far in my testimony, I've written of the various introductions He made of Himself to me. Here, I saw Him taking care of His own, and I recognized those who were His by the love they showed to one another and to me. And here, though I witnessed a counterfeit, I nonetheless recognized the virtue in assembling together to spur one another on to good deeds. And here, I drank in the milk of His Gospel much the same way a newborn is nourished at her mother's breast without any understanding of the nutritional components of the life-building food source.

But those things were not enough to save my soul from hell where my nature and my flagrant rebellion had earned me a place for all eternity. I needed to be shown my sin and I needed to repent. This happened in a moment and then continued for many moments afterward -- and to this day.

A few weeks before the moment of my rebirth, a close relation had traveled north for a visit to our home. This relation and I were close in the sense that we had a lot of history together, but our relationship had always been a little strained. During the long weekend visit, egos and expectations got in the way and by the 2nd night of our time together we were engaged in the most horrific argument I'd had as an adult. It started over something silly like my offense at her dislike of what we made for dinner. Admittedly, it wasn't fancy -- but we'd been without an income for over half a year. How dare she complain!

I can't remember the details really. I just remember the contempt. The ferocious anger. The rash accusations. The shrill volume. The stubborn stand. The selfishness. The raw ugliness. The stunned look of disbelief on Husband's face as he watched the exchange.

If it sounds like I'm blaming this relation, well, it's because I did! And I continued to blame her for the next week or so. I was completely confident in heaping all responsibility on her...until the Holy Spirit began to convict me of my sin. He was holding up a mirror to me in this relation; everything I saw in her was true of me too. I'm no longer talking about the specifics of this one fight; the Holy Spirit was dealing with me on the more profound issue of my very nature. It was a strange, new thought for me, because in all my life, you know...I'd never been wrong...about anything.

Here is where the strands of this tapestry begin to weave together. On one of the Saturday mornings when Husband took Fifi away for the morning, I was feeling a little low and spent the morning throwing myself the biggest pity party ever! I remember vividly the 5x7 portrait of my beloved Dad (who was alive and well one state away) that hung in our short hallway. I recall staring at it as if I believed that the picture would come alive and talk with me if I looked at it long enough. Suddenly I became acutely aware of my unbelief, and more specifically in the moment -- my inability to believe. And I blamed my Dad. He was, after all, the "black sheep," the prodigal son, the Hebrews 6 rebel, the goat -- the tare.

So, on with my pity party! I didn't have any balloons or streamers, but I did allow myself a good cry -- a loud, uninhibited, endorphine-pumpin' good cry. I cried for my lonliness. I cried for my hopelessness. I cried for my sense of existential despair. I did not understand at the time that what I was really crying for was the same emptiness -- the same deep need that resides in every human being. My wonderful husband couldn't fill it. My baby couldn't more than pacify it. My Aunt #2 later explained it as a cross-shaped vacuum in the human heart that can only be filled by the work of Christ on that tree at Calvary.

Then I did something that changed everything. I took off my sandals, as it were, and approached the burning bush. I got down on my knees and prayed to a God that I didn't even believe in. I poured out my disappointment. I cried about my need. Me! Me! Me! It was still. all. about. Me! (He's a remarkably patient God.) And then I thought of the cousins. Their witness was so strong. I told the Hearer of my prayer, "I want some of that peace! I want that peace that I see my cousins have!"

And almost before I finished my thought, my tears had ceased and my whole self was calmed. It wasn't a tapering off, or a gradual composure; it was a strikingly sudden end to what had been one of my very best hysterical crying jags. I paused for a second and tried to take in what was happening...and decided, "No. I'm not done."

Yes, I was that narcissistic. I was having a good cry and I wasn't going to be short changed! So I thought and I thought and I tried to muster up some more tears. I was a junkie looking for another rush of that hollowed-out feeling that comes from a full-body sob. And then...nothing. Nothing? Nothing! How could that be? I wanted to cry, and I was good at it. But, I had no more tears, no more unrest because I had just asked my Creator for peace. And peace is what I got. At least in that moment...

The last strand of God's salvation tapestry for me is here.