Paula 11/05/2010
I doubt “coming to the Lord,” “getting saved,” or becoming “born again” as they call it in Christian circles, is ever an easy decision for a person to make. At least, it wasn’t for me. How can we even be sure God is real and exists at all? How do we know He isn’t just a figment of some ancient caveman’s imagination, conjured up beside a roaring bonfire in order to explain the unexplainable?Growing up in a loosely Catholic family (“loosely Catholic” being the operative phrase here), the notion that God actually did exist fascinated me. As a child I wanted to believe a magnificent God sat regally enthroned, surrounded by angels, in a place called Heaven. But how could I believe in something I couldn’t see or touch? I spent years searching for proof of God’s existence, and struggling to fill the hollow emptiness that many traditional religions left inside my heart whenever I explored them.
Two years after I married, I landed a job with the then Pacific Telephone Company in San Francisco. One day, in a monthly newsletter circulated by my department, I read that a group of people had begun to meet on Tuesdays and Thursdays for Bible study during lunch hour. At that time my search for God had led me down many dead-end roads, yet something—a longing that seemed to never be satisfied—always kept me from giving up. Then, too, I wanted to claim I’d read the Bible from cover to cover as literature. So, I thought, what the heck. I’d go and see what the study was all about. The following Tuesday I showed up at the meeting wearing my miniskirt, lit cigarette between my fingers, and my skeptical attitude that this would be yet another dead-end venture firmly in place.
Since my conversion, and maybe even before that, I’ve maintained that the Word of God, the Holy Bible, is a supernatural book. Though I didn’t realize it at the time, because of my intense longing, the Holy Spirit through scriptures had begun working overtime, gently but firmly wooing me, heart and soul, toward God’s son, Jesus. As I began studying Matthew’s gospel with this patient, loving, group of people, something wondrous began to bloom inside my spirit. Could God the Father, the Holy Spirit, and especially Jesus Christ, truly be everything Matthew wrote that they were—and are—so many centuries ago? The group absolutely believed so, yet I still wasn’t convinced. If God were real, He’d have to show himself to me in such a way that would leave not a trace of doubt in my mind. I wanted empirical evidence.
The prophet Jeremiah wrote: “And ye shall seek me, and find me, when ye shall search for me with all your heart.”
Well, I was seeking him, all right. With all my heart. But I had a big problem. Whenever I told my husband about my biblical adventures with the Bible study group, he got upset, afraid I was diving off the deep end, hand in hand with some weird new religious cult he wanted me to have nothing to do with. (This was the ‘70s, the age of the hippie movement, after all.) So, if I were to surrender my heart to Jesus by faith, I knew my life would drastically change and never be the same again. I would have to come to Him without my husband by my side, and possibly by doing so, ruin my marriage.
One Thursday afternoon after work and after Bible study, I left my office feeling especially drained. I was sick of arguing with myself, sick of worrying, holding back, and not believing. I went home to an empty house and knelt beside my bed to pray. “God,” I said, “if you’re truly there like the Bible says you are, then no matter what happens with my marriage I want to know You. I want to come to You through faith and by your grace, holding nothing back. If you want me, imperfect as I am, then I am completely and totally yours. Please forgive my sins and accept me as one of your own. I’m so tired of searching for You! Jesus, if you are real, then I want to know you. I finally and at last accept you as my Lord and Savior.”
The moment I spoke those words, the room began to fill with light, the most glorious and brilliant rays of comforting light I’d ever experienced. Overwhelmed, I began to cry, a cleansing stream of tears I couldn’t stem. My hands and feet began to tingle, and a soothing warmth passed through my body from my head to my toes, as if I’d just been immersed in a pool of calming bathwater. The splendid light and sensations persisted for quite some time. Part of me couldn’t believe this was actually happening, yet the part that had just had a born-again experience knew for certain that God had just shown Himself to me in a supernatural, miraculous way. I had the thought: One moment I was lost and separated from the One who created me, and now I am not. I know He is real because of what is happening. God Almighty has reached down and touched imperfect, stubborn Paula, just as I am, right where I am. And all it took was a simple act of faith. The Lord had been right there, ready and waiting for me to simply believe all along.
Long ago I’d asked God to prove Himself to me in such a way that I would be left with no doubts. At last I had no doubts whatsoever.
Pam 11/05/2010
I was raised is an agnostic home. My parents were good people but felt that if there was a God he surely wasn’t going to involve Himself in our petty concerns. He had bigger fish to fry. We are stuck here in this life, on our own, to do the best we can with limited resources. From a very early age I was sure my dear parents were wrong and that God did love and care about His children. I was just a little foggy on the details. So my search began.
It led me to New Age thought, Buddhism, Taoism, transcendentalism and existentialism. Interesting subjects but none of it felt right. My gut was telling me wrong, wrong, wrong. Then I met Paula, and she kindly suggested I try reading the Bible. What? The Bible! Stubborn mule fully engaged. That Christian stuff might be okay for her but I wanted nothing to do with it. I saw how candidates used their Christianity as political weapon. I saw how carefully extracted Bible verses were used to justify unjustifiable social positions. And what about those so-called Christians with more than one wife? Clearly, I could never be a Christian.
Yet the stubborn mule was moved along her journey one reluctant step after another. I knew of and met several Christians (Paula being one) whom I deeply admired. I saw first hand how Paula’s prayers for my life and hers were answered. Okay, I had to admit that prayers change things. And maybe it would be all right to thumb through the Bible now and then. Jesus seemed like he was a good person and an interesting historical figure. Still, I resisted.
There is Buddhist expression that says when the student is ready the teacher will come. I read in the Denver Post one morning while sipping my coffee about a local author, Richard Foster. He’d written a highly acclaimed book titled Celebration of Discipline: the path to spiritual growth. Well, who couldn’t use a little more discipline in their life? A quick trip to Amazon and a week later the book was mine. To say it was an eye-opener is an understatement. Instead of telling me wrong, wrong, wrong, my gut was saying Truth. Now I knew what Paula had been talking about all this time. Suddenly, it all made sense. My life made sense. Life in general made sense. By the time I finished the last page of the last chapter I had repented my sins and accepted Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior. The stubborn mule had arrived.
I am humble when I think about God bringing someone like Paula into my life. She prayed for over ten years for my salvation. I am deeply thankful for and humbled by our great, merciful, and patient God.
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