As a child, I always wanted there to be a God.
It’s not that anyone in my family actually ever said, “There
is no God,” but we five kids were definitely raised to believe
in and depend on ourselves, to see life as a series of events whose
outcome depended solely upon one’s talents, personality, hard
work, and personal choices. The very fact that we seemed to be spared
any true hardships or tragedies in our life convinced us that we were
“living right.” We were “good” people who minded
our own business and never intentionally hurt anyone. We always thought
that was enough.
Despite “buying into” that philosophy, I secretly thought
it would be way cool if there was a God who watched over us
and who was at work in the daily events of our lives. I probably longed
for that as any child would long for a Santa Claus or some kind of all-knowing
being. But just as a child’s interest and belief in Santa wanes
as she gets older, so did my fascination with there being a God.
I entered my teens, became extremely busy with school life, extracurricular
activities, my family, farm life, etc. I gave very little thought to
anything beyond my little corner of the world. Typical teen, somewhat,
I guess. I never knew what I lacked because despite having very few
material things because of very little money, we had each other and
parents (my mom especially) who adored us. I remember my teen years
as being incredibly happy ones. I was content. What more did I need?
I went to college for four years, earned a degree, got married to my
best friend from high school (who was a Christian, but I didn’t
let that stop me!), and began a teaching career. We began attending
Huntertown United Methodist Church in late 1986, mostly because my husband
wanted to get back into church after being away from it in college…and
I went along, thinking it would probably be “good” for our
kids, if and when we ever had any, to raise them in a church. I enjoyed
the church, met some very nice people, and pretty faithfully warmed
a pew on Sunday mornings.
Knowing I had to be baptized before becoming a member of the church,
I was willing to go through with it, but I wasn’t so sure that
my heart was ready. I still had doubts, questions. I will never forget
what Pastor Jack said to me the afternoon he stopped by to talk about
my faith and the baptism. When I expressed some doubt as to whether
or not I was spiritually ready, he said something that made me realize
nobody is really spiritually “all set.” He simply
said, “Think of your baptism as a commitment to simply start
a journey.” Something I could grasp! I loved it. So in December
1988, I was baptized.
But I had not really given my life or heart over to Jesus.
Besides, was that really necessary? Despite my baptism vows, couldn’t
I be a good witness for Christ by simply doing good deeds? By volunteering
on Sunday morning? By never denying God’s existence? By being
part of a Sunday school class and learning about God’s word? Was
“dying to myself” really a critical part of my faith walk?
I guess it was. But it wasn’t my death God used. It
was my brother’s.
1991 marked the beginning of my journey toward a very real relationship
with Jesus, of a faith that transcended anything I’d known before,
of a joy, a humility and a brokenness unlike any I’d felt before.
(We now refer to these years as the “roller coaster years.”)
In June of that year, our first daughter was born. After years of fertility
work, we adopted a baby girl, and our lives seemed perfect and complete.
Then just eight months later, my dad was diagnosed with Lou Gehrig’s
disease (which causes total paralysis and death within two to three
years). Two months later, on March 24th, we rejoiced over the news that
we would be adopting another baby. Four hours later, that same
day, my brother and his 22-month-old son were killed in a truck accident.
Two weeks later, our second daughter was born (on my mom’s birthday).
A couple months later, my dad had to quit his job because the disease
had progressed so much. Within that same period of time (just two months
after our second daughter was born) I found out I was pregnant! Three
kids, all ten months apart.
I didn’t know what to feel. God was giving as much as He was
taking away.
A few weeks after my brother’s and nephew’s funeral, while
standing alone in my kitchen, I felt an overwhelming and crippling mix
of anger, sadness, fear, and loss. For the first time in my life, I
dropped to my knees, crying too hard to be able to speak words, but
my heart fairly shouted to God for help. My pain was raw—my reserves
empty.
And God was ready to carry me. He had always been ready, I realize
now. Patiently, He had stood off in the wings as I gallivanted around
living my life as I saw fit. When He could have and should have, He
never turned His back on me. Rather, He watched my life unfold according
to His neat little plan—oddly, a plan that I thought was my own.
This is where humility comes into my faith walk: the understanding
now that God loved me before I was even aware of Him. I didn’t
deserve it; I didn’t respond to it. His love was just there all
along. I had always thought that becoming a Christian and getting baptized
meant that I was asking God to “exist” in my life. Now I
realize that He always existed in my life. It simply was a
matter of “dying” to myself and living for Him—a true
acceptance of the grace He has given me.
When my brother and nephew died, I was intrigued by a quote I read
in someone’s faith story in a magazine. It hinted at how we should
approach adversity in our lives--with hearts of gratitude. “Can
you thank me for trusting you with this experience, even if I never
tell you why?” this person felt God asking her. I didn’t
fully understand it at the time, but I was intrigued by how anyone could
have such a level of faith.
It’s been 12 years since my brother’s death, 9 years since
my dad’s, and 14 years since my baptism. We now have four kids.
I still miss my dad, brother, and nephew very much. But even though
I never knew God for a good part of my life, His faithfulness in these
last several years has shown me that, yes, I can thank Him
for trusting me with the experiences He gives me…even if He never
tells me why.
--Lisa
