From The Mud Puddle

Thirty two years ago today, while in my Winnie the pooh dress, I climbed the stairs to the body of water that was behind the choir loft and in front of every one, I was baptised. I was nine years old.

I always recount the story by mentioning that I was wearing my Winnie the pooh dress when I tell it to my kids. I'm not sure why, except it was part of the flavor of the moment to me. I had received the dress from my parents the Christmas prior to this moment. I was nine years old.

The week before, when getting into bed, I had told my mother that I believed in Jesus and understood why He died on the cross for my sins. She prayed with me that night as she tucked me into bed.

The next day, I woke up and got ready for church like normal. Rather than take me to my Sunday School class though, my mother took me to our pastor's office. She wanted me to talk to him. I guess it made her feel better for him to talk to me. She really wasnt sure about me being baptised yet, so I guess this was her way of finding out if I really understood what I had said the night before.

As we talked, our pastor asked me a lot of questions. He went to get my mother and both of them returned. He told her I understood and that he thought she should let me be baptised. She agreed to it. He told me what I needed to do at the end of the service that morning.

On the first verse of the last song, I remember going down front to talk to him. He sat me on a front pew and one of the ladies that was part of whatever committee handed such things came and sat beside of me and wrote my name on a card.

Our pastor presented me to the church. He told them I wanted to be baptised (which also meant I would be joining that particular church too.) He asked me a few questions and then they went through the process of having someone seconding my request. Then those that agreed said amen and those that opposed....well of course, there were none.

People came up and hugged my neck and congratulated me. My mother stood beside of me. My father wasnt there at this time (as he didn't come to church with us ...yet) The time was set for my baptism to occur the next week....on March 28, 1976.

So after I was baptised, I remember one of the ladies in the baptism committee drying my hair and helping me into another dress my mother had sent along with me that morning. She made sure to wait to dry my hair while the congregation was singing a hymn. We were done in no time and I joined my family in the sanctuary.

I had always been to this church from the day I was inducted into the cradle roll as a baby. My mother was diligent to take my sister and brother and me there, even though for many years, my father didn't join us. (He accepted Christ when I was 12) There was no flash of light, no deep problems that I was involved in beforehand, nothing beyond my nine year old confession and a belief. I was a sinner and I knew Jesus had died on the cross for my sins.

Several years ago, I remember my husband and I going through the process of joining a church (that we no longer go to) and sitting through the membership classes. The pastor asked us each to share our testimony. I remember as my husband shared and then me, our pastor half joked that "oh it's another boring testimony".

I beg to differ.

I may have only been 9 years old, but no testimony is a boring one. Jesus saved me just as much as he saves the man or woman that has struggled with addictions for their whole life before accepting Christ. I am thankful that God allowed me to be born into the home I was born and to have the mother that I have that took us to church EVERY Sunday even though in those first 20 or so years of her marriage to my dad, she did so alone. I am thankful that I had a Godly grandmother who left an example of working hard, reading her bible and giving of her life to others. I am thankful for the Sunday School teachers and pastors that guided me as I grew and were willing to answer the questions I had.

Had these people not been a part of God's work in laying a firm foundation in Christ, when the winds came and the rains fell later in my life, I would have sunk. I knew to turn to Jesus when life threw me to the ground. I knew to hold on to Jesus when life hurt so bad. I knew it was Jesus who let me cry it all out until there were no more tears.

There are no boring testimonies, only precious stories of how God saved us through Jesus Christ, and how we look forward to the day when He comes for us again. Amen.

posted by Muddy at 11:47 PM