Church service was inspiring— thought-provoking. The message was a little different than the usual Easter themed sermon. It was more, “What is my witness? What is my story? If someone asked me what gives me hope; why do I trust and believe in God; why am I not like doubting Thomas? What would I say? I pondered this all afternoon, and finally realized I must start at the beginning. So, this is part of my story.


It was Wednesday night, and I was nine years old. What was I doing at the youth group with my sister? I guess I needed a babysitter, and she wanted to go to youth. I was a little intimidated by the group, but they were kind enough to me.

Snarky teenagers, practical jokers interrupted the speaker with whispered jokes. Was anyone listening to the message? After the youth leader spoke, he prayed, and the room got quiet. No more interruptions, no more giggling, poking. No one trying to be cool. The small room with teens sitting on hard benches became reverent and we sang a song that in children’s church, we sang all the time. But tonight, it touched my heart in a way it never had.

Into my heart, into my heart. Come into my heart LORD, Jesus.

I stood there and sang. I knew the words well.

Come in today, come in to stay, Come into my heart, Lord Jesus.

I don’t really remember the verses just the chorus, but it repeated over and over in my head. I found myself, along with a few others, walking to the front of the room and getting down on my knees at a wooden bench. I prayed that song like a prayer and meaning it. The song was over, and I went back to my seat. The service was over. No one spoke to me. My sister and I left, and nothing was said between us. I felt odd.


I didn’t talk about it with my parents either. I knew I had made a decision of some importance, but life went on. I still told lies, still disobeyed my teachers, talked when I should’ve been listening, but something had happened to me. Somehow, I felt different.

When my parents fought, which they did— every time my daddy drank, which was often I prayed, and I asked God to help me, and somehow, I was comforted, and was no longer afraid. Sometimes when I was in trouble, I would admit I was guilty. I’d say, “I lied. I’m sorry. I deserve my punishment.” My mother thought I was being snarky. But I knew I had done wrong. I knew I deserved to be punished. Throughout my life, I have found myself telling on myself when I did something wrong…. usually lying.


I have seen Him working in the answered prayers throughout my life. I trust Him. HOW? He helped me before, and I know He will do it again. I know He is faithful to His promises. My hope lies in Jesus Christ. My faith is that He did die for my sins. And He did resurrect on the third day, and I believe He will come again to receive me unto Himself, just like He told His disciples:

JOHN 14:2

“…I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am there ye may be also. And whither I go, ye know and the way ye know.”

Thomas asked, “LORD… how can we know the way?”

Jesus answered him, “I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man can come unto the Father but by me.”

What is your story? Please feel free to tell me in your comments.

Remember, wherever you are, you’re at the right place when you come to my website and read my blog. Come on back and share a slice of life with me.

Pin It on Pinterest

Share This