It has been more than a week since the baptism weekend at Northland. I’m still thinking about it.
Dad and I were at the Longwood campus for the 9am service on that Sunday. Its not the kind of morning you forget quickly—or want to, for that matter.
I grew up Baptist. I took a 10-week class taught by the pastor (who was also my dad, but that’s not the point) before I was properly prepared for baptism and, with that, church membership. I’m pretty sure that I was not yet a voting member, though. I was only in the third grade. With that as my own life experience, it took some mental adjusting to quiet the voice echoing from my past that wanted to discount the validity of a spur-of-the-moment baptism (because there were some of those) as anything more than good intentioned emotional hiccups.
But I did put that voice back in the baggage that I still sometimes drag from the attic and let influence me unduly.
(Don’t read between the lines anything that I didn’t say or don’t mean. I’m grateful beyond words for my upbringing in a home where my parents loved Jesus and His Church. For all the things that I might no longer embrace quite as emphatically as I was taught at the time I should embrace, there are things I do embrace more than ever. I’m still fully dependent on Jesus who is not just “my” Savior, but the only Savior — there is no other name by which people can be saved. Period.)
How did I quiet the voice back and get it to retreat back into the Samsonite and then get that bag back into the attic? I reminded myself of what I have read time and again in the Scriptures about people turning from one way of life, dying to that way and to self, and turning to Jesus and His way of life. Some of us are one-step-at-a-timers and some are leap-of-faithers. Stephen and Paul, perhaps. John and Peter, maybe.
Still in awe to have seen God work in such tangible ways. Glory!