photo by Joeannenah
I never had a Bible in my household until I came to know Christ as my Savior at the age of twenty-eight. As the Holy Spirit began transforming me from the old to the new and I began understanding better what my relationship was supposed to be with Jesus, I understood that I had made a covenant, a promise. Having accepted payment for my sins by Christ’s death on the cross, I had agreed to follow God in everything He asked of me.
Slowly I entered the pages of the Bible, dipping my toes in the pool of the Gospels, following the guidance of my pastor’s wife who had taken me under her wing. As I learned, I wanted to know more. The commandments of God pierced my heart and I began following them, not out of obligation or duty, but motivated by the love He showed me when He sacrificed His Son for my benefit.
The commitment I had made to follow God became a living, breathing thing, not given to vacillating emotions, but strengthening with every decision I made to be obedient. I recognized that God required this of me, and I was blessed with God’s good pleasure in my life. Not that it was a bed of roses, but I knew where to keep my focus and where to go for further instruction.
I suppose I’ve always been a late bloomer in some respects. I married when I was thirty and had my first child two years later. I experienced the overwhelming joy of holding the daughter God had given me and faced yet another decision of obedience. I could teach my child about the Lord I loved, sharing with her everything I knew about Him and engaging her daily with His presence, or I could suffice it with weekly church and Sunday school attendance and children’s group activities when she got old enough.
I decided there in the delivery room that no one was going to be more responsible for witnessing to my child about God than me. Well before my husband and I had entered the front door with our daughter, our home had been dedicated as a mission field. Not knowing about Christ would never be an option.
Slowly I entered the pages of the Bible, dipping my toes in the pool of the Gospels, following the guidance of my pastor’s wife who had taken me under her wing. As I learned, I wanted to know more. The commandments of God pierced my heart and I began following them, not out of obligation or duty, but motivated by the love He showed me when He sacrificed His Son for my benefit.
The commitment I had made to follow God became a living, breathing thing, not given to vacillating emotions, but strengthening with every decision I made to be obedient. I recognized that God required this of me, and I was blessed with God’s good pleasure in my life. Not that it was a bed of roses, but I knew where to keep my focus and where to go for further instruction.
I suppose I’ve always been a late bloomer in some respects. I married when I was thirty and had my first child two years later. I experienced the overwhelming joy of holding the daughter God had given me and faced yet another decision of obedience. I could teach my child about the Lord I loved, sharing with her everything I knew about Him and engaging her daily with His presence, or I could suffice it with weekly church and Sunday school attendance and children’s group activities when she got old enough.
I decided there in the delivery room that no one was going to be more responsible for witnessing to my child about God than me. Well before my husband and I had entered the front door with our daughter, our home had been dedicated as a mission field. Not knowing about Christ would never be an option.
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