Just like I didn’t pick the date of my physical birth, I didn’t pick the date of my spiritual birth, either. I wasn’t looking for Jesus right then, but He found me anyway.

He found me in the middle of a storm. A storm inside and out. A storm outside the windows, in my life, and in my heart.

In an instant I knew that my problem wasn’t my husband, my marriage or my hurt heart. In an instant I knew that my problem was me. My problem was I didn’t have God. In an instant I knew I needed Him. In an instant I knew I could have Him and that He could and would fix things (eventually, in His time), but that I had to turn to Him -that I had to ask Him- for help first.

In an instant I knew that I had been horribly wrong and that was the reason why He hadn’t been helping. He wanted to, but He wasn’t going to force His way in. In an instant I knew that I had to let Him. I had to accept His help. And in an instant I knew that to do that I had to accept, embrace the Truth…

Jesus really was the Son of God. The Son of God really was God Himself in the form of man.

He really did live and die on the cross to pay for sins so that we wouldn’t have to go to Hell, which is what we deserve. He really did then rise again, and He really lives still. He really did it for me, too, because He did it for the world, for “whosoever”, just like He says in John 3:16. That had to include me.

I decided then to accept that Jesus was the Truth and follow Him not because of the promise of Heaven or the fear of Hell, but because I knew it was the right thing to do…and knowing that made me sorry I hadn’t been doing what was right. Right being what God said was right in the bible. Being truthful, being faithful, believing in and worshipping only the Holy Trinity as being God, and so much more.

Right being acknowledging that Jesus was and is really God…not just a really nice guy in a storybook.

I knew, too, that if I did acknowledge the Truth, I also had the promise of His help in my life because He loves me, which was good because things were horribly wrong and I knew I could never fix them.

I was 21, and yet… I was a brand-new baby.

My birth certificate says I was born in a hospital room in the winter in 1978. I know I was really born in a closet in the spring in 2000.

Winter to spring.

Death to new life.

“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.”
John 3:16


0 Responses to “My Real Birthday”

  1. Leave a Comment

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

Click to see posts written on a certain date

July 2018
« Mar    

%d bloggers like this: