I was seven years old when I first heard his voice.
I knew his name, I'd heard most of the stories in his book, and I
understood that without him I'd be lost. I loved him and I somehow knew that he
loved me. But I had so many questions.
My Sunday School teachers had faithfully explained that in order
to go to heaven, I had to invite Jesus into my heart. So every night, before I
drifted off to sleep, I prayed a Sinner’s Prayer. It wasn't that I didn't trust
Jesus to respond to the prayer--I knew that he was always good. But even at the
ages of 5 and 6 and 7 I was aware of depravity in my own tiny heart. Each time
I prayed that prayer I questioned my sincerity. Did I really mean it? Was I
truly sorry for my sins? Had I used all the right words? How could I be sure
that my prayer had worked? These questions haunted me most nights as I anxiously
hugged my pillow.
Then one weekend I was invited to go to a friend's lake cabin. I
have no memories of that time at the lake except the conversation that took
place in the dark room as we slowed our breath and waited for Mr. Sandman. When
my nightly questions came, I spoke them out, posing them as if, perhaps, my
sweet friend might also have the same questions. Though I imagined I was
speaking to her, she never replied. Eventually her gentle snoring indicated
that she had already succumbed to sleep. But my questions kept surging on,
like a tide that could no longer be restrained.
Do you believe in Jesus? Was
he really the son of God?
Do you know that he died on
a cross? That was almost 2000 years ago, but somehow it still matters today.
Why does it matter?
They say he came back from the dead. That
part is important. But why?
I think he loves people. I think he even
loves me. I think he loves me even though I’m wicked. Is that true?
The questions came in their regular way, but on that night, the strangest
thing happened. Each time I asked a question, an answer was spoken to my heart.
Satisfying answers, which I repeated aloud
so that my ears could hear what my soul finally understood.
I did not know at the time from where the answers had come. They came
from inside of me, and yet they were separate from me. But I knew they were
right and true. It was only years later, as I told this story during a Bible
study, that I realized that the Lord himself had spoken.
I never prayed the sinner’s prayer again. I slept that night with
assurance.
I went home and told my dad that I wanted to be baptized. On
Father’s Day 1978, wearing a white eyelet dress with a red satin sash that was
sewn by my mother, I made a public profession of my faith—a faith born out of questions.
As I grew in knowledge and understanding, I found that the
scriptures actually confirmed what I had experienced. For Paul wrote in Romans
10:9-10, “that if you confess with your mouth Jesus as Lord, and believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead, you
will be saved; for with the heart a person believes,
resulting in righteousness, and with the mouth he confesses, resulting in salvation.”
Being born into a
Christian family, there wasn’t a day in my life that I didn’t know the name of
Jesus. I believed before I could understand the significance of my belief. But
in speaking out my belief—in confessing it, even to a sleeping friend—my
salvation finally became a reality to me.
In his grace, Jesus
revealed himself to me. He promises to be found by those who seek him with
their whole heart; I sought him with my whole seven-year-old heart. It was an
earnest quest, and Jesus showed himself faithful. Which is why I am especially
moved by the Biblical accounts of Jesus welcoming the little children. I know
from personal experience that Jesus still speaks to children.
I may not have understood
everything at the age of seven, but Jesus made sure that I understood enough to
not only be saved, but to certain of my salvation. He has proved faithful to me
ever since. I am not saying that my faith walk has been flawless, but it has
been consistent. I've had many questions and doubts along the way, but those no
longer scare me, for my faith was made sight in a night of questioning.
The
difference is now I recognize his voice when he answers.
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