A Child Shall Lead the Way: My Theological Evolution

To introduce myself in terms of religions, I'd say I'm a Baptist who believes the Sabbath is on a Saturday, and one who goes to Midnight Mass on Christmas. In other words, I'm confused and always seeking the right answers or sign that I'm on the right track. Honestly though, it's been a long time since I felt the need for a religion in my life. God is what I seek, and my main purpose in life is seeking Him. If I am meant to "find" him and all the answers are presented to me, I know I would become complacent as a Christian. Am I not a Christian whether I'm in Mass or sitting in the alley?

My search for God started out in an abusive home, but a miracle with a Bible salesman helped things to be more bearable. We ended up with a set of Bible Encyclopedia's, minus the "R" volume. My parents would never have spent money that kind of money on their kids, so it's only because of the missing volume that I ended up with them. I still see it as a miracle though... for God to reach into a evil house like ours and choose to touch me the way he did with those books, was a miracle. I read them every chance I got; they had blue covers and large colorful illustrations of Bible stories... I can still find them in thrift stores actually.

Sometimes I was allowed to go to the Baptist church with the neighbor girl, but not as much as I wanted. We had no church home, my mother having been raised a Lutheran, and my step-father, having been an evil person, never wanted to step foot in a church. God touched me though, by giving me Christian neighbors, and an aunt that was quite religious. She gave us one of those big thick white family Bibles that were popular in the 1970s; I remember sitting to read it and getting hit for reading the Bible while wearing cut-off shorts. I was told that it was a sin, and I'd go to hell no matter what I did! There was no logic, rhyme or reason in my step-father's logic. I was told by my mother in a hushed voice "Don't ever read the Bible around him again." So, it became something I would sneak off to do, spending hours with my bible books, and the family bible.

Meanwhile my aunt was becoming a Seventh Day Adventist, getting baptized into the church, observing the Sabbath on Saturday, and changing her diet drastically. It fascinated me to try to figure out why she went on Saturday, when the Baptists went on Sunday. She wasn't allowed to eat pork, but my neighbors were. This all meant something profound, and I kept questioning it inside, but rarely talked about religion; it was too delicate of a subject around our house. I watched my aunt get baptized though, and also saw my friend get baptized. My step-father absolutely forbade the mere thought of me being baptized, and once again I was convinced I had another reason to go to hell.

I tried sneaking off to go to a church swim one night with friends, and got beat quite badly for it. After 11 years of every type of abuse, I was finally old enough to leave home. I pretty much left after having a baby at the age of 14, and again, I found another excuse God wouldn't want me. I was a teenage mother... responsible for my own sins... why would God want me now?

When my son turned 4-years old he was old enough to go to church on the church bus, and I wanted him to be comfortable there and insisted he go. Slowly I got to know the minister and his wife, who was always reminding me "A Child shall lead the way." A Child did too... I began going to the Baptist Church with my son. Never had I had a happier time of life than I did in that Church family. I was only a block from there, so anytime the doors were open, I was there. I began going to the Episcopal, Assembly of God, Nazarene, and Catholic. I had a rosary, a regular Bible, a copy of the Torah, and the Dead Sea Scrolls. There was nothing I wouldn't read to find the answers I sought; reading Foxe's Book of Martyrs scared the living daylights out of me. I also read the Bible, cover to cover, twice during this period.

I joined the Baptist Church in the little town where I lived. I studied the bible intensely as my baptism day drew closer and closer, even though I became more and more uncertain that I understood the sacrament's meaning. It became a fear of mine... that I didn't really understand the Holy Spirit and the changes that would happen in my life. I prayed so hard about it, and talked to my minister and Bible study group. I lacked confidence in my decision-making abilities; something I still wrestle with.

The night before my baptism, I dreamed that Jesus came and knocked on my front door. When I opened the door, he held out his hand for mine. I slowly took it, and the warmest sensations spread through my body. I felt more peace and serenity than I ever had before. Jesus walked me across the street, and we headed towards the church. He walked me right up to the front door of the church, and then disappeared, leaving me alone on the steps. I woke up crying; tears of such joy and peace. The Holy Spirit was well aware of my decision, and was leading me towards salvation in my ever- loving Christ, the King, the Holy One.

I have followed him and his teachings ever since. Being beat for reading his word was no sacrifice or great harm ... nothing the Lord couldn't heal. He knows all of my suffering; he was there for me as a child, and kept me from real harm during beatings. No one can touch my soul... only God and the Holy Spirit can do that. To be persecuted the small amount that I was, gave me an appreciation for the freedom of religion that I have. Jesus has since comforted me about my church decisions; it's alright that I am a Baptist, who believes the Sabbath is on a Saturday, and one who goes to Midnight Mass on Christmas. As long as I'm seeking Him, He will take my hand and lead me to where I need to be, when I need to be there.

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