Isn't it amazing how most of us plod along through our lives ascribing importance to so many things that are not important at all?;at least not important in the grand scheme of things. As a child I had an intense love for Jesus. Then I “grew up” and the pull of the world seduced me into its ways, telling me to do as “I” saw fit. When an old friend, Christine, first wrote to me about becoming a born-again Christian in 1981, I chalked it up to another kooky phase in her life. However the tale of her conversion experience moved me in unexpected ways, and gave me pause to think about God and my relationship with Him (or lack thereof). I read her letter aloud to my husband and at times started choking with emotion at the beautiful way she related her story. I experienced evidence of her “new life in Christ” during a visit to her home in New York in June 1981. Little devotionals and pocket new testaments salted every room (even the bathrooms). There was an almost palpable peace and calm about her; a blessed assurance you could say. She was now Jesus's and He was hers.

A few months earlier I began reading a paperback New Testament once given to me by a Campus Crusader for Christ years ago, on the Cornell campus where I worked. I really didn't want to take it, but his optimistic smile was impossible to resist. It languished on the bookshelf collecting dust for several years. At times I thought to throw it out but couldn't bring myself to do so. It would be like throwing God out of my house and life. The words of that book, like a plow, broke up the fallow ground of my heart in preparation for the seeds of faith.

When we got back from our trip I thought of Christine again and reread her letter. Having endured difficulties and failures in the workplace and in some relationships, I recognized I envied my friend's new found faith. I took an inventory of thoughts and feelings about my life at that moment, and sensed a deeply aching vacuum within me. All the running away now seemed foolish and fruitless. I wanted to completely submit myself to God, but hesitated. I always believed playing games with God was a dangerous thing to do, best left to fools. Jesus had to be way more than a one night stand where I could cuddle up to Him and feel warm, fuzzy and loved, and later kick Him to the curb. He deserved way, way better than that. Funny, I had done that very thing to Him so many times, but no more.

A powerful magnet pulled me to the edge of a precipice of renewed faith. Standing on its brink, I realized I was a lost daughter in the eyes of Father God. All these years I believed in my own goodness and good intentions. The truth was I did not want to obey Him, that I had no true goodness of my own. It was an epiphany, a moment of truth when the light from above shines down and exposes every wart and blemish. I could no longer escape it. Through this revelation I asked “where do I go from here?” The answer was an obvious and weighty one. I realized that redoubling my efforts to be happy in my existing life was an exercise in futility. No job, husband, children nor friends could fully complete me. I slowly prayed to Him, carefully choosing my words, confessing all my thoughts about how I had been living; that I was a spiritual outlaw, and now wanted to live for Him, fully committed. Seductive breezes rose up and swirled about me, beckoning me to do what I knew I was destined to do. Like the statue of Jesus that overlooks Rio de Janeiro, I opened my arms wide, leaned forward and dropped into the deep chasm in a free-fall of faith. Oh sweet abyss! open to receive all those who decide to live and die for the sake of the Messiah. Despite my speed-of-light descent, I softly landed into my Saviour's embrace, our arms encircling each other like reunited lovers. My body melted as he gave me a warm kiss on the cheek. The hounds of heaven that relentlessly chased me for years could now rest from their inexhaustible running. They would soon have a new quarry to pursue. To the 21st century mindset, submission and obedience to another would never be equated with freedom, but that was exactly how I felt. If St. Paul felt led to “kiss his chains” as a prisoner of the Messiah, so could I. I was free indeed, and had a sense of wonderful certainty about the rest of my life. Joy! Exhilaration! and Happiness Supreme! were now all mine, for all eternity. Thank you Father.