Stand and Fight

I don't remember my age—although I'm told I was four or five—but I remember vividly the day I asked Jesus into my life. I may have told it before, but such a day always bears repeating.

My sister, Connie, and I walked home one evening after church (we lived across the street). She asked me if I was a Christian. I told her yes. That night I lay in bed and analyzed my answer (I still do this with conversations) to make sure I had told her the truth. Since our father is a pastor, I've heard about Jesus while in my mother's womb. Yet, as I lay there, I realized He was not my Saviour.

It was as if a veil lifted from my eyes. One moment the state of my soul did not concern me. The next, I knew emphatically that I had not surrendered, but I needed to. No prayer. No special formula. God touched my eyes, and I could see.

Following up this moment, which I now claim as my conversion, I acted upon it by going into my parent's room and asking my father to lead me to Jesus. We knelt together and prayed, confessing my sins and my need of a Saviour. I waited three or four years before I had the courage to stand in obedience and  confess before our church that Jesus is my Lord and be baptised.

That was the easy part of my years as a Christian. I responded to a work of God in my heart. The hard part followed.

I have not had a rebellious life. I credit that partly to personality and a great deal to God's answering the prayers of my parents. I can't claim to have learned the hard way. In fact, my prayer has always been that I may learn the easiest way possible.

The battle for me is much more subtle. It's maybe like someone who grows up in a war zone. The bullets fly so continually around you that you begin to forget their significance, forget the threat they are to your life. Because I grew up dwelling on the spiritual life, it became easy to think going through the motions was good enough.

Don't get me wrong. I hate hypocrisy, so I run from anything that smacks of inauthenticity, even in myself; but it's not always so simple to see you've crossed that line. It wasn't bad things. No obvious breaking of the Ten Commandments.

It was the little things. The "lesser gods," as C.S. Lewis calls them. The gods that when given the place, block one's vision of Yahweh. 

Boredom, more than anything, is dangerous. The same Bible reading and prayer routine, when done as a routine, can lose significance. One can grow deaf. You know what I mean?

It hasn't been big moments or large chunks of time. Graciously, God gives me little "checks" to let me know I'm fading in my attention.

This thought came up while my mother and I were discussing a couple that not long ago was on fire for God, zealously attending Bible study and church. Now, they ski on Sunday, leave their Bibles on the shelf, and confess confusion that their daughters are going their own way.

I know how it must have started. At least, I think I do. You go to do the routine and wonder what's the point. You fail at the same things over and over all your life, what makes you think you're going to change now? Maybe, just maybe, you wonder if there isn't some easier way, some fun you're actually missing out on.

These have been fleeting thoughts, just enough to scare me back to reality. When I'm there, when my love for God is distant, I can do nothing, but tell Him. Tell Him the truth about where I am. Sometimes all I can say is "help."

The only solution for cold moments is to cry out to our Father. When we've put our guard down and the enemy points the gun in our face, only God can shoot him in the back and save us. There is no formula. No spiritual exercise.

The wonderful thing is, when we tell Him our failing, our wicked desires, He scoops us up in love. Instead of scolding us, because we've known better (we've told others the other side's not worth it), He blesses us with His grace because we called upon His Name.

His Name saved us in our first moments of rebirth, and it is the Name that will keep us till our dying breath.

Let's be on our guard then. Stand and fight!