Tag: church

Am I Saved Yet?

On By LindaIn short stories6 Comments

After her amazing encounter with Jesus, she read every book she could find about Jesus. From those books, and from some new friends she had made, she learned that, although she was in love with Jesus and told Him that daily, she had never actually responded to an altar call or repentance prayer. So was she saved?

She had been taught at an early age the importance of following rules. There were rules for everything. And now she learned there were rules for being saved. It didn’t matter that she spent time with Jesus every day, talked about Him to everyone she met, and doodled His name in her books.  If she never responded to an altar call, was she saved?

Her church didn’t do altar calls. So she found a friend’s church that did and made plans to attend it. When the altar call was given, the thought of everyone looking at her caused her to panic inside and she froze, unable to make herself get up and walk down that aisle. The preacher said that not going down the aisle was the same as saying no to the Holy Spirit. Full of remorse, she asked God to forgive her.

She talked with her friends and decided to try a smaller church.  Maybe it would be easier with less people. But the same thing happened. And even though she said the sinner’s prayer in her heart as the preacher said it out loud, she knew it wasn’t good enough because a book she had read said that it wasn’t good enough to just think the sinner’s prayer, she had to say it out loud in front of a witness. So she wept silent tears for her weakness, wondering if she would ever be able to get saved.

But she didn’t give up. She continued going to churches and reading books until one day she finally got the courage to make the walk to the front. Trembling so hard she thought she might faint, she repeated the sinner’s prayer with everyone else and went back to her seat.

IMG_20180307_111959575Was she saved? She had read how everyone in the books described all the peace they felt when they got saved. She didn’t feel any different.  Maybe a group prayer wasn’t good enough after all. Maybe that new book she was reading was right – that people should be led to Christ individually.

“Jesus,” she cried out. “Help me figure this out! I want to be saved. I want to be Yours. But I just don’t know how to do it!”

Beginning to get discouraged, she continued reading books, finding more rules and prayers, and following each one each time.

Respond to an altar call. Check.

Repeat the sinner’s prayer. Which one? She had repeated several so maybe she was covered.

Ask Jesus to live in her heart. Did she do this. Quickly she did and checked it off her mental list. Was she saved yet?

Give her life to Jesus and tell Him she would go wherever He wants to send her. OK, this one was harder, but she did, even if that meant moving to Africa and eating bugs. Was she saved yet?

Making Him Lord of her life. What did that mean? Maybe this was the hang up. “Whatever it means, Lord, I agree with it.” Was she saved yet?

Eventually she was so confused, she gave up. Salvation was just not for her, she thought. If God wanted to save her, He would. She wasn’t going to try anymore.

One day, months later, she was singing a praise song, about a group of people who rejoiced in belonging to Jesus, and the realization bloomed inside her that she was one of those people! She had been saved! When – she didn’t know. But that didn’t matter. She now knew who she belonged to. And she had the peace that came with that.

A gentle voice whispered unheard, “Silly girl. Don’t you know you were Mine the first time you told Me you loved Me? The words don’t matter. The place doesn’t matter.  Feelings don’t matter. What matters is your heart. You were saved on that day, and I’m glad you finally believe it.”

That’s My Seat!

On By LindaIn short stories2 Comments

I glared at the lady. How dare she!

A few minutes earlier, I had been sitting in a prime seat – on the end of a pew that was close to the front but not too close and had a perfect view of the stage. I had just settled in and gotten comfortable when nature called. Looking around, I didn’t spot anyone I knew that could hold my seat for me while I took a quick trip to the bathroom. Hmmm… could I wait an hour until after the speaker? No, that wasn’t going to work. So I did what so many other people were doing – letting my bag hold my space for me. I spread out some of the contents to make the bag easily spotted and to reserve a greater space than my single bag would do. They headed to the bathroom.

When I returned, I couldn’t believe it! A lady was sitting in my spot! How could she? Didn’t she see my bag? As I got closer to her, I noticed my bag and contents scrunched up at the very end of the pew. So, she had seen my bag but moved it so she could have that seat. No one does that to someone’s stuff! At least no one did it to anyone else’s stuff. My stuff? I guess I’m fair game. My inferior complex and insecurities rising,  I was about to grab my stuff and head for a different seat.

No, wait! I had gotten there early so I could have a great seat. She had gotten there late and stolen my seat.  No, what she did was not right. It wasn’t fair. And I wasn’t going to let her get away with it.

So instead of grabbing my stuff and fleeing, I picked up my bag, gave the lady a I-know-what-you-did-and-you’re-not-going-to-get-away-with-it face, and squeezed into that tiny space. It was just over a foot wide and since I was skinny at the time, I managed to fit in it, although I did bump into her a few times causing her to shift away from me a few inches.

With my arms held tightly to my body, I sat stiffly waiting for her to give up and move on down the pew. There actually was room between her and the next lady. But she didn’t move. So we both sat there hanging on to our spaces while the worship team began playing.

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“How awesome is our God,” we sang, as we jostled for that space.

“I love You, Lord,” we sang as we glared sideways at each other.

Finally she shifted a couple of inches. Was it an accident? I quickly filled in that space before she could change her mind. Now my arms could hang comfortably by my side, but our shoulders were still touching.

“Oh, Lord, You’re beautiful,” we sang as we bumped shoulders, each wanting the other to give up.

“Make me a servant,” we sang as I squirmed against her and won an few more inches.

Feeling pleased with myself, my attention was redirected to the stage and the worship team. Worship? I was singing the words but my heart was far from it. I tried to focus, but guilt washed through me. Here I was singing to the Lord about how great He is, how much I love Him, and how I want to be His servant – all the while fighting over a tiny piece of the pew. I was a hypocrite. I was not worthy to be singing these songs. I was not worthy to even be there. Despising myself, I looked down at my lap and thought about leaving.

“Are you two done?” I heard the voice clearly in my spirit. God? Had to be! And He didn’t sound angry or disgusted or even sad. He sounded like I did when I waited for my students to finish jostling for spots on the rug during story time. I never got upset with them, they were just five year olds and learning to work out their social skills. I didn’t hold it against them. And it didn’t make me love them any less. Actually, I was frequently amused watching them, even when I had to intervene to get them to stop. Is that how God was looking at us? At me? He wasn’t angry with me? He still loved me? My guilt and self-condemnation drained away as His love filled me. And I began singing again, this time with all my heart, to the amazing God who loves me even when I’m not behaving perfectly – and cares enough to let me know!