I love that our God is a God of order. Isn’t it amazing how He will go to any length to get us to the place where we’re ready to receive Him as Lord and Savior? My faith journey has taken some interesting twists and turns as I spent many years

trying to fill that God-shaped hole in my heart with anything but Him. I was raised in what some would refer to as a “Sunday Christian home.” Oh, we attended church on Sunday, but our dusty old family Bible sat undisturbed on the coffee table in the living room. Reading it was something reserved for church, as was prayer. By the time I was ten, my oldest brother (nine years my elder) had determined he wasn’t going to church anymore. So, my mother, in her infinite wisdom, decided none of us would go. Consequently, I had no contact of a spiritual nature with anyone and grew to be a troubled teenager. Not that I was IN trouble, but troubled just the same, always looking for that one thing that would fill this void I felt in my life. Church had become such an important part of my life that saying goodbye to it was traumatic, to say the least.
The years flew by as I filled my time with every kind of activity. My senior year brought excitement as I had convinced myself I would find what I was looking for if I went away to college. So off I went, quickly falling into the party scene. But
drinking like a fish and experimenting with drugs brought nothing but bad choices and misery. I was so very unhappy. What was missing?

There was a lovely chapel at the far end of the campus, and I was desperate to be there. Many were the Sunday mornings I would drag myself out of bed and head for church, having been out on a binge the night before. Convinced my roommates would give me a hard time, I snuck out before any of them were even awake. Clad in the same clothes I wore the night before (often covered in beer and vomit), hungover as all get out, I would walk the full length of the campus hoping my answer was waiting for me in the little chapel. Each time, I sat in the very last pew and did nothing but cry. Can you believe not one person spoke to me? Looking back, I had to be pretty “stanky”, as my grandson likes to say. No wonder they were staying as far away as possible. But I didn’t care. I just had to be there. Though I didn’t know it at the time, the Holy Spirit was wooing me, in the middle of my mess.

Several years, a husband and two beautiful boys later, I was still searching, still hungering for more. But I was no closer to wholeness than I had been in the beginning of my quest. Something had to be done, but what? One bright Sunday morning, as I was letting our dog out for a romp, the steeple of the little white church down the road caught my eye. I stood for the longest time watching the line of cars pulling into the parking lot. The church was just a few doors away, and I could hear laughter and the voices of people greeting one another as they strolled into the familiar building together. What did they have that I didn’t? I observed from a distance, wishing I could be part of them as envy enveloped me.

The memory of a similar little white church, the one from my childhood, brought tears to my eyes. I longed for the innocence I had long since lost and the loving kindness that once defined church for me. I wanted desperately to recapture those feelings. Somewhere deep in my hurting soul was the slightest hope that it could be possible. But how? With each passing Sunday, my desire to somehow experience my childhood church days grew. I would find myself watching the clock and wondering what I was missing when I knew the worship service was going on without me.

I remember the first Sunday we darkened the doors of that church. The congregation seemed so warm and welcoming, and I wanted whatever it was they had. Though I had no idea what that meant, I wanted it just the same.

We had been attending regularly for a few months when the church hosted what they called a spiritual life retreat. I had no idea what that was. All I knew was that my new friends would be there. What fun! I could never have anticipated what the Lord had in store for me there, though.

The retreat was held in the fellowship hall of the church. I entered the room with great excitement, ready for a fun weekend. Instead, God met me the moment I entered the room. My ears picked up the familiar words of a song I had come to know very well. “Seek ye first the kingdom of God.” At the time, I didn’t even realize those words were in the Bible. People were standing around talking with one another, while I found myself in my own little world. My whole body began to shake. What in the world was happening?

Just then, the retreat leader (a woman from Long Island I had yet to meet) locked eyes with me, crossed the room and stood directly in front of me. I couldn’t help but wonder what this stranger was doing. My heart raced as she gently laid her hand on my shoulder and asked a question that left me speechless. “If the living Christ was standing this close to you, what would you do?” I stared at her for what seemed like an eternity, feeling as though I was looking right into the face of God. I couldn’t answer her. I had no words but instead melted to the floor in a heap, unable to control my emotions.

That wise woman turned to the rest of the people and sweetly announced, “I realize we haven’t begun our retreat yet, but this young land and I need to have a chat.” She gently helped me to my feet, took my hand, and led me to the top of the stairs. There she opened her Bible and began to read to me from a passage I had never heard before. “If you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart God raised Him from the dead, you will be saved.” (Romans 10:9. I was speechless. I had been calling myself a Christian, believing that title was earned through church attendance, that I was saved. Oh, how wrong I was! That night seated in a stairwell with the most Christlike person I had ever met, I confessed my sins to God and accepted Jesus as my Lord and Savior. That God-shaped hole in my heart was finally filled.