A Great Life with God

Wrong Foot

Born and raised in Florence, South Carolina, in the heart of the Bible belt; as a child, my family and I went to church often. We were there when the doors opened on Sunday mornings, on Sunday evenings, and again on Wednesday nights. Anytime there was a revival or special event, we were present and accounted for. And while I can’t say I relished sitting still during the sermons or paid attention to every word my pastor said, I always looked forward to going. I enjoyed the uplifting music, fun social activities, and the exciting Bible stories: Jonah being swallowed by the whale, David defeating Goliath, Daniel being thrown into the lion’s den. I was interested in learning about God’s love for humankind and His sending His Son, Jesus, to die on the cross for our wrong doings.

I was just beginning to grasp what the word “salvation” meant, when, during Vacation Bible School one summer our pastor walked into our fifth and sixth grade class to ask by a show of hands who wanted to go to heaven? Of course we all raised our hands. What child doesn’t want to go to heaven? As well, with his next question about whether we believed in Jesus, all hands went up. And again, with whether we wanted to be saved, hands waved. It wasn’t until we were all corralled into his office and my pastor began saying things like: our not putting off the decision to be saved because one could never be sure there would be a tomorrow that I realized he was talking about “right that second.” This was when the squirming began. Being a child who was always getting into trouble there was no doubt where I would be going if I failed to wake up in the morning. I didn’t want to go to hell. But at the same time, I still had questions about salvation and didn’t want to make this decision without fully understanding what I was doing either. The persuasive spiel continued on with our pastor promising us new lives and our becoming good children after we were saved. We were then asked to close our eyes and all who wanted to be saved to raise their hands. I really wanted to be a good child. The prospect of having a new life sounded wonderful. But it just didn’t seem right to say I was ready when I wasn’t. That would be a lie. I knew that was wrong. My hand would not go up.

Persuasion turned into pressing. Didn’t we want to have our sins forgiven? Didn’t we want to be good children? Why, then, were we hesitating? Looking around the room, no one else seemed to be the least bit uncomfortable or confused. Obviously I was the only dumb and crummy child. Embarrassed and intimidated, I couldn’t bring myself to speak up about my questions, doubts, or wanting to wait. Several more eye-closing and hand-raising sessions followed. I finally gave in to raise my hand. What else could I do? We were going to be there forever if I didn’t.

The following Sunday my classmates and I were collectively seated on the front pew and during the service ushered up in front of the congregation to ask for forgiveness of our sins and profess a faith in Jesus.

This was my salvation experience.