My pilgrimage with Christ has been one of small moments of eternity broken up by long periods of selfishness, pity, failure, and sin. In fact, I admit that the very notion of “giving an account” both frightens and exhilarates me.
On the one hand, when I think of my pilgrimage, I think of all the ways I could have done better with the tools God has given me; how I could have hurt people less and loved people more. I think on the times when I failed miserably to give even the smallest consideration to someone who desperately needed it. Remembering harsh words and mockery, I shudder to think of that moment in my own eternity when I look Jesus in the eye.
Then, on the other hand, the thought of “giving my account” makes me near speechless with all the things that I want to share about God and how He has wholly changed me. I am certain that my pilgrimage is like a lot of others in that ultimately God’s outright perseverance broke into my soul, and heart, and mind, making me begin to understand who I should be. And, at the same time, God has repeatedly destroyed any notion that I had of understanding.
For me, my pilgrimage has been on ongoing process of forever finding something that was always in your hand. That is what God reminds me of; you know that thing that you’re looking for that is already in your hand. Like the glasses you lost on top of your head – God is there just waiting for you to discover Him, so that you can see.
When I was little, a lot of grown-ups did a lot of stuff they shouldn’t. They treated each other so badly that my family would break apart and coalesce into different forms. Sometimes I had an extended family; sometimes I did not. And, even though, we didn’t go to church once I reached age five, some of my earliest childhood memories are of the church that my mother attended with my great-grandparents. When I was small, before we left church, my great-grandmother would take me to the “ladies” meeting before church, and I would sit in that chapel room with all those little old ladies and hold on to a dime for the “fancy” plate with all my strength. In church, there were signs with letters like “MT 6:33,” which I thought was some sort of secret language that only the adults knew. The music was beautiful because my mother sang with the choir. Like other kids, I made crosses out of palm fronds and yarn, and tried not to fidget during all the talking the preacher did. To me, it was a strange world that seemed so quiet and important. But that changed before I knew what any of it meant. After the grown-ups “decided” things, my family became smaller, and church stopped well before I could figure out how to read those letters on those signs.
Much later, in the middle of my college years, I had a very difficult time grasping my freedom as an adult. My family structure was very confining and controlling, and I found it challenging to make the transition to autonomy. The challenges of breaking away caused a lot of anxiety for me, and I found myself at university, getting bad grades in my favorite classes and feeling worthless. Then, something started to change. I took stock of what I had to work with separate from everyone else and I found God had been with me all along.
To his day, I have no idea why, but I went to a Christian fellowship meeting at the invitation of this “Jesus Freak” on my hall in the dormitory. At that meeting, there was singing and a message, and I met some cool people who seemed so joyful. And for some inexplicable reason, I attended those meetings regularly for months, and I soon met friends who are my family to this day. A few meetings turned into regular church attendance, which turned into attending church with my future husband, which turned into being a member of our local church, which turned into being a leader in the church choir, which has turned into this “call” to study.
Unlike a lot of people, I cannot tell you the date or day that I gave my life to Christ, because I am certain that I have been giving my life to Christ all my life. I was christened as a baby and am listed on some church documents somewhere. I attended a Christian fellowship in college, and I am sure there are records. Sometime during those final college years, I walked an aisle at the invitation of the minister who years later married me to my husband. A few years ago, I was baptized. Each of these life events was done with a sincere heart, and they are special memories that I share with God, I know that God was with me during my entire life, not just because I did those acts of faith. You see, I know that God is like that thing that you think you lost but have in your hand. God didn’t need a pedigree; He just wanted me. He let me work it out each little step at a time. This process of finding myself in Christ has truly been a pilgrimage for me, but God wouldn’t have reached me any other way.
Each step of my life has been just me and God, with me groping around for my glasses, and God waiting for me to see.
