Since I was born into a Christian home, I can’t remember the first time I went to church. From my earliest childhood I knew that Jesus was born in Bethlehem, that He grew up to die on the Cross for me, that He rose again on Easter Sunday, and will return someday for those who are ready to meet Him. 

My family’s tradition was to be in church regularly. My great-grandmother, a widow, lived two doors down from the church, making it convenient for us to visit her often. Many times she would make cheese toast, banana bread, hand pies, or cookies for us. Then she would give thanks to our Heavenly Father before we would eat our tasty treat. When she prayed, it wasn’t a habitual prayer. She reached Heaven and the Holy Spirit was felt around that small table in her humble kitchen. She was a prayer warrior. We knew we could call on her for prayer any time, day or night, and we did. Her faithfulness made a great impression on me that remains to this day.

At the age of eight, I began to feel God calling after my own heart. When the sun would go down and the lights were turned off, I started to fear the return of Christ. If He returned in the night or I failed to wake up, I knew I wasn’t ready for Heaven. I was reaching the age of accountability, and I began to have personal conversations with the Lord. One night after an inspirational movie at our little church in Arkansas, I was ready to surrender my life to Christ. Kneeling at an altar of prayer, I wept as I told the Lord how sorry I was for my sins. I asked Him to forgive me and to come into my heart. He did, and changed me completely. I knew I was ready for the Lord’s return, and I was no longer afraid to go to sleep at night. A deep settled peace came over me that still continues. 

As a teenager, some of the choices I was making began steering my attention toward the things of this world. I wanted to be a Christian and yet fit in with friends at school. Deep down, I was struggling with temptation. Thankfully, God helped me realize I needed a closer walk with Him. Our family visited Midwest Camp in Murphysboro, Illinois, each summer. Looking forward to that camp meeting, my desire was to be more of what Jesus wanted me to be. I knew from the sermons I had heard that I needed to be sanctified. I prayed and prayed but felt at a loss about how to receive sanctification. Then, after a youth service, I asked someone to help me pray. That was the step I needed to take. Admitting I needed to be sanctified and having another Christian agreeing to help me pray brought victory. The Blood of Jesus purified my heart and gave me the strength to stay true to Him.

Through good and especially through some difficult situations, Jesus has been my best Friend. One of the darkest valleys I ever faced came about when I was only fourteen years old. My older brother had gone away to Marine boot camp, and we were expecting him home soon. On an evening just before Christmas, a young man wearing Marine dress blues knocked on our door. He asked my parents to sit down and proceeded to inform them that my brother had died by suicide. The sudden grief, shock, and turmoil I felt is indescribable. I knew my brother would never be returning home again. There were times when sadness overcame me. I felt alone and afraid to talk to my family because they were also grieving. I remember shutting the door to my room and crying out to Jesus, asking Him to give me the joy I had when I first became a Christian, because I no longer felt joy. The precious Holy Spirit blessed me with joy and helped me see the beauty in life again.

When I was sixteen years old, I was given my first opportunity to attend the camp meeting in Portland, Oregon. As I anticipated the trip, I spoke with my great-grandmother about the possibility of meeting a Christian young man there. Her reply was, “You need your baptism first, and God will bless you with a Christian boyfriend.” I am forever grateful for her blunt reply. She was one hundred percent correct. I needed God’s direction if I were to have a relationship with a young man that God could bless. My hunger for the baptism of the Holy Ghost grew as I began to study God’s Word. I read and reread Isaiah chapter six, where God called Isaiah. I wanted to be a witness for God but felt incapable. The more I read this chapter, the more I wanted all of what God had to offer regardless of the cost. 

Once we arrived at the camp meeting, I was attending services, practicing for the youth concert, and enjoying meeting new friends. Coming from a small branch church, I was caught up in the excitement of all the activities and fellowship. At the close of the first Friday night service, I was planning to meet a young man. After praying for a few minutes, I looked up and noticed him standing in the back of the tabernacle. By the grace of God, my great-grandmother’s words rang loud in my ears, “You need your baptism first, and God will bless you with a Christian boyfriend.” I was determined to stay on my knees and seek God with my whole heart, and I will never regret that decision. Not knowing what the future would hold, I consecrated my life to God. His Spirit came down and filled my soul to overflowing. I spoke in a language unknown to me, a witness of the baptism of the Holy Ghost. 

Three years later, the Lord brought a wonderful Christian man into my life. Shawn had recently graduated from college. After applying for multiple jobs, he accepted one where he lived in Portland, Oregon. Living thousands of miles apart, we knew one of us would need to move. We wanted God’s will, so we prayerfully sought guidance. Shawn spoke with his pastor and his parents. I spoke with my parents, which included my pastor, who was my father. I bought a roundtrip ticket to Portland and planned to return home if I did not have a job within two months. Two job offers came my way in less than two weeks, so I took the best one and became an Oregonian. Shawn and I were married in 1994 and in time, we were blessed with four daughters. 

Our family has seen many miracles. Our first daughter was born prematurely because I developed pre-eclampsia. She weighed 2 pounds 11 ounces, and to our amazement, came home a little more than a month later. We had been told and accepted the fact that she would have vision problems, because she came home with a partially detached retina. However, God miraculously healed her eye, and there was no sign of previous damage. This puzzled the doctors as they poured over her charts comparing her eye scans. God miraculously overruled all the predictions of the doctors. Today, she is a mother herself.

I’m thankful for God’s protection. One day when our youngest daughter was three years old and I was about to put her into the car, I noticed that drool was pouring from her mouth. When I asked if she had swallowed something, she could not speak, and immediately I knew something was wrong. I called an advice nurse who said to give her some food to force down whatever she had eaten. My God-given instinct was to respond, “I’m not comfortable giving her food, because she can’t even swallow her saliva.” Instead, I took her to the emergency room, and a coin was found stuck in her esophagus. She was sent to the children’s hospital where it was surgically removed. The doctor told us that we were lucky the coin was lodged vertically in her esophagus rather than horizontally, and that giving her food would have been the worst decision. Events of that day were not luck but God’s protection. 

When our girls were young, even preparing to leave the house for church was no small task. With no warning, one of our daughters might climb into the bathtub wearing her church clothes or color her face with a marker. Another might have a meltdown trying to find matching shoes or forget them altogether. Attending church with four small children, I couldn’t always recount what the sermon was about or which announcements were made, but the blessings cannot be measured. A Sunday school teacher once encouraged our women’s class to seek blessings during the service, even if those blessings are just one sentence from a hymn or testimony. God helped us prioritize being in church whenever possible, carrying on the tradition of our parents. Tradition alone will not get us to Heaven, but being in God’s house has given us opportunities to witness immeasurable blessings, including all of our girls choosing to follow Jesus as their personal Savior. 

Whatever comes my way, I can say that I am still blessed. I thank God for being the Light in the darkness and for the joy He brings each day!