Being the firstborn grandchild, the normal thing to do was stay home with grandmother. Daily she would leave to cross the path around the hillside to great grandmother's home for hours of chatter.
Left alone, the urge to explore ruled. The path, in the opposite direction led around the barn to an overview of a deep valley with a stream, surrounded by pristine forest. Standing by the stream, an enormous beast with giant horns strolled by for a drink. As he moved on, the understanding of how small and helpless I was rushed over me. My tiny legs scrambled up the hillside to the path, past the barn, into the house, onto my warm bed, panting, gleeful and secure.
The next day, grandmother barely out of sight, I raced to stand by the soothing flow of the stream. Eyes closed tight, I twirled around until dizziness turned to stumble, then with eyes set on the most distant point faced, heart racing, my venture into the wilderness began.
In awe of the sights around me, I wandered for some time. After awhile, I tired. Each step became one of purpose, to find direction. Eventually the freedom to explore turned to fear. On the verge of hopelessness, I stumbled upon a path which led to the old house leaning against a rock on the hillside. This pattern of solitary wandering to the point of anxiety continued until we moved to the city.
To the age of 13, peace only visited during Sunday morning hymns. This brief time was my only security. Then I heard a voice saying, "Unless a man is baptized in our water, he has not a chance of eternal life." A deep grief settled within me. Later, over lunch, I asked, "What gives us the right to call ourselves the church of Christ with the only water that qualifies for eternal life?" This question was answered with resounding, "Upon this rock I will build my church!" Impulsively I retorted, "that's not right." I knew somehow that it was a lie.
That day the eyes of my heart were opened to the emptiness of human life, school became a torture of meaningless structure, independence the only objective, the street my trusted source of knowledge.
From the age of 17 - 20, I spent in Europe observing human cultures influenced by religious traditions. Upon returning to the United States, I married a friend in hope that her caring would fill the emptiness within.
Still searching, I attended a denominational group known to have a long-standing, stable, family unit atmosphere. Within a few short months, this group fragmented over the color to be chosen for new curtains and carpet. I read many books offering spiritual peace. Once I asked a neighbor for guidance, he referred me to his pastor. I met with this gentleman and received his suggestion that I respond to his Sunday morning invitation to come forward. This I did. After following all the ordinances for membership, my disappointment turned to anger leading me to stand upon the steps of the most revered building in town to declare, "If this is all God has to offer, I want no part of it and no part of Him."
Dear ones, from that point I tried most everything the world has to offer. "A slave of sin, free with regard to righteousness, only to find things of which now I am ashamed, for the end of those things is death." (Romans 6:20-21 RV) In the second month of my 33rd year upon the earth, I came to a day when execution was the only answer. In preparation, I raged at God, taunting that people said, "He was everywhere." I cursed unspeakable challenges to draw Him into a fight to the death.
After some hours, lying face down, I came to myself; I struggled to rise but could not. My weeping in rage turned to weeping of anguish. In desperation, I asked, "Is it Jesus? Is it your Son, Jesus? If it is, I'll take Him." Spontaneously, I repented for matters carried on my guilty conscience for more than 20 years. Darkness turned to light; I was awestruck with the beauty of sunshine, the green of plant life, the blue sky, and the simpleness of playing children.
Many times since have I strayed to wander in the wilderness, but regardless of my condition, He comes when I call His precious name. That afternoon the pure joy of childhood returned, at last I had found the path home.
"But you, who do you say that I am? And Simon Peter answered and said, You are the Christ, the Son of the living God. And Jesus answered and said to him, Blessed are you, Simon Barjona, because flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father who is in the heavens. And I also say to you that you are Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades shall not prevail against it." (Matthew 16:15-18 RV)
(submitted by George)
