Beginnings

Maybe it's just me.  Maybe I'm the only one.  I made a profession of faith in Christ at the age of five, when after telling my mother I wanted to take communion like the big people was followed by a conversation with the pastor,  I learned that taking communion had to be proceeded by becoming a member of the church (yes this was possible at the age of five in a Southern Baptist church), which had to be proceeded by being baptized, which had to be proceeded by proclaiming faith in Christ.  And yes, I know that was a very long sentence because for a five year old, it was a very long way from the question, "can I take the Lord's Supper?" to "yes, you can.  You have been validated and credentialed."  When the pastor asked if I believed in Jesus, I responded, "of course I believe in Jesus.  And I believe in Peter and John and all those other guys, too."  And a week later I was baptized, and on the next Lord's Supper Sunday, I took communion with the big people.

So, with such an auspicious beginning in the Christian faith, one might figure it would be smooth sailing from there.

Not so much, but maybe it's just me.

When I was thirteen, I attended a youth retreat at Falls Creek, a Southern Baptist camp in the Arbuckle Mountains of southern Oklahoma.  At the end of our second night there, the pastor instructed us to go out on the hillside under the stars, be quiet and listen to what God might say.  I felt the presence of God strongly that night, as if He were audibly saying He had given His life for ME.  I was moved, and felt that my earlier proclaimed faith was slowly moving from my head to my heart.

Sometimes the difference between your head to your heart feels a whole lot farther than twelve inches.  And travelling that twelve inches is taking a lifetime.  Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever really get there, or if understanding what faith is really all about doesn't happen until we see Jesus face to face.  I'm 55 years old and sometimes I get really frustrated with myself for not being farther along in this journey than I am.  It's not for a lack of trying.  I've read all the latest and greatest books through the years from The Prayer of Jabez to In His Steps (the basis for the What Would Jesus Do movement) to The Purpose Driven Life and a number of the classics, like Hannah Whitall Smith and St. Augustine and Oswald Chambers.  I've studied the prayer lives of George Mueller and Brother Lawrence, taken classes in everything from apologetics to evangelism,  done countless Bible studies and Bible reading plans and yet there are things in my life that elude me.  Like how to lose 35 stinking pounds.  Or how to be the light of Christ in a black world without getting lost in the dark.  Or how to really find joy in the midst of trials.

Like Vizzini, who said the only way to regroup is by going back to the beginning (name that movie), that's where I'm headed.  We trivialize the profound and make the simple far, far too difficult.  Someone once said that the Gospel is simple enough for a child to wade in but deep enough for a champion swimmer to drown in.  I think I'm treading water somewhere in between.  It's not a matter of doubt or unbelief, but just needing to go back to the beginning to remember what is really the most important.

If I wind up just talking to myself here, that's fine.  But if you can relate, please chime in. I'm guessing I'm not the only one.