The last place I went before I was born was the driveway of a small house on Dinkel road. My dad was a pastor and often worked during the week installing drywall in houses. This day in June my mom was in the Mazda pickup, crocheting or drawing in her sketchbook just waiting. The sky was still dark from the ash of St. Helens’ eruption just a month before; another aftershock wiggled the earth when I decided it was time. My sister and two brothers were at my grandparents’ house when the phone rang with news of my birth.
My mom encouraged creativity as much as possible for all of us as we grew up. I made up stories and sang songs as I walked around the house. But this kind of self expression only holds on as long as youth can drag its tiny feet. The saying, “silence is golden” becomes an involuntary mantra arresting even the smallest imagination.
At the age of 18 I stepped off the city bus into a whole new world of institutional and personal education. The dogwood leaves turned red, orange, yellow and loose, riding gusts of fall wind across the square escorting me to my first class in college. It was not yet cold enough to keep the smokers and Frisbee players confined under awnings or indoors. I felt the weight of my backpack on one shoulder and decided between myself and God and whoever else could hear my thoughts that life could be different this year.
I had made the rookie mistake of scheduling three hours between my two classes in that first semester. After prodding from an acquaintance I conceded to spend my surplus time in the student lounge rather than taking the 25 minute bus ride home and back. It was there that I experienced true acceptance for the first time. I still remember the moment, out of frustration and confusion, I exclaimed, “what do you guys have?!” Their reply was Jesus. I had Jesus or so I thought, I walked outside to my car for something when God spoke to my heart. He asked me if I would like to follow Him, I said yes.
This has been, and still is, a stumbling, clumsy journey pursuing what it means to belong to God. It is a journey of small triumphs and heartache. It has, however, always been good.
