I look up, and, in front of me is a house. It is larger then the others we have looked at. It is so much more appealing then the little two room apartment we are forced to endure. Our realtor stands outside the door, an ant in comparison to what looks like a towering structure. She opens the door and we go in. At once I am captivated. I look to my right and there is a large mirror that creates the illusion that the house is really bigger then what it is. As I look around I can see stairs going down and up. I follow my parents up the first flight. The house is larger then I thought. “This is it,” I say, “We need to get this place.” My parents sound somewhat skeptical, but aren’t altogether opposed to the idea. They look around mentioning that it needs some work. My dad goes outside to look over the shed in the back yard. The door shuts and so does my memory of that time.
In the midst of the blurred indistinguishable memory another time stands out. I sit at the dining room table. My mom is on the other side. We had just finished having a play date with our friends. I am worn out and sit breathing heavily at the table. Suddenly as we are discussing the friends and what they are like, my mom asks me if I think they are Christians. I begin to answer with words I think are intellectual and well thought out. But they only serve to cause another inquiry. “Are you a Christian?” Out of nowhere my mom asks the question I never knew I would get. It scares me and I quickly say yes. But she continues to pry at me. The room disappears to reveal another room filled with people looking at me and smiling once again.
I hold a piece of paper in my hand. It is my “testimony”. I have just finished reading it and am now signing my name on a piece of paper. I am told to go get some different cloths on. All goes dark. Then, I am outside soaked and shivering. I have just been baptized for the last time. In that moment and in this one I remember all of the times I had pridefuly ignored God. I remember the different people I was with and the different times I was baptized. I remember the influences I had. Some were good. Some were bad. But all in all I remember how it all, my whole life, was directed by God for his glory and for my salvation. Everything I had done and that had happened to me all came down to the moment (I don’t know the exact time) that I was saved. And it was all symbolized in that baptism: the one not for my salvation but to signify it. Now the rest is yet to happen it isn’t in my past so I can’t really tell you about it. But I hope through this post you have come to know me a little bit better and have come to know what I live for. May God, then, be glorified in the rest of this life I live.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
A Reminisce and God’s Glory: Part Two
Several years have passed. We walk into an office. I don’t focus on much around me. I see a face but I can’t describe it: young and yet somehow old. My parents talk for sometime, saying things I can’t or don’t want to understand. I am stuck in my own world. I hear words like “church”, “false doctrine”, and “need to change”. We get up and leave.
We never attend that church but instead go to another. My parents decide they like it. I don’t care.
The office fades out and I find myself in another room. But this room looks out on a large audience who watch with smiles on their faces. Below me swaying back and forth is a small body of water. I’m in a baptistery. I see my family with me. I’m in a robe like garment. As I watch, each family member is being dunked under the water by my dad. It is my turn. My father says a few words and then all sound is drowned out as I go underneath. Coming up from the water everything around me is gone, I’m no longer wet.
I sit in a pew hands in my lap. I look to my side and see my dad sitting next to me. He is listening intently to the words being spoken in the front. Looking down at my hands I ignore the sermon. I wonder who my favorite football teem is playing today. The buffalo bills I remember with a smile. I can’t wait to see who wins. Then suddenly a man hands me a plate from the right hand isle. It has two different contents on it: a small glass with grape juice in it and a white flake of bread. I reach out to grab the bread. Hesitating I wonder if I should take it. My life hadn’t reflected the symbol I was about to partake of. I reluctantly grabbed both contents, however, and held them in my shaking hands. Then every thing was fogged over.
My monotonous life is becoming more monotonous. I find scenes molding into each other more and more. They are becoming less distinct. I remember depression. I remember being sick of my surroundings. One scene pulls itself away from the rest. It becomes distinct and clear in my head. I am riding in a car. A friend of mine sits next to me. It is the older boy who opened that door in the earlier memory. His name is David Moore. In his hand is a walkie talkie. He smiles and speaks into it. A girl’s voice answers on the other end. I don’t know what it says. The words are muffled by forgetfulness. I don’t know why but I begin to sing. My friend’s mom smiles and looks back, “that is very good,” she says. I blush and quickly stop. I look back over at my friend. I had seen him for the past several weeks in a row. And I knew I would probably see him for the next weeks to come. I stopped smiling and wondered when I would pull out of the present monotony. Suddenly I can’t see his face any more he is gone along with the car.
Several months have passed by now. I hold a controller in my hand. The voices of younger kids playing and talking in the distance carry into the dark room. I stare dumbly into a TV screen. On it a man runs through the woods. I am controlling him. In the distance grenades go off. I’m nearly hit. I stop, turn and shoot an unsuspecting soldier in the back. He dies. Suddenly from outside of my own little world a call breaks me out of my stupor. “Your computer time is up.” It is my mom. I stay on for another thirty minutes ignoring the call. Then, out of pure boredom, I turn of the game station and look around the room. All is dark. Then, through a window, I can see some kids playing around out back in a sand box. The backyard reminds me that I won’t be seeing it for to much longer. I am going to move in a week. It seems so unreal that it isn’t unusual. I accept it. Maybe mostly because it is a break from the deadly monotony. Every thing goes black as, for the last time; I see my old world and old friends. It is gone forever.
Suddenly I’m in a blue van. We are driving up a long small road into a parking lot. I remember hearing something about a heartland center. I am more then a little nervous. The building looks large, which can only mean one thing: there are a lot of people. Suddenly everything is gone. It disappears in the fog of forgetfulness. A second later I am walking through a hall. I look around and wish that I wasn’t there. As we reach two glass doors we turn left and enter a large sanctuary. A lot of people are moving around inside. A lot of unfamiliar faces. I look around to see what kind of faces. They all seemed nice and welcoming. We sat down in the middle row four rows from the front. I can’t distinguish faces. There is what looks like a young man standing on the stage. He is speaking. Then what looks like a younger girl, who I find out later to be his sister, is up on stage with him. The young man sings: it sounds very good. The sermon is a blur as I only remember that a foreigner is speaking. Suddenly everything clears. The sermon is over and I am sitting in my seat next to my brother. We are wearing our leather jackets. I look around and see a little boy who is wearing glasses. Then, suddenly the young singer comes over and introduces himself as Bryan Elliff. He is followed by several other younger people. They introduce themselves too. I feel the questions raining in and am flattered enough to answer them happily. As I go to answer another question I turn around and see…nothing…it is all gone. I am no longer in the sanctuary. All around me is fog.
We never attend that church but instead go to another. My parents decide they like it. I don’t care.
The office fades out and I find myself in another room. But this room looks out on a large audience who watch with smiles on their faces. Below me swaying back and forth is a small body of water. I’m in a baptistery. I see my family with me. I’m in a robe like garment. As I watch, each family member is being dunked under the water by my dad. It is my turn. My father says a few words and then all sound is drowned out as I go underneath. Coming up from the water everything around me is gone, I’m no longer wet.
I sit in a pew hands in my lap. I look to my side and see my dad sitting next to me. He is listening intently to the words being spoken in the front. Looking down at my hands I ignore the sermon. I wonder who my favorite football teem is playing today. The buffalo bills I remember with a smile. I can’t wait to see who wins. Then suddenly a man hands me a plate from the right hand isle. It has two different contents on it: a small glass with grape juice in it and a white flake of bread. I reach out to grab the bread. Hesitating I wonder if I should take it. My life hadn’t reflected the symbol I was about to partake of. I reluctantly grabbed both contents, however, and held them in my shaking hands. Then every thing was fogged over.
My monotonous life is becoming more monotonous. I find scenes molding into each other more and more. They are becoming less distinct. I remember depression. I remember being sick of my surroundings. One scene pulls itself away from the rest. It becomes distinct and clear in my head. I am riding in a car. A friend of mine sits next to me. It is the older boy who opened that door in the earlier memory. His name is David Moore. In his hand is a walkie talkie. He smiles and speaks into it. A girl’s voice answers on the other end. I don’t know what it says. The words are muffled by forgetfulness. I don’t know why but I begin to sing. My friend’s mom smiles and looks back, “that is very good,” she says. I blush and quickly stop. I look back over at my friend. I had seen him for the past several weeks in a row. And I knew I would probably see him for the next weeks to come. I stopped smiling and wondered when I would pull out of the present monotony. Suddenly I can’t see his face any more he is gone along with the car.
Several months have passed by now. I hold a controller in my hand. The voices of younger kids playing and talking in the distance carry into the dark room. I stare dumbly into a TV screen. On it a man runs through the woods. I am controlling him. In the distance grenades go off. I’m nearly hit. I stop, turn and shoot an unsuspecting soldier in the back. He dies. Suddenly from outside of my own little world a call breaks me out of my stupor. “Your computer time is up.” It is my mom. I stay on for another thirty minutes ignoring the call. Then, out of pure boredom, I turn of the game station and look around the room. All is dark. Then, through a window, I can see some kids playing around out back in a sand box. The backyard reminds me that I won’t be seeing it for to much longer. I am going to move in a week. It seems so unreal that it isn’t unusual. I accept it. Maybe mostly because it is a break from the deadly monotony. Every thing goes black as, for the last time; I see my old world and old friends. It is gone forever.
Suddenly I’m in a blue van. We are driving up a long small road into a parking lot. I remember hearing something about a heartland center. I am more then a little nervous. The building looks large, which can only mean one thing: there are a lot of people. Suddenly everything is gone. It disappears in the fog of forgetfulness. A second later I am walking through a hall. I look around and wish that I wasn’t there. As we reach two glass doors we turn left and enter a large sanctuary. A lot of people are moving around inside. A lot of unfamiliar faces. I look around to see what kind of faces. They all seemed nice and welcoming. We sat down in the middle row four rows from the front. I can’t distinguish faces. There is what looks like a young man standing on the stage. He is speaking. Then what looks like a younger girl, who I find out later to be his sister, is up on stage with him. The young man sings: it sounds very good. The sermon is a blur as I only remember that a foreigner is speaking. Suddenly everything clears. The sermon is over and I am sitting in my seat next to my brother. We are wearing our leather jackets. I look around and see a little boy who is wearing glasses. Then, suddenly the young singer comes over and introduces himself as Bryan Elliff. He is followed by several other younger people. They introduce themselves too. I feel the questions raining in and am flattered enough to answer them happily. As I go to answer another question I turn around and see…nothing…it is all gone. I am no longer in the sanctuary. All around me is fog.
A Reminisce and God’s Glory: Part One
The first thing that comes to my mind when I reminisce about my life is the great mercy dealt to me. It spared me from a lot of pain and turmoil.
I can vaguely remember my parents splitting up. I recollect certain scenes when I was with one or the other. In one of those scenes I am very young. I stand on a bed watching my dad working in the kitchen. He has just finished helping me with something. I can’t quite remember what. I look out the window and see my grandmother walking towards our front door. Everything fades as the rest is only a fogy picture in my mind. Suddenly I am there again embracing my grandma. I find out she has something for me. It is a three-wheel bike for toddlers. I am elated. I can still remember the feeling of joy even to this day.
The mercy I mentioned comes later on in my life, but not too much later. My parents who have been away from each other for some months go to meet with a pastor one night about their relational issues. My Dad wants so bad for things to be different. He has been changed and wants a second chance. My mom doesn’t want to hear about it. She reluctantly goes with him that night, however. But quickly ends the meeting by saying that it is finished and leaves without another word. My Dad who is devastated talks to the pastor a little longer asking him what chance he has of ever being with my mom again. The pastor is pretty sure the relationship is finished.
Through the grace of God, however, my mom changes her mind and eventually they both are together again and soon after become professing Christians. That mercy would follow me through the rest of my young life and, I am certain, would help mold me into the person I am today.
The next scene I recall is a few years later. I lay down on another bed in a room that my brother and I share. We live in a trailer. My dad stands over me. He is tucking me into bed. As I get comfortable in the covers enjoying the presence of my father and the warm glow of the lamp, I look up into his eyes and listen quietly to his words. He asks me a simple question, “Jacob, have you ever heard of goliath?” I hadn’t heard of that great giant who was slain by a mere young but faithful man. That is the first time I recall hearing about the bible. Again every thing fades into the fog of forgetfulness.
Objects and people suddenly come into focus as my memory clicks into another stage of my life. I am bent over, hands on my knees looking at the ground, trying to catch my breath. In the distance a girl is walking slowly towards me. Her face is very familiar. I have known here for years. She is smiling but I know her purpose. As she gets closer I must make my move. I take one last deep breath, turn around, and jolt for a door in the side of the church. I can hear her behind me. As I make it to the door I quickly open it mapping out the path I need to take. Down the stairs, through fellowship hall, and out the big glass doors. As I take the stairs two at a time I hear heavy breath behind me. Terrified I look back but am relieved to see my friend, Bryan, behind me. The terror comes back as both the girl chasing me and another girl appear behind us. They aren’t letting up. I yell as loud as I can and fly through the door. Every thing fogs over once again.
We decide to leave that first church with the sole intent of going to a more family focused congregation—one which focuses on strong parental guidance of their kids. We drive over to the house of the pastor of family covenant. I remember walking up the front steps. My throat is very sore, and I have an anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach. I know I’m going to have to meet someone new. All the while, I’m making sure that I stay behind my mom and dad. “Knock, Knock, Knock.” My dad raps his knuckles against the door in that rhythm he always uses. The door opens slowly to reveal the face of an older boy, with whom I would soon come to be good friends. He smiles and lets us in. Suddenly the contents of the room swirl around in an invisible, tornado-like wind fading from view until all goes fogy once again.
As some years go by, we stay with the church growing somewhat close to the five families within. Another scene begins to materialize.
I’m running as hard as I can through a park. It is Fifth Street Park over by the brick streets and older homes. That is how I distinguish it from the rest. I always remember the red bricks. As I run, I can hear kids my age screaming and laughing along with me. I look over and see another friend I have made. We are playing tag. Suddenly I slide to avoid being tagged, scrapping up the grass and staining my genes. Getting up I feel like kicking myself knowing that the slide isn’t worth my embarrassment. My memory world fades out for a second and back in. I stand with one foot on a bench. Towering over me is an outside pavilion. We are still in the same park. My best friend is standing to my right. He is talking somewhat heatedly to an acquaintance. They are discussing Lord of the Rings. Marcus, my friend, says that Lord of the rings is sinful and bad. I stupidly agree with him getting in an argument with the acquaintance and his older brother. Fog once again envelopes me, but, only momentarily. We suddenly appear in the drive way of large house. My friend’s mom stands, hand on her hips, listening as a lady and her son apologize for their behavior at the park. I see a glint of prideful victory in the former’s face. She nods matter-of-factly and accepts the apology.
Our prideful self-righteous attitudes continue for a couple more years to come. I go along with it because that is how the people around me act. We are right and others are obviously wrong. Suddenly that life is gone while yet another scene surfaces.
I can vaguely remember my parents splitting up. I recollect certain scenes when I was with one or the other. In one of those scenes I am very young. I stand on a bed watching my dad working in the kitchen. He has just finished helping me with something. I can’t quite remember what. I look out the window and see my grandmother walking towards our front door. Everything fades as the rest is only a fogy picture in my mind. Suddenly I am there again embracing my grandma. I find out she has something for me. It is a three-wheel bike for toddlers. I am elated. I can still remember the feeling of joy even to this day.
The mercy I mentioned comes later on in my life, but not too much later. My parents who have been away from each other for some months go to meet with a pastor one night about their relational issues. My Dad wants so bad for things to be different. He has been changed and wants a second chance. My mom doesn’t want to hear about it. She reluctantly goes with him that night, however. But quickly ends the meeting by saying that it is finished and leaves without another word. My Dad who is devastated talks to the pastor a little longer asking him what chance he has of ever being with my mom again. The pastor is pretty sure the relationship is finished.
Through the grace of God, however, my mom changes her mind and eventually they both are together again and soon after become professing Christians. That mercy would follow me through the rest of my young life and, I am certain, would help mold me into the person I am today.
The next scene I recall is a few years later. I lay down on another bed in a room that my brother and I share. We live in a trailer. My dad stands over me. He is tucking me into bed. As I get comfortable in the covers enjoying the presence of my father and the warm glow of the lamp, I look up into his eyes and listen quietly to his words. He asks me a simple question, “Jacob, have you ever heard of goliath?” I hadn’t heard of that great giant who was slain by a mere young but faithful man. That is the first time I recall hearing about the bible. Again every thing fades into the fog of forgetfulness.
Objects and people suddenly come into focus as my memory clicks into another stage of my life. I am bent over, hands on my knees looking at the ground, trying to catch my breath. In the distance a girl is walking slowly towards me. Her face is very familiar. I have known here for years. She is smiling but I know her purpose. As she gets closer I must make my move. I take one last deep breath, turn around, and jolt for a door in the side of the church. I can hear her behind me. As I make it to the door I quickly open it mapping out the path I need to take. Down the stairs, through fellowship hall, and out the big glass doors. As I take the stairs two at a time I hear heavy breath behind me. Terrified I look back but am relieved to see my friend, Bryan, behind me. The terror comes back as both the girl chasing me and another girl appear behind us. They aren’t letting up. I yell as loud as I can and fly through the door. Every thing fogs over once again.
We decide to leave that first church with the sole intent of going to a more family focused congregation—one which focuses on strong parental guidance of their kids. We drive over to the house of the pastor of family covenant. I remember walking up the front steps. My throat is very sore, and I have an anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach. I know I’m going to have to meet someone new. All the while, I’m making sure that I stay behind my mom and dad. “Knock, Knock, Knock.” My dad raps his knuckles against the door in that rhythm he always uses. The door opens slowly to reveal the face of an older boy, with whom I would soon come to be good friends. He smiles and lets us in. Suddenly the contents of the room swirl around in an invisible, tornado-like wind fading from view until all goes fogy once again.
As some years go by, we stay with the church growing somewhat close to the five families within. Another scene begins to materialize.
I’m running as hard as I can through a park. It is Fifth Street Park over by the brick streets and older homes. That is how I distinguish it from the rest. I always remember the red bricks. As I run, I can hear kids my age screaming and laughing along with me. I look over and see another friend I have made. We are playing tag. Suddenly I slide to avoid being tagged, scrapping up the grass and staining my genes. Getting up I feel like kicking myself knowing that the slide isn’t worth my embarrassment. My memory world fades out for a second and back in. I stand with one foot on a bench. Towering over me is an outside pavilion. We are still in the same park. My best friend is standing to my right. He is talking somewhat heatedly to an acquaintance. They are discussing Lord of the Rings. Marcus, my friend, says that Lord of the rings is sinful and bad. I stupidly agree with him getting in an argument with the acquaintance and his older brother. Fog once again envelopes me, but, only momentarily. We suddenly appear in the drive way of large house. My friend’s mom stands, hand on her hips, listening as a lady and her son apologize for their behavior at the park. I see a glint of prideful victory in the former’s face. She nods matter-of-factly and accepts the apology.
Our prideful self-righteous attitudes continue for a couple more years to come. I go along with it because that is how the people around me act. We are right and others are obviously wrong. Suddenly that life is gone while yet another scene surfaces.
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