I have struggled with where to begin my story. What would best convey the message I am trying to get across. A conversation with my mom, back in 2003, keeps coming to mind. You see, 2003 was a cross roads in my life. I pretty much hit rock bottom within the span of one month. I turned 30 that spring, a big milestone for a young woman, and a week later received an email from my longtime love that he wanted to take a break and figure out what he wanted in life. Which was obviously not me. A few days after this I was fired from a job I had just started, and the topper? I overheard my mom talking with her Doctor on the phone one morning. She did not know I was listening. She started crying, asking her Doctor questions like, “How much time do I have,” and, “What will my quality of life be like?” I had just overheard my mom receive a death sentence. I didn’t even know what to think. I was in denial really. She still acted good and went to work, so I did what I always did, I acted like everything was fine. I was also way too focused on why my boyfriend had broken up with me after so many years. Granted it was a very odd relationship from the beginning, but all I could see was that my heart was broken. Between the break-up, losing my job, and finding out my mom was terminal (even though I was in denial) I could not function. I was not eating. I would get in my car and just drive, sometimes for hours, and chain smoke and cry. This is what I did. I only opened up and talked to a handful of people. Mostly though, I kept to myself.
I had always been a pretty small person, maybe 130lbs, but during this time I shrunk down to a tiny 115lbs. I remember when it really hit me that I was not eating, I went to put on a pair of size 8 jeans, and they literally fell off..and they were buttoned. I felt like the world was closing in on me. I felt hopeless. My mom noticed all of this going on, and she always tried to engage me in conversation, but I was reluctant. It was the whole trust factor I guess. Mom had, at times, divulged personal information that I wanted kept private, to her sister, or friends, and I did not like that. She did not do it to hurt me, she was just talking to her friends like anyone would. And when she was worried about me, she confided in her friends like I confided in mine. Even so, I didn’t feel, at that time, I could talk to my mom.
One particular day I arrived home from work and had obviously been crying. My face was all red and puffy, and I was trying to avoid eye contact with mom while I made myself something to eat. She knew something had been up with Todd (my ex), and asked if she could do anything. I once again brushed off her saying I was “fine.” I knew she was frustrated that I would not talk to her. At this point it wasn’t just her though, I did not talk to anyone about it. We continued to talk about other things while I made myself dinner. Mostly surfacy conversation. Then mom hit me with a bombshell question. I’m not sure why she chose that moment to ask me. But she made sure I was looking her in the eyes and she asked me, “Honey, if you were to die today, do you feel confident that you would go to heaven?” I thought for a moment, and then answered the same way I have heard so many others answer. “Yes,” I replied. “How do you know?” Mom asked. (Here it comes) “Because I am a good person,” I said.
Mom shook her head slightly at my response. You see, mom had begun going back to church after she was diagnosed with cancer 9 years prior, and I felt at times, that she was a bit self-righteous. And what I mean by that, is I felt that she was all-of-the-sudden an authority on religion. (And by the way, I have come to loathe the term ‘religious.’) I mean I liked church, but I just had not found a church that I felt comfortable with. Whenever mom, or anyone, asked where I went to church I always had the same response, “I’m still looking for a church home.” In truth I had developed a very bad taste in my mouth over the years about Christians. Most of the ones I had met seemed holier than thou, or the Pastors always seemed to be asking for money. I mean, I considered myself a Christian, but didn’t feel I needed to go to church to prove it. So back to mom, she was shaking her head slightly at my answer. It made me angry. I remember I made a lame attempt at justifying why I was good enough. It would be several more years before I realized the absurdity of my response.
Later that night I finally broke down and told mom what had happened with Todd. I told her everything. She had seemed so tired lately. I felt in my gut that she was sick and would not be around much longer. I confided everything to her that night-all of it. Including the fact that I had recently found out Todd was gay, and had broken up with me to move in with his boyfriend. I sat there in front of her and cried and cried. She tried her best to comfort me, but there was no comfort to be found. Finally she said to me, “I know of someone you can talk to, he’s a friend of mine. He’s one of the pastors at our church.” Immediately I felt myself stiffen up. Mom sensed it too. “I promise he won’t ‘preach’ to you. He’ll just listen and offer advice.” So I called her friend and, just as she said, he was more than happy to talk to me.
I met him at his church office. I felt a bit weird at first. I walked in and the smell of ‘church’ immediately hit my nose. You know the smell right? I’ve always thought churches have a certain ‘smell’ to them, just like a hospital, or Doctor office. (Getting off track) So I met mom’s pastor friend and recognized him immediately from my childhood. His knowledge of my family and past immediately put me at ease, and next thing I knew I was spilling the entire story of how Todd and I had been together (on and off) since I was 17, and how betrayed I felt that he was now gay. I explained to him that I felt I had wasted a decade of my life and that everything I had known was a complete lie. He was so easy to talk to, and we talked for easily 2 hours. After all of this, he asked me a similar question as mom had asked me. Not word for word, but basically asked about my faith. I told him I felt I was a good person and had tried my whole life thus far, to be honest and help people. I explained to him that I had grown up in the church and loved God, etc, etc, etc.
He smiled an understanding smile, and his shiny, blue eyes seemed to stare right through me. He then slowly, carefully, began to explain the path to Heaven. He explained that Jesus is the Way, the Truth, and the Life, and that NO ONE comes to the God the Father except through Him. I cannot remember his words, or the way he explained what Jesus did for all of us. What I DO remember is feeling this incredible peace. He asked me if I wanted to receive the gift of salvation that Jesus had for me. I just nodded my head, “Yes.” He then led me through the sweetest prayer. Afterwards I felt I had released a huge weight from my shoulders. I left my mom’s church that day and drove to meet my dad for coffee. I felt as if I was floating on air. I wanted to share the experience with someone, but wasn’t sure who would listen without thinking I was a ‘Jesus freak.’ A demeaning description, but one that I had unfortunately used to describe church-goers myself. I also remember distinctly Not sharing the news with my mom, and I am sure she would have loved to have heard it from me instead of her pastor friend. I can’t explain why I felt embarrassed to tell her I had been born-again, it was just one of those weird things about my personality that I cannot explain. I am comforted knowing that her pastor friend shared the news with her, and that she died knowing her daughter’s salvation was secure.
I will write more later, but I want to end on this note. Some may think that the day I handed my life over to Jesus, that everything was automatically better. It Was in many ways, but I also still had many, many struggles ahead of me. And many, many days of trying to do it my way instead of God’s way.
Stay tuned for Part 2 
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