|Reformed Fraidy Cat|
I was a train wreck waiting to happen. Hah! Some of my friends are chuckling at that statement and dying to tell you I'm always a train wreck in progress. My train wrecks are now, perhaps, more complicated and sophisticated. That's about all that has changed. Look in the mirror. I'm not that different from you. Or someone you know. We'll pretend it's our little secret, Ok?
Up to now I've been comfortable telling my sorry tale. Much of it contains elements to which everyone can relate: marriage challenges, childhood abuse, financial strains, learning disabilities, health crises, etc. What's not to resonate about that stuff? You read and think of yourself or someone you know. Voila! I've gotcha snared in my crafty little writer's trap. Ta-DAH. It's magic when it works well.
|Who YOU calling a Fraidy Cat?|
Despite the divergence in our life experiences, the sum total is the same. We reach a point when we have to decide one way or the other what we are going to do with God. Will we accept the good Creator God who offered up his only son to reconcile us to himself? Or, will we decide that the universe began with a cataclysmic bang which launched us into an accidental universe without a grand plan for any of us? Are we, then the gods of our own destiny adrift in a sea of creative chaos? Distilled to purest form, those are the ultimate questions in life.
|Wouldn't you follow her anywhere?|
I had grown up hearing adults opine that Grandpa's religion and salvation would not be an automatic bus ticket into the gates of heaven. Faith is not passed down via a last will and testament and automatically transferred from one generation to the next. It is personal and individual. Made sense to me. Didn't apply to me. WHEW! Whew until age 30, and then G.U.L.P.
I was after all the good kid who had been in church since the 3rd day of my life. From early childhood, I was told that I was part of a 'ministering family'. In that family, we all had a job to do. I was proud as punch to do mine. Especially when I was promoted to the position of what I now consider 'pump primer'.
|Little Shoulders. Big Job.|
It may come as a surprise to you, but in lots of Christian churches all over the world, that same rite goes on week after week. The service ends with what is referred to as the 'altar call'. It is a time for those in need to share in a season of prayer. The proud day came when I was mature enough to be assigned my special job.
The organ would begin the soft strains of some heart-rending theme like Dr. Graham's oft used “Just As I Am”. The offer of a season of prayer would go out. Saint or sinner – the altar was there for those who wanted to share in the fellowship of corporate prayer. During those sensitive moments, it was my job to watch the podium like an eagle for 'the sign'. It was secret code.
The tip of my father's finger would extend just enough beyond the lectern that only one looking for it would see it. I was the only one looking. I knew that was my sign. Time for me to move out into the aisle and toward the prayer altar. I mean....even God's word says the little child shall lead them, so who in their right and prayerful mind would resist following a little child down to pray?
|Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative|
Welcome home, fraidy cat. I'm in search of my good God with the good plan. All fraidy cats are welcome here. Spread the word. If you don't tell them, how in the world are the others gonna find us way out here in Cyberlandia? Love you long and strong. See you soon.