Do you recall the day when...

Yes, I remember it. February 15, 1975, at the altar of a little country church. The time element is bit fuzzier (it was the last night of a revival service), probably around 8:30 or 9PM.

Less than a week later, at that same altar, I recieved the baptism in the Holy Spirit.

I guess the big things in life I remember. If only I was that good when it comes time to renew my driver's license...

Yeah, and it wasn't a good day.

[prevents self from going into painful detail, especially about physical, hand-on-head pressure to speak in tongues... ah, fergit it]


However, on August 15, 2003 (21 years later) if you had looked into my home office, you would have seen me crouched on the floor, crying, and repeating "I surrender" over and over.

That was a very good day.

If I've totally frustrated anyone and you want to hear these stories, PM me.

Yes I do. I shall never forget it.

Mine's kind of like Lily's. I remember one Sunday evening service slipping from the pew during the alter call when I was seven. I hadn't talked it over with my parents - I just decided to do it. (As a parent, I have to laugh about it now). I told the pastor I wanted to accept Jesus into my heart. I don't remember the date or even the season. I think that's the day that I really became His.

But like many, I grew up and decided I'd been brainwashed and that Christians were all hypocrites and faith was an all-out commitment to self-delusion. I spent several years being the life of every party and always trying to get attention and praise. Those years were secretly miserable and dark and sad. I looked great on the outside, but when I lay awake in bed at night, I knew how empty I'd become and there was nothing that could fill me up.

Several years later, I had been reading the Bible and learning about truly walking with Christ from a new group of friends. I was back on the right path, but I still hesitated to give myself over 100%. Philipians 3 had been exploding in my heart. And one day I heard a sermon from Chuck Swindol, talking about the difference between being 99% God's and 100%. The idea of getting down on my knees and saying "God, I'm 100% yours. No matter what you want me to do, I'll do it. No matter who you want me to be, I'll be it. I just want you" terrified me. Terrified me.

But I remember the morning I rolled out of bed, got on my knees and said "Okay, Father. I give up. I'm all yours. Do anything you want. I just want you." I don't remember the date, but life has never been the same since.

I was probably about seven. My mom and some other guy taught Sunday school, and at the end of this particular lesson they asked if anyone wanted to accept Christ. I said, well, sure. It was the guy who prayed with me.

For me, it wasn't some big huge life changing event - it was the natural progression of my life. Yes, I believe this. Yes, of course I will commit myself to following Christ. Even with my dad being a non-believer, actively critical of everything my mom believed, the choice was always quite clear to my young eyes.

It wasn't until later, when I was a teenager, that the committment I'd made really became REAL. I think it was because that was when I actually went through some rough stuff, and I NEEDED something to cling to. It was also when I first experienced the holy spirit.

I accepted Him when I was 15, but backslid badly.

About ten years ago I was feeling much better about my life, about my relationship to God, about everything, but I knew something wasn't quite right. Then my pastor gave a sermon, a mind-blowing right-in-your-face sermon that had me on my knees sobbing and confessing.

There was an altar worker praying with me, and I still am embarassed to look at him after all the things I said.

Easter Sunday, 1974 (early April; haven't bothered to look up the date). A senior in college--a state university--and living with my grandparents to save a buck on room and board, I took my grandmother to our Episcopal church, then came home. I was trying to decide between four job offers, three of which were close to home and one half way across the country. I tried to pray about it, but realized I had no standing before God to pray, save for the sinner's prayer. There, in the privacy of my bedroom, I prayed that prayer, then I prayed for God to guide my decision on the job offers.

And the rest is 34 years of history of Christian walk.

NDG

Not the date, but I recall the experience. I was driving around the Baltimore beltway looking at the trees, and it just came over me that God really did have to create everything. I just kinda' knew it was all true at that point.

I remember the event and the year (1963), but very little else. I was only 5. My mother led me to the Lord. I guess it's unusual, but I never once doubted my salvation, never "went down the aisle" a second time. My mom said once was enough and I never doubted her.

There have been highs and lows in my Christian walk, times when I thought little about God and times when I had "rededicated my life" to Him. (Isn't Christian-speak wonderful?) But I never actually "back-slid". I never came to the place where I told God to take a hike, that I didn't need Him.

I don't say this to pat myself on the back. It wasn't through my own goodness. It was through God's grace -- a wonderful gift that God I had given me.

At one time, I was embarrassed by my boring testimony, but now I praise Him for it.

I thought it was interesting. I've always been curious about this aspect of salvation, but I guess it's a topic for another day.

Roger, I think it's wonderful that you have a "boring" testimony. In fact, I've been praying that over my kids since they were born (Please let them have a boring testimony and not a really crazy one like mine!!!)

I was baptized as an infant. Our church was a small wooden structure in a very small town. The congregation, including children, numbered around 500 and so was considered a mission rather than an established community. Every spring missionaries came to speak to us on their work.
I was just 15 when one such missionary came. It was very near Easter and this man preached on the Passion of Jesus and what the effects crucifixion had on the human body. He reminded us of the spear that pierced the side of Jesus and that blood mixed with water flowed from the wound. The mixing of blood and water which settles in the pericardium is a common phenomenon among those who have suffered a heart attack. As he drew near the end, the missionary described how loss of blood and ambient air pressure creates an enormous weight of the body cavity relentlessly pressing ever harder, until the ribs squeeze the pericardium and the heart to bursting.
He finished with these words. "And so you see, Jesus, this tremendous lover of mankind, died literally of a broken heart."
I remember crying myself to sleep repeating over and over the words of Saint Augustine. "Too late have I loved Thee."
I can't remember that missionaries name. I have never forgotten his message.
C