Just before Christmas, my mother and my husband came to me about giving church a second chance. Ever since high school I had turn my back on church but not on God. At the time, neither of them knew that the other had asked me about going to Christmas Eve service. Both had assumed that my answer was no.
I remember the morning clearly, as I drove to work down the country road. Something inside me spoke to me. It told me that this was the time for me to go back to church. Without hesitation I called my mother and accepted her invitation to her church’s Christmas Eve service. I think she thought that I was joking at first until realization hit her that I was serious. She informed me that I had made her day. That this was the best news that she had heard. But I hadn’t made this decision for her, it was for me.
After I hung up with her, I called my husband to inform him that we were going to be joining her for Christmas Eve service at her church. My husband was surprised but he was delighted that I had excepted the invitation. I know that he had prayed for the day that I would be ready to go. He and our son had been trying different churches in our community but had not found one that they felt was the right one for them yet. I think it was because they were waiting for me.
On Christmas Eve, we went to my mother’s house for dinner and fellowship before church. Surprisingly, I didn’t find myself nervous. I was actually anxious. The good kind of anxious. I was anxious to learn, to experience something new, and to open up to Christ. The church told the story of that faithful night of Christ’s birth in Bethlehem. As they told each part of the story, they accompanied it with the carol that corresponded with the events. I was captivated. I was in awe. I was reborn.
It hit me that he called me there that night to relive his birth. To show me that he had not forgotten me and that I should not forget him. It was like a light switch. Everything in my life completely turned upside down. I felt joy. I felt happiness. I felt love.
For that entire week the followed, I could do nothing but exclaim to my husband how much I was excited to give the church a chance. That I was ready to go back to church. That it was my time to praise the Lord.
On January 1st, we went to their 11am service. All three of us dressed in our “Sunday best”. My mother normally went to the 8am service but was willing to meet us for the 11am. I think my husband was more nervous than me. Nervous that I wouldn’t like it since this was the first time that I had gone to a Pentecostal church. It would be safe to say that he was worried that I would be scared off.
As worship began, it was loud but beautiful. The worship team sang from their hearts, the praise for the Lord. They brought so much joy to my heart to praise the Lord as they sang.
The pastor sang along with the Worship Team until worship was over. His topic for the new year was ‘Restore Us Oh Lord’.
Christ surely brought me here. I had no doubt of that in my mind. I could relate to his sermon as he preached. I felt at home, like I had be coming there all my life. The old me was gone, and the new was born. That light switch had been turned on and my light was shining bright.
That night, I found myself standing in the kitchen, crying on my husband’s shoulder. I told him that I couldn’t explain it. That I was overcome with joy and love. That Christ was with me and this was where my new path, the new me was suppose to go.