Salvation Story

When I was 12 years old, I attended a Baptist church with my dad, his new wife, Pat, my sister and my two new step-sisters. Being the oldest child, I was given the task of watching over my sisters at children's church while my dad and Pat went to the regular church service. Though I remember nothing of the sermon or activities from that day, I do remember, at the end, that an altar call was made. Not knowing what I was doing but wanting to do the right thing, I stood and found myself walking to the front with my sister. Once there, all the kids who responded were shuffled into groups separated by age. Since I was the oldest among those who came forward, I ended up in a room alone with a prayer counselor all to myself.

She asked me if I had any questions before I prayed to receive Jesus into my heart. I remember thinking that I had no idea what she was talking about. But I was curious, so I let my questions flow. What did it mean to let Jesus into your heart? Would Jesus appear in the room and step inside my body? Why would I want to do this? And on.

I could tell by her reaction that the counselor didn't know how to answer. Then, she said she'd be right back with someone who could better answer my questions, and she left the room. There was an open window in this room, where I could hear children playing and see adults making their way to the children's church sanctuary. I felt foolish for having so many questions and irresponsible for leaving my sisters, so I crawled out the window! That was my first experience of thinking about receiving Jesus as my Lord and Savior!

Two years later, at yet another youth meeting in my step-mother's Baptist church, I had the opportunity, once again, to respond to an altar call. But this time I didn't jump out the window. I said the prayer of faith with a young girl who lead me through it. I remember that I wept openly as I tried to repeat without question the words that a young youth counselor gave me to say out loud. Within the hour, I had done it: I had become a born-again Christian.

With my teenage years, however, came turmoil. And I forgot the prayer I'd made that evening at youth church. Part of the problem, I know, was the fact that I had no incentive to study the bible, since I was not a regular attender at the church where I had received the gift of salvation.

It wasn't until I was a Junior at UT Austin that I had the chance to re-commit my life to Jesus. There was a woman, named Dorothy McGuire, I had befriended in one of my English classes. I remember thinking how beautiful she was. For she had curly jet black hair and the sweetest light blue eyes I'd ever seen. I was living a crazy life: partying heavily on weekends, taking 21 hours of classes and getting sick because of it. Dorothy made it clear that she was a Christian, but she was also so accepting that I felt comfortable being with her. Eventually, we started jogging together. In those days, I was so fit, I could hold a conversation while jogging! So, while we jogged around and around the track, Dorothy would talk to me about Jesus.

Her sister, Lucy, (also a dedicated Christian) and I eventually became roommates, though I had still not re-committed my life to God. One night, Dorothy came to stay with us. She had graduated and moved to Dallas with her husband, who was a minister in the Episcopal church. In the living room of the tiny apartment, Lucy and I rented in Austin, Dorothy confronted me about my beliefs. Lucy had long gone to bed as Dorothy and I talked until 2AM. Finally, we prayed. At that moment, I re-committed my life to Christ. And it was not an easy prayer. The main difficulty was a boyfriend I had at the time, who did not believe in radical commitments to God. I knew accepting Jesus meant rejecting him, and I was hardly prepared to do that. Nonetheless, I did and when the prayer was finished Dorothy prayed for her sister, who lay sleeping in the next room.

"Lord, touch her head with the light of the holy spirit and let that light fill her all the way down to her toes," Dorothy said. She was a spirit-filled Christian and a believer in the gifts of the spirit. I didn't realize it, but she was praying for the holy spirit to fill her sister's life more fully.

Finally ready to sleep, I made my way to my bed in the same room where Lucy slept. The minute I sat down to pull off my shoes, Lucy sat up in the bed, groggy and confused.

"I just had the strangest dream," Lucy said. Overhearing her sister, Dorothy came to the door. Lucy continued: "I dreamed a ball of white light touched my head and rolled down my body until it came and went out by way of my toes."

I was amazed, but it was only the first of a series of encounters with the power of the holy spirit. The next year was amazing in many ways. I learned a lot living with Lucy and attended holy spirit classes at the main Episcopal church downtown. At the culmination of the meeting, several of us were prayed for to receive the holy spirit. I had a dramatic response. I retreated to the hallway, so they could pray for the next person. I must admit I was giddy with the power of God. So giddy that a young man I ran into in the hall thought I was drunk. Just like the disciples were thought to be drunk in the story of Acts!

Since then I've been a believer, but for one or two years in which I found myself looking for that window and crawling out away from God. But I've always come back. And I am back today.