SHUT THE FRONT DOOR!...NO, WAIT...

The unexpected knock came pounding on the door.
"Someone's here, someone's here!" young voices squealed.
"I'll get it. You girls just eat your dinner."
Looking down as I went to answer it, I realized I had flour mess all over my clothes.
Ugh!

"Hi. Can I help you?" moving myself into people meeting personality.
"We're from the church of (so and so) and we'd like to share the love of Christ with you today."
A shrill, chill went down my spine...not in a good way.
Not many things got under my skin like door to door bible thumpers.

"Are you serious? You're knocking on my door at dinner time, to tell me about Jesus?"
"If you'd invite us in, we want to tell you about the love of Jesus Christ and the gift of salvation."
Jesus Christ.
"We're eating dinner, no thank you."
"Man does not live by bread alone...." she smiled so smugly sweet.
I guess that was supposed to be their little joke for interrupting people at dinner.

Shooting back, "Okay, I was really trying not to be rude, but, we're sacrificing a goat in the living room right now!" and then I slammed the door.

(I know. Paul killed Christians. Cut me some slack.)

"Who was that mommy?"
"Jesus Freaks."
"Who's Jesus?"

I felt a piercing in my heart, and saw a quick flash of myself as a little girl, singing at vacation bible school.
"Jesus loves me this I know, for the bible tells me so..."


I remember vividly, playing with a paper doll Jesus, glued to the back of a popsicle stick. I'd cut a line at the bottom of the page, so he could walk with his other popsicle friends along side the road.
They taught us He was our friend and to let Him into our hearts.
At 5, I did just that.
And then, life happened.

Religious things became like nails on a chalkboard to me. I actually grew up Catholic, did the whole catechism thing and did not like attending church.

I always felt guilty.
And never understood one bit of the chanting.
Honestly, I found it a little creepy.



In the name of the father son and holy spiiiiiiiriiit.


I thought God was mean, always waiting anxiously to punish me for some wrong doing.
I did however, like the faint smell of the giant incense balls, wafting down the aisle.
Oh. And the whole 'peace be with you and also with you', meet and greet.
I loved that!
Okay and maybe dipping my finger in the holy water fountain on the way out.
That was fun!

But the most we heard about Jesus at our house was, "Jesus Christ. Can't you people pick up after yourselves?"

Who knew that one day I would eventually come to the end of myself, and become a bible thumping, Jesus Freak, although, I'm still not interrupting people in the middle of family meal time.
I love Him.
More importantly, He loves me.
He loves me!
As a single woman, who's been caught in the whole petal plucking "He loves me, he loves me not..." game,
Jesus loves me!

It says in John 15:16, "You didn't choose me. I chose you!"
Chosen?
Don't we all want to be picked?
That's an amazing word. It means, "to be selected or elected for a special purpose."

The story of my conversion is way too long for this post and although I was not there when they hung a sinless man to die on the cross for my sins, by faith I believe it.

Without God in my life, I would never have had the strength to just keep going.
When push comes to shove, his love, and that incredible peace that passes all understanding, comes over me and I know He is real.
And that I can trust him like no man on the face of this earth.

He chose me for a special purpose.
Just like he chose you.
You have a choice.
Can you hear God knocking on your heart?
Answer the door, just as you are, mess and all.....and invite Him in.



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