August 26, 1979

Sunday morning

Mineral Wells, Texas

How can 38 years have passed when the memories of this day are still so fresh in my mind?

I was a 16-year-old girl embarking upon my senior year of high school the very next day. That should have been enough excitement to keep my mind occupied, but instead I was engulfed with questions of “what now” and “where will I go” and “is there a God and does He know about me” – not the usual thoughts of a teenager on a Sunday morning.

I walked to the only church familiar to me – one that an aunt had occasionally taken me to when I was younger. I wore the only dress I owned, which was the same one I had worn to my father’s funeral seven months ago. My shoes were already scuffed, so I felt no obligation to be careful with them – I kicked every rock that I felt like kicking as I ambled along the streets. If you had asked 16-year-old Lori how far it was to the church, she may have guessed three miles or so. Thanks to Google Maps, I can now see that it is 1.4 miles – not too far. I remember hoping that no one from school would drive past and recognize me. Would they wonder why I was walking instead of driving? Would they wonder why I was wearing a dress instead of my usual jeans and a T-shirt?

I couldn’t allow the potential for embarrassment to thwart my plan. I had been making my way to this church for two months in my quest to find out if there might be a God. As I walked, I decided this would be my final trip.

Today was the day for giving up. I had no idea where I might turn next, but if I did not find some shred of hope to cling to on this morning, then I would close the door on this part of my journey.

As I slipped through the doors of the church, I was careful to not draw attention to myself. I felt some weird sort of shame for not having been in church all these years, BUT LET ME BE VERY CLEAR: that shame was not from God! Instead, I suppose it came from my preconceived notions about “good people go to church” or something like that. I don’t know! I was a teenager! Who knows where I got my ideas?!

When my summer quest to “try out church” began, I was so convinced that I would be singled out and mocked by the regular churchgoers that I would skulk into the very back row of the pews. I felt unworthy to sit any closer to the front – I truly believed that I did not deserve to be there. Isn’t that ridiculous?! As I returned to church Sunday after Sunday, I felt perhaps a little more “worthy” and I would allow myself to move up one pew each week. ONE PEW EACH WEEK. Again, RIDICULOUS.

On this particular Sunday morning, I decided I would take a huge leap forward and bravely planted myself on the fourth pew from the front. I figured I would go for it since it would be my last venture into the sanctuary. I had nothing to lose! Also, I was very curious to know what people said to the preacher at the end of the service when they went forward and shared hushed conversations with him. Yes, I absolutely planned on eavesdropping. I needed answers, people!

Even in that crowd of people, I felt completely alone. No family at home, no advocate, no relief from the excruciating pain. Alone and terrified for whatever the future held. Utterly hopeless.

I glanced around and recognized more than a few faces – some who were customers on my father’s route (he was a mail carrier). I was sure that they knew he had taken his own life – how could they not know?! My grief was compounded by the fact that no one spoke to me at church or acknowledged my family’s situation – which (for me) added to the stigma of suicide I felt I was wearing like a scarlet letter. Looking back, I realize that perhaps they actually did NOT know who I was and probably didn’t know what to say to this teenage girl who silently slipped in and out of church each week. I was not yet old enough to realize that, most likely, everyone there was simply engrossed in their own thoughts and lives and didn’t intentionally ignore me. I’m sure I didn’t seem too approachable!

(Please note: I am not sharing this part of my story as a way of saying “shame on you, people” or “poor me” – only to convey how someone who had no knowledge of God or the truth about Him felt when trying to find Him)

So there I sat in my self-appointed position of “worthiness” – a mere four pews from the front of the church. Although I had “graduated” to the fourth row, I didn’t feel any more informed or hopeful than when I had launched my search earlier in the summer. With no real knowledge of God or the Bible, I was unable to make sense of the sermons, and there were so many unfamiliar words flying around that I couldn’t decode the language. This lack of understanding exacerbated my sense of despair.

As I sat there pondering my options for survival and for finding security, I felt as though I was spinning out of control toward the horizon, and that once I reached the edge (yes, I do realize I could never actually reach the edge of the horizon), I would be hurtling through space and lost in nothingness. I WAS A MESS.

All I wanted was to be loved. 

And to have a sense of security. 

And to know that I mattered. 

And for my heart to not be broken forever.

Isn’t that what we all want?

Discouragement enveloped me and I totally gave up on finding hope of any kind. As I sat in the pew, I wrestled with my thoughts of desperation – telling myself that this road was obviously a dead end.

(I will do my best to convey what happened in those next few moments, but human words are inadequate. Although I did not see with my human eyes or hear with my human ears, I will relate it as if I did BECAUSE IT WAS JUST THAT REAL TO ME)

Suddenly, it was as if Jesus Christ Himself was sitting on the third pew! RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME!!!

He turned around to face me and put His arm up on the back of the pew.

JUST TO TALK TO ME.

Jesus:

Lori! Hey, it’s Me! I am what you’ve been looking for!

Lori:

**speechless**  (with mouth agape, no doubt)

Jesus:

I will be your father, your mother, and your best friend!

(At this point, 16-year-old Lori is completely awestruck and thoroughly convinced that everyone nearby MUST be witnessing this spectacular moment, so she scans the crowd for any sign of a reaction to hearing the voice of God. I actually thought that if I yelled out, “Are y’all hearing this?! Do y’all see what’s happening over here?!” that they would all respond with a resounding “YES!!!”)

Lori:

How??? How do You do that?

(Yes, the fact that He knew my exact thoughts and the desires of my heart had slipped right past me in the moment)

Jesus: 

All you do is come to Me. I will do the rest! Just come to Me. I am here waiting for you!

Lori:

Okay! Yes! Yes, I will! Just give me a few weeks to clean up a little and then, yes, I will come to You.

(I did not know a single verse from the Bible, much less anything remotely related to biblical doctrine, but somehow I knew without having to be told that I felt terribly unclean in the presence of a holy God. The fact that I would have been considered a “good girl” in the eyes of the world – because I generally obeyed adults and obeyed the rules – was useless to me as I sat before the One Who made me and knew me. Although I knew nothing of Adam or original sin or scripture that tells us we are all born with sinful natures, I felt like I needed cleansing. I just KNEW.)

Jesus:

No, no, no. That isn’t how it works. There is no way you could possibly clean yourself up on your own. You come to Me just as you are.

Lori:

**silence mixed with much consternation while trying to process this brand-new information**

Jesus:

Okay – this will help you understand:  imagine the dirtiest dish you’ve ever had to clean. Baked-on food. Left soaking overnight. Nothing will get that dish clean! Isn’t that how you feel right now?

Lori:

Yes! Exactly like that!

Jesus:

And that is exactly how you come to Me – just as you are. Just like that dirty dish. But I am the One Who can clean you up – I am the main dishwasher. You come to Me like that dirty dish, and I put you in My dishwasher. But in My dishwashing cycle, it isn’t Cascade and scalding water that cleans you . . . it’s My blood. You are the dirty dish, My blood washes over you and cleanses you, the dishwasher stops, and I take you out and present you to God. “Father, here is Your new daughter, Lori, washed perfectly clean by My blood.”

Lori:

Is that what it means to be “saved”? I’ve heard them use that word a lot.

Jesus:

That’s what it means!

Lori:

Why wouldn’t anyone tell me that?

Jesus:

Who better to tell you than Me?

And with that, I bolted from the pew and made my way to the preacher down front. Fortunately, this coincided with the end of the church service, so I was spared the embarrassment of being escorted out for causing a scene.

With tears streaming down my cheeks and my gangly arms thrust heavenward (again, I knew nothing of how Christians were “supposed” to act), I cried out, “I’M READY TO ACCEPT JESUS!”

Not one thought given as to how loud my voice might be in this moment. 

No wondering if the people might be gawking at me from the pews. 

Not one moment of second-guessing myself as to whether I followed protocol or not.

In that moment, absolutely nothing in the universe mattered to me except that I had found everything that my heart had ever longed for! The God Who is big enough to speak all creation into being with just His voice chose to make Himself small enough to sit with a young girl so that she could understand His vast love for her and His sacrifice for her that meant she could spend forever with Him.

I had been adopted! Former orphan, newly adopted! I basked in the boundless love of my Heavenly Father – the One Who would never fail me, never disappoint me, never abandon me, never hurt me. I had finally come home to my perfect Father.

I will never get over it.

He is my everything. ❤️