Kneeling on a wooden floor in a bedroom as familiar to me as the back of my hand, at the foot of my Mom’s bed, I repeated a prayer. As Mom led me, that eight year old with pureness of heart meant every single word, with little hands clasped together and eyes tightly shut. It was there that I give my heart and life to Jesus.
A lot of things had taken place up to that point in my life that had already molded me and caused me to grow “bent” in some areas of my heart. Yet, I KNEW God was doing something beautiful inside me.
Rewind two years. I will never forget the night my Mom pulled into a good ol’ fashioned tent revival in Asheville, NC. I was probably six years old then. After weeks of searching for “something”, she finally found the real deal. Those people loved on her, loved on my family, and showed us what being a Christian is really all about.
I literally saw my Mom’s life turn around. There was such a radical change that even a six year old noticed! It was a good change, too.
As we got plugged into a local church, my parents began to develop healthy roots. We got planted, and as a result, we all began to grow spiritually.
As time passed and tween years began, I had my moments. It’s called life. No one’s perfect, and certainly not a kid who’s at an awkward stage of life trying to find her legs in life, right?!
I loved basketball, started playing in 2nd grade on an all-boys team because there wasn’t a girl’s team at the time. I remember the night, at age 12, when there was just a dusting of snow. It was game night, and Mom wouldn’t take me. She won’t drive at the threat of snow! Even to this day. I was furious. I remember maybe yelling or something, I don’t know. I stomped upstairs to my room and slammed the door. Seething, I sat on my bed and can so remember the struggle inside my heart. I wanted to be angry but knew I shouldn’t be. It was called conviction. It was called correction. Even at that age, the Holy Spirit was tapping on my heart and tweaking some things.
I took off my leather bomber jacket, that had been signed on the inside by all my friends, and walked into my little closet. I flipped on the single fluorescent light. It flickered to life with a buzz. I knelt down again and said, “Lord, I’m so sorry. I know I shouldn’t have acted that way. Please forgive me.”
Like a floodgate opening, I literally felt my heart open. Sweet peace flooded my soul. Tears gushed forth, laughter bubbled up, and hold your seats for this one…the most pure, unadulterated, beautiful flow of words came pouring through my lips. I couldn’t understand them, I didn’t need to. All I knew was – this! This must be the heavenly language of a Spirit-filled child of God I had heard about. I couldn’t explain it then, I can’t explain it now. What I can explain is this – I was there when it happened, and I guess I ought to know! No one can convince me otherwise.
It marked my life. It changed me forever. I believe in the Holy Spirit power, with the fiery tongues of evidence. I pray in the Spirit everyday. There is more to this life than just living and dying, more than just trying to make it through the day. It’s called power living. Real power. Enablement to live the supernatural life.
That’s my story. That’s my life. That same empowerment has aligned me, set me straight. The things that “bent” me, things that would have grown me into a terrible, crooked person today, were set straight by the power of the Holy Spirit. Today, I am free. Truly free.
Guess what? That day, at 12 years old, after Jesus so gloriously filled me with His Spirit power…I walked back down stairs, crying, and asked Mom to forgive me. Now THAT’S a result of a genuine experience and encounter with Jesus!
These encounters happen regularly at The Lift. I’m so thankful for a church that, though we have good structure, we are never too stiff to allow the Lord to flow and show Himself mighty and strong, sweet and gentle, and set bent hearts straight and fill them with Holy Spirit power!
