14 years ago today, my life was forever changed.... I’d reached a place in my life where I was so full of pride I wouldn’t take correction from my paramedic partner. He was younger and less experienced, but I knew he was right. I was making some bad decisions. I just didn’t want to admit it. I knew there was no hope of ever reconciling with him unless I waved the white flag of surrender and stopped playing games. My will to keep up the charade was gone. I just wanted peace. So I told him I was sorry for all the crap I’d put him through. I told him he was right and I was wrong. I was making bad decisions and my pride wouldn’t allow me to admit it. Through a river of tears, I told him I was sorry for destroying our friendship. After my partner and I buried the hatchet, the stressful work environment cooled off and things went back to normal. A couple of weeks later, he told me about a book he was reading. He said it was a fictional book that discussed a lot of things that were happening in the world and he thought I might like it. I told him I wasn’t interested in fiction, but I might check it out. I asked what the name of the book was. He said it was called “Left Behind.” A few weeks after this, I signed up to work a 48 hour shift on the Saturday and Sunday of Memorial Day weekend. I felt like I would regret the decision when it was all said and done. Who really wants to spend 48 hours getting brutalized by going on one call after another with no chance of rest? On the Thursday before Memorial Day, my Lieutenant and I got into a conversation about a book he was reading. He said it was a great book and he thought I would find fascinating. The name of the book was Left Behind. “Now what are the odds of that happening?” I thought. “How strange that two people would recommend the same book a few weeks apart.” Mulling this over in my mind, he said I could borrow the book I wanted. I didn’t think about it again until the next day. I thought maybe I should get a book to read in case it was a slow weekend, even though Memorial Day is never slow. I called my Lieutenant and told him I wanted to pick up the book. I drove to his house and he gladly handed it over with a smile. I tossed it on the passenger seat and headed home. I went to work the next day, expecting a busy shift. By mid-afternoon we had not run a single call. I got bored so I went to my car and got the book. I went upstairs to the medic bedroom. No one else was around, so I got cozy in my bunk and began reading. I was drawn to one character in particular; a middle-aged pilot named Rayford Steele. Steele was a good husband to his Christian wife, but he was not a believer himself. Ray was a self-made man, who didn’t need to depend on God. He took care of things himself, ran his own affairs and didn’t feel like religion had anything to offer him. Ray was also confident that if there were a God, he would probably make it into heaven. It wasn’t like he was a serial killer or pedophile. He was a good man, for the most part. The way he saw it – the minor things he struggled with, like the occasional crush on a flight attendant could hardly bar him from entering heaven. As I read about his life, I realized that Ray was a lot like me. As I watched Ray’s story unfold, I began to realize that I was in the same place he was. I knew with certainty that if your connection to Jesus was what qualified you to get into heaven, I was never going to get in. I hated Jesus and I despised His followers. I had a hard time even saying His name without feeling disgust and loathing. Years ago, I had rejected the religious hypocrisy I witnessed as a kid. I had no need for religion or religious bigots and certainly didn’t want to be one. Yet I knew that if Jesus was my ticket to haven, I was bound to spend eternity in hell. As I read, I encountered the message of God’s love, displayed in the death of Jesus. This wasn’t a new concept to me. I’d known about the death of Jesus and his resurrection since I was a boy. But I never thought he died for me. I mean – yeah, I understood that His death was a factual event, but it never meant anything to me personally, until this moment. Tears welled up in my eyes as I thought about him suffering and dying for me. For me? Why did God care about me? I was just another guy trying to live his own life and stay out of trouble. Why did He care about me? As I lay there in bed thinking about eternity, I sensed someone in the room with me. I knew I wasn’t alone. I began having a conversation in my mind with someone who seemed to know everything about me. “I’m a good person”, I thought. “Why do I need Jesus?” Suddenly my mind began to recall every selfish thing I’d ever done and every mean thing I’d ever said. This presence that was with me, challenged me. “Are you really a good person? What about all these terrible things you’ve done?” I didn’t believe in God. But I was becoming aware that there was mysterious presence in the room with me and it was probably God. There was no way to hide my past. Thinking about the selfish things I’d done, how could I call myself a good person? I wasn’t a murderer, but I certainly wasn’t a saint. I closed my eyes and tried to block out the thoughts He was bringing to my remembrance. I wept off and on for hours, wrestling with the fear of spending eternity in hell and giving in to God. My mind was bombarded with fearful thoughts; “What would people think if I became one of those religious hypocrites?” I didn’t want to be a believer. I tried desperately to fight the feelings of surrender, but I was loosing the battle. I felt like I was suspended between heaven and earth. I clung desperately to the life I had, but I was losing my grip. I had to make a decision. I knew that if I let go of my life, I would drop into the unknown abyss that lie beyond my comprehension. But if I clung to my present life, I would spend eternity in darkness. It was late in the evening when I finally surrendered. Broken and desperate, I said, “God… I don’t believe in you. But I give up. I’m tired of living for myself. My life is a mess and I can’t fix it. I don’t know how to change. I can’t do it myself. If you want me to change, you need to give me a voice or something to follow.” After saying these words, I fell asleep in a puddle of tears. I awoke in the morning to the awareness that something was different. As I lay in bed, I heard a mysterious voice, softly speaking in a way that brought peace to my mind. It was not external but internal. Internal, and yet...not mine. It’s impossible to describe what its like to someone who hasnt experienced it. There was a soft, whispering voice blowing gently through my soul. It wasn’t my own mind. They weren’t my thoughts. They belonged to someone else. The thoughts were distinct and different from the type of thoughts I would think. There was a quality to the voice that was like nothing I’d ever heard. It was soothing to my soul. Then suddenly, I remembered what happened the night before. I asked God to give me a voice to follow. This voice seemed to be exactly that. I went downstairs to the dayroom and met one of the firefighters. I was about to say something to him, but the voice gently reminded me to be kind. When I met another, the voice reminded me to say something nice instead of being sarcastic. With each person I met, the voice gave me direction. “Be nice.” “Be kind.” “Don’t be grumpy.” “What was going on?” I wondered. “Who was this voice and how long would it be with me?” I realized that I had been born again. The Spirit of God had come to live inside of me. The voice I heard was the voice of God Himself. I was in a state of shock to think that the God who created the stars cared enough to come down from heaven and live inside of me. “Those born-again Christians were right all along.” It was a bitter pill to swallow. The Jesus I had always hated was living inside of me and He had come to be my friend. The Christians I hated were now my family. Talk about having your world flipped upside down.
Posted on: Sun, 25 May 2014 22:20:48 +0000
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