The Wonder Years
I have been meaning to begin a blog for some time...even feel called to it. I have put it off...for no other reason than I wonder what I could have to say that anyone else would want to hear? Blogs seem a bit narcissistic, don't they?
Yet, here am I. The truth is that I do have something to say...Ephraim.
The second son he named Ephraim and said,
"It is because God has made me fruitful in the land of my suffering."
- Genesis 41:52
I lived a somewhat charmed life in my early years..."The Wonder Years" as Gen X could refer to it. I was raised in a home that did not just teach me about my Savior, they showed me. There is a mighty difference, and I'm no fool. I am well aware that I am blessed. As an eight year old, I began to feel a tug inside of me..."What does it mean to be this Christian that I hear them talking about?" One night, I asked my father that very question, and on an old church pew my mother had placed right there in my bedroom, I surrendered to Lord Jesus.
Then what?
Nothing really. Of course, I attended church and memorized Scripture...the usual...but by most standards my life was incredibly normal and, really, rather uneventful. I actually had a psych teacher tell me in college that I was so normal I was abnormal...for real. I'm convinced it started at home. I'm sure of it. There was never any real unrest in my home. You know what I'm taking about...there was no marital discord, drinking, abuse, anger...all the unthinkable atrocities that we all know lurk behind front doors all over America. As an adult I have learned that there were tough times, but my parents did an incredible job of making sure those concerns were kept where they belonged...with the mommy and the daddy. It was very peaceful in that respect. Peaceful, yes. Quiet, no. With two brothers and myself...you get the picture. My family was strict, but full of happiness. It was such a wonderful thing.
I tell you all this because during this time...I truly had no idea who I had surrendered my life to. Of course, if you had asked me to tell you about my Jesus, I would have answered. "He is my Savior!", I would have said. "He is the Son of God, crucified for my sins and victorious over death!", I would have told you. And I would have been right. I had no idea, however, just who He is...and how crazy he is about me. Not because I wasn't saved, but because I had not truly struggled...wrestled...fought...begged...trusted...rested.
In my twenty-seventh year, that all changed.
Ephraim. This is the story of my struggle. This is the story of my harvest...
Yet, here am I. The truth is that I do have something to say...Ephraim.
The second son he named Ephraim and said,
"It is because God has made me fruitful in the land of my suffering."
- Genesis 41:52
I lived a somewhat charmed life in my early years..."The Wonder Years" as Gen X could refer to it. I was raised in a home that did not just teach me about my Savior, they showed me. There is a mighty difference, and I'm no fool. I am well aware that I am blessed. As an eight year old, I began to feel a tug inside of me..."What does it mean to be this Christian that I hear them talking about?" One night, I asked my father that very question, and on an old church pew my mother had placed right there in my bedroom, I surrendered to Lord Jesus.
Then what?
Nothing really. Of course, I attended church and memorized Scripture...the usual...but by most standards my life was incredibly normal and, really, rather uneventful. I actually had a psych teacher tell me in college that I was so normal I was abnormal...for real. I'm convinced it started at home. I'm sure of it. There was never any real unrest in my home. You know what I'm taking about...there was no marital discord, drinking, abuse, anger...all the unthinkable atrocities that we all know lurk behind front doors all over America. As an adult I have learned that there were tough times, but my parents did an incredible job of making sure those concerns were kept where they belonged...with the mommy and the daddy. It was very peaceful in that respect. Peaceful, yes. Quiet, no. With two brothers and myself...you get the picture. My family was strict, but full of happiness. It was such a wonderful thing.
I tell you all this because during this time...I truly had no idea who I had surrendered my life to. Of course, if you had asked me to tell you about my Jesus, I would have answered. "He is my Savior!", I would have said. "He is the Son of God, crucified for my sins and victorious over death!", I would have told you. And I would have been right. I had no idea, however, just who He is...and how crazy he is about me. Not because I wasn't saved, but because I had not truly struggled...wrestled...fought...begged...trusted...rested.
In my twenty-seventh year, that all changed.
Ephraim. This is the story of my struggle. This is the story of my harvest...
Love it. Can't wait to read your blog all the time. Love you.
ReplyDeleteI love it too Marti! Now write some more!!!!!! I demand it! You left us with a cliff hanger!!! :)
ReplyDeleteWhat an awesome idea! Your struggle is a painful, but beautiful one...good luck with this! I can't wait to read more...
ReplyDeleteHello Marti,
ReplyDeleteIt is Kelly. Think about all the emails I sent you in the past. It is time. Congrats! Move onward one step at a time, just like we discussed. Your gift is ready to be given. Write and write more... Love you!