I don’t remember the exact date when I asked Jesus into my life. Some people do, which I think is sweet, kind of like observing a second birthday – your spiritual birthday. What I do know is that it was nearing Christmas last year when I drifted towards Christ and eventually got down on my knees and accepted Him. Actually, thanks to my OCD, I got down on my knees twice, thrice, ten times – just to make sure He got the message that I wanted Him to be my Lord. It’s kind of amusing wondering if the angels sang every single time I prayed for salvation, or just the first time and then just kind of palmed their faces for the rest.
It was a struggle the first few months – lots of whining and pouting (so basically a lot of parallels with my first months of natural life). Then gradually I started learning how to crawl – still am in many ways – and stopped indignantly “crying” just so much for no apparent reason at all (that was still a baby metaphor, in case you haven’t caught on). I like to think I’m more at peace now, with a deep-seated intuition that God has big things for me to do this Christmas that will strengthen my bond with Him and put my faith into even better exercise.
So cheers, Lord, for protecting me and keeping me this past year, and here’s to many more years to come.