Raised to Life

We were therefore buried with him through baptism into death in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, we too may live a new life.

(Romans 6:4, NIV)

I am 29 years old.

I am writing this to tell you that I have not walked a path Jesus would be proud of for a long, LONG time.

Some time in my early 20s, I lost all semblance of who I was.
Where my priorities were.
What my values included (hint: there were none).
Selfishness, carelessness, and self-destruction were the name of my game.

It was a pretty dark, ugly place.

In 2011, we met our daughter for the very first time. This tiny, unexpected surprise that would rock our world.

When my daughter was first placed into my arms, this was the beginning of change. A priority shift. I was so broken and misguided before I met Denny and we got pregnant, and the placement of this little vulnerable person with teeny tiny eyes and teeny tiny hands and teeny tiny fingers and toes started a stirring in myself that was...scary. It was one, giant, epic gut check.

Who was I?
Was it someone I was proud of?
Was I someone this child could be proud of?
How could I have been so blessed to have been given this gift?
This amazing, life-changing gift--when I was so not deserving of it?

Introspection was never something I liked, because I often didn't like what I saw.

But it was around that time that I realized there was a force working in my life that was greater than I was...that was attempting to save me. Because honestly, I deserved none of it. Yet here it was.

My Creator has a plan for me, and it boggles my mind that this plan went into motion four years ago.

For three and a half years, there was a stirring in my soul. I could feel a pull, like a magnet. I didn't know what it was drawing me toward, but I could feel the creeping desperation for more. I needed to find it, and I didn't even know what it was.

His plan was a slow burn.
Showing me mercy and miracles, little by little.
Encouraging my faith, a bit at a time.
Listening to silent prayers I didn't even realize I was saying in my head.
Leading me to Him, step by step.

After the holidays, in January 2015, I looked at Denny and said:

 "I want to go to church. We need to go to church."

Coming from a girl who hasn't regularly attended church since my 8th grade Catholic days...that was scary.

So, we went.

That first Sunday, I held back tears during worship. Not sad tears. Happy tears. Tears of relief. Tears of release. This was it. This was what I was looking for, searching for, being drawn toward.

Not church itself, but a connection with Jesus. A yearning for Jesus. A means to know Him better.

I dove into Scripture. I talked with God daily. I explored my relationship with Him. I loved my relationship with Him. I was positively buzzing. I would become so overwhelmed that I would find myself in tears that it was God all along. Always.

It was profound and unequivocally life-changing.

And last week, July 19, 2015, I gave everything to God and was baptized in Jesus' name.

My sin.
My hurt.
My shame.
My fear.
My pride.
My inadequacy.

He already knows all of it, and in spite of it forgives me and loves me. This absolutely blows my mind.

Last week I chose to give it all up to God and be raised to new life, accepting Jesus with my whole heart and my whole mind as my Savior. My Redeemer. My Light.

God saved me by bringing our daughter to me. This was his plan for me all along, to save me by showing me true, unconditional love on earth--saving me from physical and spiritual brokenness--the same love He has for me in Heaven.

In return, I am committing this saved life to Him.

And I am so blessed to have this chance.