Today is my rebirthday.  And no, that is not like the unbirthday celebration in Alice in Wonderland.  It was on this day in 2004 that I was called out by God.  I was reborn June 6, 2004.  And being a history buff at the time, I realized that that was exactly 60 years after D-Day, June 6, 1944.  Not that I find some allegorical significance in that, its just interesting to me.

I thought I would relate the story of my salvation today.  Perhaps later I will write about how God has been continually saving me since that day.

Although born into a Christian home, my experience with church as a child was not a good one.  We were Assembly of God but lived far away from the Assembly of God church we attended.  Each Sunday we tried to go, my older brother got carsick.  So I associated church with illness (and vomit) while I was a child.  In fact, this was the reason we rarely went to church while I was growing up. 

I don’t remember much of the preaching at the various churches we tried to attend.  The bits that I can remember centered on Dispensational-Pretribulation-Premillianialism or on a very supeficial relationship with Christ that was characterized usually with the term “sweet” which was also the only time the preacher was not on the verge of yelling.  So I didn’t like going to church and listening to people sing poorly for two hours, then getting yelled at for another hour over stuff I didn’t even understand.  But I became fascinated by the end times.

The eschatalogical scheme which I learned bred obsession with the end times.  My view of Christianity was of looking to the future and making sure you don’t get left behind.  I watched filth such as the Omega Code movies and the worthless TBN movies, one of which had Mr. T killing people with an uzi because they were left behind so it was ok to kill people now since they had no hope of getting saved (or something like that, they never quite made sense).

So throughout my childhood and high school years, I was paralyzed by a legalism which that system often breeds, but which I cultivated on my own.  I did not hang out with friends after school, because I was afraid we would go to a party, get drunk, and then I would lose my virginity, which for some reason was the unpardonable sin in my aberrant hamartiology.  I called myself a Christian, but I was a worthless hypocrite.

I attended a megachurch in Easley with a friend.  It was more superficial than any church I had ever attended.  The sermon topics seemed to rotate between Tithing/Finances, Not Hating People, and What Would Jesus Eat.  I went because I could wear jeans and the the service was very entertaining.  (I am not equating my experience at this particular megachurch with all megachurches.  This was just a particularly wretched one.)

Then, it was time for me to go to college.  I pretty much had a free ride to Clemson University, but that school scared me.  I thought that if I went to a “party school” I would get drunk, have sex, and therefore lose my eternal salvation.  So, I ended up at Southern Wesleyan University.  I met some great friends who encouraged me to seek understanding and a deep relationship with Christ.  That is definately something I needed to hear.  I am convinced that at this time, I was not yet in the family of God.  I was being regenerated, but I could not say that I was in Christ.

On one eventful day, Chris asked me to come to a church with him that some Puerto Rican (Jeremy Palomo) invited him to attend.  I asked what kind of a church it was.  He said Evangelical Presbyterian.  All I knew was that I was told that Presbyterians are bad (frozen chosen my father taught me).  But Chris was Calvinist and definitely did not fit the mold I was expecting.  Then I was told that this church is charismatic.  Well, what the heck I thought.  I’ll try it.

There was something to this church I had never known existed in churches.  They were worshipping.  They were not simply singing, they were not engaged in a mystical experience.  They were worshipping and adoring their King.  I was blown away.  This place was different.  If it was just like any other place, if I didn’t feel a little uncomfortable, if I didn’t feel like there was something more than what I had been experiencing, then I would never have returned.  But this place put a yearning in me for more.

Summer came, and all my college friends returned to their homes in different states.  But I kept attending the EPC church in Anderson, an hour from my house.  I yearned for friendships yet I was afraid.  As soon as the benediction was given, I bolted for the doors.  But then, one day, four or five people stopped me on my way to the door.  They were not in a group, they each stopped me individually.  Each invited me to the lake that afternoon.  How could I argue with each of them?  I accepted.  The next week the same happened, I accepted again.

This particular day, June 6 2004, these kind friends I had made had to cut short their time on the lake.  They had a small group meeting.  My new friend Matt invited me to come along.  This was my way out, I would decline, citing things that I need to do at home, then be out of a disagreeable situation and putting myself at my comfortable house, playing video games.  Then, out of my mouth came the words “Yes please, I would love to come.”  My friend was happy and told me to follow him to the host’s house.  My face contorted as I pondered why those words had come out of my mouth.  Why did I say that?  I did not want to go.  I’m sure they would talk about things which I didn’t understand.  I’m sure I would say something that would show my ignorance.  I’m sure I’ll be quite bored.

I was right.  The meeting was quite boring for me.  The men and women broke off from each other to have segregated discussions.  The men were discussing things that were deep in their hearts.  I had no idea what was in my heart.  I had trained myself to become desensitized.  I had become deaf to my emotions and to my heart.  So I was quite bored.  There were a lot of young men there.  I could see that they loved each other deeply.  I could see that love was what characterized their relationships with each other and between them and their God.

At the close of the meeting, prayer requests were taken.  There was a lot of young men, I agonized at the thought of how long this would take.  I was also pondering the best route to take to return home after this.  The finger then pointed to me for a prayer request.  I thought, I don’t have one.  Nobody I know is dying.  My grades were good.  But as I stood there, I recalled their love which had resonated within me.  I swallowed.  Then I said, “I have a hard time with love.  I don’t know how to give it…”  Boy, do I look bad right now, I thought.  “And I don’t know how to receive it,” I eventually stammered.

I was exposed, I felt naked.  I was a wounded, bruised, bleeding, dying teenager.  I desperately hoped for help.  I had no idea how empty and hollow I was until I uttered those words and sat down, restating them in my mind, over and over again.

They began to pray.  As my eyes were ritualistically closed, I felt a hand placed on my back.  Then I felt another and another.  Finally Phernando placed his hand on my heart.  They were all praying for me, praying over me.  It was through these hands that I first felt truly loved.  Love of my brothers.  Then, love of my Father.  The love of God, pure and powerful, was revealed to me.  I could not stand it.  I had to lay down.  I thought I would dehydrate from the shedding of such big tears.  I cried out in lament.  I was unworthy of such love and devotion.  I felt undone, as Isaiah did.  Following my lament, the sweetest feeling overwhelmed me (I now understood that choice of word in this context).  I knew at that moment, that my sin had been atoned for long ago.

Then, the strangest thing happened.  This quiet introverted person whom they had known, began shouting praises to his King.  The words were a bit garbled and drowned under the tears, but the women meeting in another room soon were aware that something amazing was happening to me.

After a good long time spent on the floor, basking in love, pure and undefiled, I stood up, gave every man there a hug as a brother, and apologized to the host for the big wetspot my tears had caused on his new carpet.