Revelations 3: 20 Behold I stand at the door and knock and if anyone hears my knock and opens the door, I will come in.
I guess I should start with my own testimony.
In that little community called Gribble Springs, there were - at various times - schoolhouses. Locations varied with the community's growth. In the early 1960s, my mother's family owned the 1 acre plot where one of those schoolhouses once stood. They built a house on that land. My parents purchased this house and the 1 acre from my grandmother. That house was where I lived until I was in 3rd grade. That year, my uncle built my parents a new house right next door. My mother still lives in that 2nd house built during my 3rd-grade year.
That house is a little over a mile from the "center" of the community of Gribble Springs. The "center" revolves around a church building, a cemetery, a table, a parsonage, a whole bunch of Post Oak trees, 1 or 2 pecan trees, and at least one bois d'arc tree. At various times, it has also revolved around a cobbled together softball field, a pretty decent outdoor volleyball court and a fabulous hill for playing Mother-May-I and Red-light-Green-light.
As the story goes, my first trip from the house to the church would have been June 28, 1964, about 13 days after I was born. By all accounts, I rarely missed a Sunday before my earliest memories. I know after my earliest memories, I did not miss many. Nor, did I miss Sunday Night services, nor GAs on Wednesday evenings! And, certainly never one of the monthly 42 fellowships or bi-weekly volleyball games!
On Sunday, May 23, 1971, I was sitting on the back row. I don't know why. That wasn't my normal place. But then, I didn't really have a "normal" place. That might be beside one of the 5-10 cousins who might be in attendance. Or beside one of my grandmothers. Or beside my own parents.
But, on that Sunday, I was sitting in the back row. I believe a man named Garland - and whose last name I'll reserve for privacy - was sitting on the end of the row. The reason I remember that will become apparent.
I don't recall what hymns were sung or the sermon. I don't recall why I was in the back row since I usually sat with my parents or grandparents or an aunt or a cousin. But when the invitation was offered at the end of the service, many young people walked down the aisle to accept Jesus into their heart. I wanted to accept Him also. So, I nudged Garland out of the way and walked down the aisle.
At the time, I don't believe I understood what accepting Jesus entailed. That didn't come until later that afternoon in the pastor's study when he used Revelations 3:20 to explain the transaction that was taking place. The thing happening inside my head during the sermon and the song of invitation was simpler than that. I understood that I had to make some kind of decision myself, something that wasn't my daddy's or my mother's (or grandmothers' or cousins') if I wanted to know Jesus.
And, so, I walked down the aisle. I think there were 5 or 6 young people who walked down the aisle that day, and 5 or 6 more the week before. I believe I recall that my cousin, Debbie, was one. I also recall that my daddy was the "church clerk" and it was his job to fill out cards for everyone who walked down the aisle. And, I recall the tears in his eyes when he was recording mine.
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