It’s 1979 and I was very lost. Not physically but really, deeply lost emotionally and spiritually. I thought I had made choices in life to set me up for recognition, success, value, social and economic status, a “happily ever after life” when I left home at age 21 to marry a man that I met in high school. After four years of feeling unloved, unwanted, and pretending that “everything was okay” to my friends and family, I found myself tired of being sick and tired, tired of the battles to know who I was as a woman, a wife, a friend….one of God’s kids…even though I was very far from Him. In fact, until 1979 I realized I was only pretending to know Who God was. Ash Wednesday 1979 changed my entire life. Everything.

When I left my marriage of four years, after a short time living with a friend, I moved back into my childhood home. Fortunately, a bed was still in my “old” bedroom and I soon fell into a new rhythm of living with parents, going to my full time job, all while transitioning from being married to returning to single life that came with an adjective that caused a lot of pain–divorce. After the initial shock of my new found circumstances, my parents rallied around me and we began this new life as a family of three, making many mistakes–mostly me–as we trudged our way through each day not really knowing how to always act or what to say. Coming home at age 24 was difficult. I had grown used to coming and going as I pleased–for the most part. I had given up all household chores but that didn’t mean my mother let me off the hook! On the contrary, coming home didn’t exactly earn me a free ride.

Coming home also meant being part of my parents’ routine, especially since my move in date to my old bedroom came right before the Lenten Season in the church year. My home church–which I had not been inside of since my wedding except a couple times–hosted a mid week lunch on Wednesdays during Lent with an evening service. Mom and dad attended both and soon I joined them, mainly for the free meal and to be around people who would turn out to be positive influences in my emotional and spiritual healing. So, the Sundays I attended church with my parents, which led into Lent carved a path laid out by God and one that shook my world.

Please imagine that you can see me sitting in the pew, several rows from the front of a very large sanctuary that can easily seat 750 people. On this night, Ash Wednesday 1979 there were probably less than 200 people in attendance. I’m next to my mother and Pastor Jim is giving the message. I don’t remember at all what his text was, what he taught us but I distinctly heard one sentence that he said…”Jesus died for your sins”. How many times had I heard that simple truth since my confirmation years at age 14? My usual response that I muttered to myself upon such a statement was to say (huffing with pride) “ya, for y’all, because all of you are pretty messed up….” THIS time,  that familiar pride didn’t kick in along with a haughty inside laugh. What happened instead is that it was as though I was the only person in the room and God allowed me to hear “corporate” YOU become “personal” YOU, YOU Susan. YOU. My entire body took notice when I comprehended what I’d just heard and if acknowledging my emptiness and need for a Savior wasn’t enough, God sealed the experience with a deposit of the Holy Spirit that started at my lower back, traveled up my spine, causing me to literally shake my shoulders and head as though trying to shake off a chill. I looked around to see if anyone noticed what had just happened. Nope. That brief moment was between me and God and honestly, I’m not sure I understood the massiveness in the mere seconds He touched me. Confirmations would come later and new spiritual senses would allow me to fully understand the new work that had begun in me. I didn’t tell anyone about my experience. Truthfully, I wasn’t sure how people would respond. Would they think I was crazy? The Holy Spirit wasn’t exactly Top 10 teaching topics in my church at that time. I didn’t even tell my parents. This was something special and admittedly, scary. An unknown totally foreign to me.

When we got home from church that evening, we settled into watching TV–lots of 700 Club episodes in my weeks back home–probably had a cup of tea and a light snack–the three of us cozied up in the living room, bedtime somewhere 10 and 11. For some odd reason my mother came to my room that night to tuck me into bed, this 24 year old daughter of hers that had caused her a lot of prayer, tears, arguments, and truthfully–shame. I layed under the covers that night, waiting for sleep to come as mom sat on the edge of my bed, her beautiful hands and long fingers stroking my hair, pushing strands away from my forehead with her gentle strokes. While loving on me with such tenderness she asked “Is it good to be home?” Before I could answer, God deposited another spiritual truth into my spirit…I was experiencing TWO kinds of home….the house I grew up in since 1954…and God’s home….salvation, made possible only through His Son Jesus Christ. Mom was asking how it felt to be back with her and dad…God was asking if it felt good to finally be a part of His family…..Still trying to process everything that I knew had changed for me that night in church, I answered my mom, “yes, it’s good to be home…as I recalled the tingling up my spine…God’s physical manifestation of His presence in me.

When I woke the next morning, I headed off to work, still thinking quietly to myself about the night before, and how good I felt. I had renewed hope, joy, peace. Other than being thankful for having these new emotions to explore, I didn’t give a lot of thought to this “Jesus thing”. But God wasn’t finished letting me know that change had indeed taken place. Steve F.,one of our vice presidents, approached me near my desk and said–finger pointing at my face–”you’ve changed. You’ve done something different with your makeup. You look different today.” I stood there laughing, defending myself! “No, nothing’s different. Same ole me”. We both laughed and went back to our desks. Wait. Wait. “Wait”, I told myself. Something DID happen. First I got a Holy Spirit back massage, now I was witnessing a facial from Him too! Looking back, and applying what I know now, my entire countenance had changed. No makeup artistry can do that–well maybe–but in all sincerity only the deep work of the Holy Spirit can produce results that cause others to notice, ask questions, and walk away without any answers that make sense.

So, these 43 years later, I am SO grateful I can still remember my Holy Spirit massage. My “cosmetic makeover”. The gentle strokes of my mother’s hands as she soothed a shameful, hurting child who had also been touched by the Master’s Hands. All because I came home….”Yes, mom. Yes, God, it’s good to be home….

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My friend, if you have read this and don’t have a relationship with Jesus, I urge you to simply look up and fix your eyes on things above. Maybe you need to close your eyes. Maybe you need to sit down. Whatever or however you need to do to find quiet, may you do so. And like me, all those years ago, come to a place of humility and accept that YOU are a sinner–all of us are–we ALL fall short of God’s glory…but Grace. Grace and salvation are yours. Ask. Receive. Be welcomed “Home”. If you don’t know how to talk to Jesus, if you aren’t sure about this “Jesus thing”, please contact me. I’d love to talk.