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One Sunday, my church had a guest speaker. After the service ended, I stood at the back of the church alone. I don’t remember why I remained after everyone left. The guest speaker approached me and said, “God just revealed to me that one day he will use you in ministry.” I did not have a clue what that meant. Becoming a minister had never entered my mind. I walked home pondering his statement, and remembered the dreams, but brushed the thought aside.
Freedom from addiction cost me all my friends. Books filled my lonely hours. The leaders of the Word of Faith Movement wrote many of those books. They had a seductive message, and scriptures to support their beliefs. I devoured their books, thinking if I had enough faith, I could create a better life with my words.
According to the faith teachers, God wanted us healthy and wealthy. I believed God paid the price for my healing, so I tried to use my faith to correct my nearsightedness. I reasoned if I really believed my eyes were healed, I had to act like they were healed. After church, I proved my faith by throwing my expensive glasses into the trash. My act of great faith impressed some in the congregation, but my faith wasn’t so great. I walked around squinting for days.
When my mother asked why I wasn’t wearing my glasses. My mother was not happy and demanded I retrieve my glasses from the church’s garbage can. She scheduled an eye appointment. I knew she would be disappointed when the doctor said I have 20/20 vision. I went home with a new pair of glasses, and the first clue my concept of the meaning and purpose for faith was distorted. My parents had more common sense than my church.
Three days after graduating from high school, I was in my bedroom seeking God for direction. I heard, “Go in the neighborhood, and tell people about me.” Instead of consulting my pastor about the experience, I walked around the neighborhood telling anyone who would listen about Jesus. That did not go well with the neighbors who complained to my parents.
I tried to obey his command but lacked the strength and knowledge I needed. Instead of asking God for help, I became angry with him and fell into a depression. Jesus said he would rather have us hot or cold. He will spit the Lukewarm out of his mouth. If I could not be hot, my only choice was cold.
I moved into an apartment with two friends and drowned my sorrow with alcohol. Knowing I could never live independently working for minimum wage, I joined the Air Force. In the 1970s, women in the military were a low priority. The men who joined the same day I did left for Boot Camp three days later. They put me on the delayed enlistment plan with a departure date six months later.
One afternoon, I stood on the balcony of my apartment, enjoying the clear blue sky and fluffy white clouds as I pondered the next chapter of my life. I scored high on the Air Force test, which gave me promising options among the available job openings. I planned to leave God in New Orleans. If I liked the Air Force, I would make it a career. If I didn’t, I would have a marketable job skill.
Thunder interrupted my thoughts. I scanned the sky for rain clouds—there were none. Thunder rumbled again, but this time I had the distinct sensation that someone was calling me. The experience changed me. I began reading the Bible again, though I did not return to church.
The apartment lease ended three months before my departure date. I returned home to prepare for my new adventure. One afternoon, my recruiter called. “You don’t want to go in the Air Force. I’ll take care of it,” he said and hung up before I could respond.
I had already sworn the oath of office and signed the paperwork. How could he stop me when I was already in the Air Force? I ignored the strange phone call. A month later, an honorable discharge arrived from the Air Force. Stuck at home without enough income to leave, and reluctant to live with friends again, which had not been pleasant, depression settled upon me.
One Saturday afternoon, while washing my car, I complained to God about my predicament. From the depths of my being I heard, “Go to Church,” and abruptly stopped washing.
“Ok, I replied. “I will go one day a week, and live life the way I want to the other six days.”
The following morning, I dressed for church, wondering which church I should attend, and settled on the church I had abandoned. I had passed my destination and was in New Orleans when I realized I wasn’t going the right way but continued to drive and stopped in the parking lot of the first church I saw.
The church had a TV program I occasionally watched. The service had already started at the church I planned to attend. By the time I arrived, the service would be half over. I decided this church would do. When I walked through the door, I knew I belonged there.
TO BE CONTINUED
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