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From the time that I was conceived, I have been taken to church on a regular basis. My earliest memories include the church I grew up in, and my church friends. Occasionally, my parents would let me spend the night with my Nanny on Saturday and go to church with her. It was one of those Sundays that left a lasting impression on me.
Nanny went to a small church in the middle of a community called Cabbage Town, near Atlanta. I always loved to go there because most of the people were elderly and they would make a big deal out of me being there. Usually some of the men would stand outside and welcome visitors, but not on the Sunday that will forever stand out in my mind.
It was freezing cold outside. We hurried into the heat of the church, the men congregated on the last couple of pews on the left and the ladies all huddled around the one kerosene heater on the right. I decided to forego the usual cheek pinching, and headed to Nanny’s bench to set my coat and Bible down instead. I was about five years old at the time. I was too young to truly understand everything there was to know about God, but old enough to recognize Him.
As I walked down the aisle, I looked toward the pulpit. There standing at the front of the church, was Jesus. He had on a white robe that seemed to float about His feet. His arms were outstretched. Even though I was on one end of the aisle, and He on the other, I felt as if I could feel Him. His eyes held mine firmly and deeply. His lips smiled on a face that seemed to glow. Time seemed to stand still and I felt as if I were being lulled by the faintest lullaby. I wasn’t afraid, but I wondered if anyone else was seeing Him.
I looked back at the men, and they were still talking. I looked towards the women and they were still huddled around the heater. No one was looking my way. I had Jesus all to myself. My heart swelled and my lips turned up in a smile as I turned around to see my Jesus again.
He was gone. I looked around the church from where I was standing, but I didn’t see Him anywhere. I walked up and down the aisles to see if maybe He was playing hide and seek, but he was nowhere to be found. Even as a child I knew that something special had happened. I knew that I had seen Him, and that I’d never forget it.
After thirty years, I can still close my eyes sometimes and see Him just as I did that day. I don’t feel Him when I see Him like I did that day, and His eyes aren’t as piercing as they were that Sunday morning, but I still have that memory. I’m sure He doesn’t really look the way He did in my vision, because He looked like the paintings and pictures that we still see around today. That doesn’t bother me though; that’s how I knew it was Him.
Sometimes I wonder why God let me have that special glimpse of His Son. There’s nothing special about me. I wasn’t in a huge cathedral or in a well know chapel, but in a small Baptist church with a sweet body of believers. I know that since I had that special visit, I’ve never doubted the reality of Jesus. Maybe that’s why I saw what I did that day. God was preparing me for my future as a pastor’s wife. I have a faith that can’t be shaken. I know my Jesus is real. At times, satan will try to dim my view, but he can never take my vision.
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