“I asked Jesus to come into my heart with my Grandpa Andrew leading me. I’ve never had a memory of that event. I was four.”
I was thinking these words, preparing to write them in my journal. But the speaker wasn’t allowing vague answers. He said to write the whole story of our redemption. He said there is no forgetting the moment we knew we were His. That moment when we discovered, actually tasted, our own depravity, and became physically sickened by it. That moment when our hearts broke at the sight of His blinding holiness. The beautiful moment when we received His grace-gift of forgiveness and healing.
“Like a real birth”, I thought. “But more painful. More glorious.” I didn’t have a story like that.
“If you can’t remember, ask the Holy Spirit to remind you when it was. He’ll tell you. You will remember.”
I cooperated because that’s what you do. But I doubted. Just for a second. That’s how long it took Him to uncloak the mystery and show me my moment. You see, this death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, it isn’t just “for everyone” or “for anyone”. It was for ME He died. This is my story.
It was 1977. School was out for the summer. To prove I can remember, I’ll tell you this; my favorite smells were car wax and freshly mowed lawns. “No hands” and “Popping wheelies” were the bike tricks everyone was doing. Hoola-hoops were big.
Somehow, I was pulled from my bliss to attend the 50th anniversary luncheon for some very old people. I sat at the kids table. The conversation turned upsetting rather quickly, and since I was smart enough to know you can’t believe everything a going-into-second grader says, I called her a liar. She insisted her news was true. Her mother had read it in the paper. She said Kendal Kuskie was dead. I was so mad at her, I got up and walked outside.
You can bet I told my parents about the mean girl at the kids table.
As soon as we got home, my mom looked at the newspaper and then we walked to my room. We sat on my bed together while she told me. The horrible news was true. There had been a collision in an intersection and my classmate and friend, Kendal was gone. I was devastated.
I literally could not stop crying no matter how hard I tried. It was more than grief, it was shame. I finally confided in my mom.
My friend Kendal lived several blocks away, but he could ride to my street by way of a short-cut across a partially-fenced empty lot. We liked to talk about Jesus after school while we rode bikes around the neighborhood.
One day, when he was headed home, we saw that the gap in the fence had a new sign that read “No trespassing. Private property”. “What are you going to do?” I asked. We could see Kendal’s older brother dashing across the lot as if nothing had changed. I assumed Kendal would take off after him. That is certainly what I would have done.
Without a second’s hesitation, he swung his front wheel around and headed the long way home. I caught up to him to tell him it was ok to cut through. “Why would you say that, Heather?” He asked. “We are Christians. It wouldn’t be right.”
I can tell you exactly why. Going the “right way” was a big waste of time! And he would have to go all by himself! I was shocked that someone would be that obedient and honest. I was ashamed that he thought more of me than was true. Obedience and honesty were big problems for me.
Something else happened earlier that same school year. First, I should tell you that I was the only child among all five of my siblings to attend public school, and only for first grade. God had a plan to intersect my life, and give me a burden for unsaved children, but I had no idea of this at the time.
My top priority at Harrison Elementary was to have friends, and to make sure people liked me.
One day, we were all sitting in class waiting to go on a field-trip. Ms. Basset told us the trip was being canceled on account of the rain. Kendall raised his hand and suggested to the whole class that we pray. He was looking right at me for encouragement, but I looked down at my desk, embarrassed. Then, when the teacher said it was fine, he stood up and confidently asked God to stop the rain. As if that wasn’t enough, he asked to go outside and check. It was still raining…so he did it again!
You should have heard the cheer that went up when he came back inside to report that the rain had stopped.
By mid-afternoon the sun was out, and the busses were pulling out of the parking lot on schedule. The day was saved! I was shocked. Kendal’s faith was inspiring to me, but his boldness made me feel awkward. I didn’t know what to do. So…
After school I told him not to talk to me about Jesus in front of other kids because they “wouldn’t understand.” Yes, I am one who denied Him. Just to protect my pride.
“He was a real Christian and I am not!” I told my mom. I was so ashamed of my behavior I could hardly breathe. And now Kendal was gone and I couldn’t say how sorry I was. “Maybe you and Jesus need to have a talk.” She said.
So, with the priceless taste of my own depravity on my tongue, I cried out to Jesus. I asked His forgiveness for all my sin. At that moment, I knew I was His.
I felt so free and so in love with Jesus. It was the beginning of a new life for me.
My moment of brokenness blossomed into a truly surrendered and devoted heart. So great was my salvation, so great is my Savior!
By the time I was nine, several very significant events took place. I was baptized in water, then I was baptized in the Holy Spirit and spoke in tongues. I started talking with the Holy Spirit while I played or rode my bike. This began a life-long love affair with Him. I then received a call from God to minister to children, which I started immediately and continue to this day.
One last little thing…For the past 25 years I’ve asked a question to every Christian boy I know, “Are you a man of God, or just a man?” I want them to know that being a real Christian is possible. Kendal Kuskie, was one.
He led me to Jesus. And He was only seven.