Slipped a Groove and my own baptism
8-4-24
I was
trying to decide where to go to church this morning. I missed the first service at KGF, then Keary
left, and I decided to try for the 10:00 service at Christ’s Center. It was a good choice. I didn’t really see any familiar faces and no
familiar faces greeted me. I chose the second row on the left side because it
was empty and close enough to see. I sat
toward the center aisle and a family came and sat…at least the kids… at the far
outside edge. One of the children, a
teenager or early 20s perhaps, was clearly autistic, but obviously much loved
and his family did a good job of providing what he needed to help him adapt to
the surroundings. I think I read his
story online a while back, about how he could finally communicate using an iPad
or something like that. There was worship time and then a missionary
sent out by CC to Cambodia spoke.
Between
the two there were baptisms clear across the aisle that I could not see. But as things were shifting over John Mills
ran up on stage to do something, and I had to remind myself that John Mills
died a while back, and when he turned around, it wasn’t John, but Andrew. For a moment, I though I had slipped several
decades back in time, as his build, shape, and manner of moving was so like his
dad’s.
During the
baptism I reflected on my own baptism and marveled how differently we all come
into this world. Some come in surrounded
by family, passed around and hugged, and rejoiced over. Others come in quietly, almost
unnoticed. Although I’m sure there was
rejoicing in heaven at my own baptism, it was oddly very much like my
birth. I was born in the wee hours of a
Saturday morning. My mom had gone home
from work Friday in the early stages of labor.
She had sent my brothers to be with their dad for the weekend and had
probably given notice that she would not be at work/school on Monday. After things were settled at home, she drove
herself to the Silverton hospital, a rather incognito place, where she wasn’t
likely to run into anyone she knew from Salem, and I came uneventfully into the
world. I’m not sure how my mom felt
about it, probably some mixed emotions, but also a little relief, as the doctor
held up my backside for her to see, ‘you got your girl”. Not wanting to jinx it in the days before ultrasounds
and genetic tests, she had chosen a name that would fit for either boy or girl.
My baptism was equally quiet. I had
asked Jesus into my heart the previous summer at VBS in Philomath when I spent
a week with Aunt Judy and Uncle Woody.
Once I got home, going to church was hit or miss. I went with neighbors. I liked Sunday school, but I also liked
church and when the minister made an altar call one day, I felt prompted to go
forward. Today, people often pre plan,
and baptisms aren’t often done “on the spot”, but back then they were. There was a robe for me to change into and
the neighbors that brought me waited around after the service for me. There was not a congregation of people applauding
or cheering. No music. At most the
neighbors that brought me might have been in the pews, though they might also
have been waiting in the car. I don’t recall.
I just know that when I got home, my hair was wet and my mom asked,
shocked and concerned, “What happened?” “I
got baptized.” I told her, and she burst into tears. For all her, “I don’t want to go to church.”
She was disappointed that she didn’t get to be there. I’ve never felt very sorry for her,
though. Maybe I should have. But she was always of the opinion, you don’t
discuss politics or religion. Religion
is between you and God. So I guess that’s
sort of how I justified it. It was
between me and God and had nothing to do with her. (sorry mom).
But another quiet birth.
When the
missionary got up to speak today, she started off with a song that I really
really needed right now. God always
knows just how to touch me. She sang it
in the Cambodian language, but in my heart and quietly to myself, I sang the
English words.
Hide me now under your wings Cover me within your might hands.
When the
oceans rise and thunders roar, I will soar with you above the storm. Father you are King over the flood. I will be still and know you are God.
In Christ alone;
Know his power,
In quietness and trust
When the oceans rise and thunders roar,
I will soar with you above the storm;
Father you are King over the flood,
I will be still and know you are God.
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