Late yesterday afternoon, my daughter texted me, which was nothing unusual. Still, her message outranked winning the lottery. It proudly proclaimed that her granddaughter, my great-granddaughter Addie, had asked her mother if she could be baptized.

The text continued with an accounting of Addie’s and her mother’s conversation:

 “Do you know what it means to get baptized?” Addie’s mom asked.

“You get ducked under the water and come back up. Like Jesus did,” Addie confidently replied.

“But do you understand what it means?” 

“Yes, that I have asked Jesus into my heart. She replied.

“Very good, but do you know what sin is?”

“Yes,” Addie replied. “It’s when you do something bad, and a girl in my class always does things bad.”

“Well, maybe we better pray for that girl instead of talking about her,” Addie’s mom said. “Let’s do that.”

 

A huge smile graced my face as I read the words on the screen, but then skepticism set in, probably straight from the old devil—there to ruin my joy. I thought, She is only five—although she will be six in two months. Then, as if the Holy Spirit whispered in my ear, I heard, “How old were you, Joye?”

Suddenly, memories flooded my soul, wrapping my entire body in a blanket of happiness and tender, fuzzy feelings. I remembered warm summer nights under a humongous tent that was massive to a six-year-old. The tent had been erected beside our church on South Mountain for a week of revival meetings. Mother could not attend, so Aunt Reba drove my older twin brothers and me to the meetings each night. My teenage sister rode with her friends, but  Mother instructed her to keep an eye on us.

All the children attended a Bible class before worship services. I always enjoyed the crafts my teacher had planned while she read a story from the Bible. Afterward, we excitedly marched outside to the big tent to attend worship services with the grown-ups. I prided myself in sitting beside Aunt Reba and listening just as I had promised Mother I would do.

On the third night of the revival, I wanted to know more about the incredible promise the preacher was talking about. I’ll ask Mom when I get home, I thought. But after arriving home, one of my brothers reminded Mother that she had promised to read Tom Sawyer to us if we behaved at church.

Fascinated by my mom’s facial expressions as she read, my question vanished. She twisted her words to sound like she had just stepped out of Missouri in the eighteenth century. I always wondered if she actually knew all the characters in the book.

 My mother always had a book handy to read to us. But I think singing was her way of implanting the word of God in our hearts. As she worked around our home, no radio was needed, and hymns of praise rang throughout the house. But that was not the only way she planted seeds of wisdom; one day, as I pointed to one of many clouds in the sky, I said, “Look, Mom, that looks like an elephant.”

“Baby girl,” Mother lovingly replied. “Someday the clouds will roll back like a scroll, and Jesus will come back for us.” I didn’t respond; I just continued playing, but I have thought about her statement many times since then.

I remember the late afternoon of the fourth day of our church revival. My brothers and I were playing a game called Annie-Annie Over when I suddenly remembered my question. Instead of running when my brother Ted caught the ball and darted after me, I froze, standing still on the sidewalk. Rounding the house and seeing me standing there, he slammed the ball on the ground. “You’re supposed to run!” he yelled.

“I wrinkled my brow seriously and replied, “I’ve got something very important to ask.” As my other brother Ned, approached they both sensed my urgency and stood still and listened. I knew they were both knowledgeable because they read constantly. They even read the encyclopedias. Their birthdays were on Nov. 11, and flags flew just for them, or that is what they told me. Holding my breath, I said, “The preacher said that Jesus died for our sins because He loves us and we belong to Him.” After a quick pause, I asked, “Did that really happen?” 

     “That’s what the Bible tells us, and of course it is true,” Ted said matter-of-factly.

 “Tell her about the Roman road we memorized in Bible school,” Ned told him.

 “You tell her,” Ted said, still slightly annoyed.

“Okay, I will,” Ned said, convinced he remembered every word—and he did. Then he took a deep breath and began:

• “For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God;” (Romans 3:23 KJV).
• “For the wages of sin is death; but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord” (Romans 6:23 KJV).
• “But God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us” (Romans 5:5 KJV).
• “That if thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart that God hath raised him from the dead, thou shalt be saved” (Romans 10:9 KJV).
• “For with the heart man believeth unto righteousness; and with the mouth confession is made unto salvation” (Romans 10:10 KJV).
• “For whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved” (Romans 10:13 KJV).

 Obviously pleased that he had quoted it perfectly, he looked at me and said, “It’s simple, Joye.”

“Yeah, simple for us, but not for Jesus,” Ted said. Then he sighed and quickly opened his palms upward. “Jesus is God. He died so that we could live in heaven with Him forever. Just pray and tell Him you believe Him. Get baptized! Receive the Helper—the Holy Spirit! Now let’s play ball! I was winning this game!” Then, after scanning the ground, he reached for the ball.

“Run for your life,” Ned yelled at me before bolting into overdrive.

I let out a blood-curdling scream as I darted into a full sprint behind him.

*****

Fifteen minutes later, Mother stepped outside and announced it was time to prepare for the revival meeting.  

Under the gigantic tent, as the sun began to go down later that night, it was as if an enormous bubble encapsulated my world, and the message presented was the only truth that mattered. The preacher’s words bypassed my earthly reason and went straight to my heart. Thoughts of embarrassing myself or my older sister took the back burner. When the invitation song was presented, and the preacher stepped from behind the pulpit with open arms quoting God’s word, I meekly stuck one foot on the gravel walkway between the benches.

The next thing I remember, I was in front of the preacher, who had squatted down and met me face to face. His tie must have immediately caught my attention because I started fidgeting with it while telling him I had asked Jesus into my heart. I don’t remember my exact words or his, except that before he stood up, he slid his hand down his tie and whispered, “I like this tie too. It’s my favorite.” Then he led me to the front bench to sit down by five grown-ups.

I don’t remember church dismissing, but I absolutely remember sitting on the front bench after the grown-ups left. The preacher stood before me, talking to my older sister. He asked her, “Do you think she is old enough to understand?”

“I doubt it,” my teenage sister said. “But ask her, she will tell you. I have to go. My friends are waiting for me.” She turned around quickly, her full skirt brushing my cheek. Not noticing my twin brothers, she nearly stumbled over them. “Talk to the preacher and take care of Joye, you two—I have to meet my friends.”

Perplexed, the preacher looked at my brothers and asked, “Well, boys, what do you think? Does she understand?”

“Sure, she does,” Ted said softly, wrinkling his brow. “She’s not stupid!”

“She asked us about Jesus,” Ned jumped in. “We explained everything. We told her about the Roman road.” 

Ted grabbed my arm, “Come on, Aunt Reba is waiting on us.”

When we arrived home, I guess my brothers could not resist the opportunity to tease me about playing with the preacher’s tie. Usually, I would’ve hurled a toy at them. But, so what, I thought. If I was a little nervous while talking to the preacher—I felt as if I had received a special gift. Besides, the song “Jesus Loves Me,” which we always sang, was taking up space in my head as it became real.

Later that night, after Mother tucked me in, she touched her cross necklace and smiled.  “This is what I fiddle with when I’m a little nervous.” Then she lifted her cross, held it close to the lamp, and read the Lord’s Prayer through the tiny magnifying glass stone on the cross.

****

I have no memory of traveling to the church to be baptized. My first recollection was of standing on a stair at the top of a large water tank, wearing a white sheet-like robe made for an adult. A lady standing on a lower stair behind me was helping me keep my balance and holding my robe above my feet to keep me from tripping. The preacher was standing in the middle of the baptistry.

“You’ll have to catch her,” the lady whispered loudly to the preacher. “I’ll push her toward you. She can’t touch the bottom.”

I wasn’t scared or nervous, although I was wrapped in a sheet and shoved across the water. I reached toward the preacher as he stepped forward, grabbed my sleeve, and pulled me toward him. I’m unsure what he said, but I know he asked me if I believed Jesus died for my sins. Then, after my complete immersion in the water, he carried me back to the lady. 

It’s mind-boggling that we recall only fragments from our childhood. Still, those bits and pieces are cemented in our memory and are essential in shaping our present and future walk with God.

The Sunday after my daughter called with the news of Addie’s baptism, our preacher’s sermon included Mathew 20:1-16. There are several lessons to be learned from this parable of the workers in the vineyard. Still, just one lingered in my memory. The men who worked all day complained because the workers who worked a short time were paid the same wage as they were. I thought, maybe Jesus is contrasting it to a child accepting Jesus and a much older person accepting Christ. All believers receive the same reward. I certainly have no reason to complain because knowing the master from an early age was a gift.

The realization that I need Christ and that I belong to Him remains deeply etched in my soul. I’m incredibly thankful the gospel was presented to me at a young age. Like many people, tragedy has been part of my life. I have made more than my share of wrong decisions, and I still sin daily—my thoughts are the hardest to control. But I have not had to walk the walk alone. Ever since I can remember, I have been able to take my troubles directly to God because of the work of His Son. The Holy Spirit has guided me and interceded on my behalf in my prayers. In times of grief, I have often asked God to send the Comforter (Holy Spirit).  

 Thank you, God, that my great-granddaughter was gifted with the words of the gospel and will walk through life knowing her Savior. I wish we could give the gift of the gospel to every child on earth.

Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these” (Matthew 19:14 NIV).

 

Peter replied, “Repent and be baptized, every one of you, in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins. And you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit (Acts 2:38 NIV).