It Had to be Perfect
(Authored 2005 with epilogue)
I was raised in a nominal Seventh-Day Adventist family. We had an interesting mix of spirituality in our home – quite liberal while extremely legalistic. I was baptized when eleven or twelve years of age, but only because someone mentioned that "it was about time." Certainly I believed in God and wanted to serve Him; I knew the doctrines and so was baptized without the longing, without the desire.
I grew up expecting others to see black-and-white as I did, to 'buck up" and perform. After all, if we didn't, we would be lost. How important obedience is, but today it comes from drastically different motive, as I have a desire to be saved rather than avoid being lost. You see, there are two essential components to conversion: the intellectual and the emotional. Many times they happen together – many times they do not. Intellectual conversion comes when we accept the Bible as the true Word of God. Emotional conversion occurs when we see Jesus face to face. When we see the Truest Love for what He is, from that point forward, things are never the same. We cannot help but want to emulate that love to all those around us.
Though this is my personal testimony of conversion and focused on my own internal struggles, I must express appreciation to my family. All of my struggles were just that those two years . . . internal. Though I did not share what really went on in my heart until after my conversion experience, they were very loving and supportive of my perceived needs. I appreciate their unconditional love when I chose to drive rather than lead. I have no doubts that there will be, at the very least, a shadow of my star in each of their crowns.
I married a Seventh-day Adventist friend of many years. We met at church before I was old enough to remember, we attended school together throughout our elementary and high school years, and we married at the young ages of seventeen and twenty. Many said we would never make it. The one thing we both knew was that love is a choice and divorce was not an option for either of us. We just celebrated our twenty-fifth anniversary, for which we credit the Holy Spirit.
My husband has always seen his spirituality confidently, as “just a part of life.” He was not perfect, he and God knew this, and it was life, so . . . carry on. I couldn't even come close to living up to the values and principles of legalism that I had been taught so well. Therefore, I tried harder.
Then we had children. From the time I was first exposed to misbehaving little ones, I determined I could, and would, raise perfect children, because raising perfect children was right as any good Christian knows. At some point, I believe when our firstborn was about eighteen-months-old, a new revelation moved me one step towards conversion. Though I had been able to extract certain behaviors (whether she liked it or not) from this blessed "charge" that God had given me, I was unable to make her think the way I wanted. Heretofore, I had been living with "all the answers" but suddenly this little twenty-pound bundle of cuddles (and struggles) pulled the rug out from under my feet. This revelation was a serious blow, indeed.
I learned in Nursing School that there is so much more information in this world than I know. The more I learned, the more I knew I didn't know. I really didn’t have all the answers, a humility which brought me another step toward conversion.
At one particular job, my position required Conflict Resolution classes. These studies were extensive and so valuable that I believed every person on earth should be required to attend such a seminar before turning twelve years of age. It was here that I learned how people's differing experiences affected that person's behavior. If someone didn't behave just as I thought they should . . . they actually might have had a different upbringing, different exposures, different causes and effects, and perhaps it was not a lack of integrity that caused their less-than-desirable behavior but rather their lack of knowing the real truth (something we all miss in at least one area of life). I was again humbled, realizing that I was not so intelligent at evaluating other people's value systems as I once thought. I learned to love and pity those souls whose behavior betrayed their lack of guidance, love, and nurturing support while growing up. I learned to question my own motives and to be thankful for my own upbringing. I praised God for gifting me with the brotherly love that moved me one more step closer to Him.
We continued to be active in church, and in 2000, Black Hills Mission College of Evangelism presented an Evangelistic Series in Forest Grove, Oregon. We were among the usual twelve families who always supported church events – it was the right thing to do. When we “supported” these meeting, we heard we had not heard before – same Bible, different “stuff.” The great controversy between Christ and Satan became so clear, so real. What struck me so significantly was the concept of seeing not only what God said in the Bible, but what He didn’t say. It suddenly came alive and was no longer a superficial dramatization or list of rules. I no longer studied to prove the other guy wrong. I met the Lord on a more intellectual level than I had before, and I was excited and invigorated. Though I had learned my memory verses in school, and I knew the basis for biblical doctrines, for the first time in my life I found myself falling in love with a Man named Jesus. Now I longed for baptism, but not yet. It had to be at just the right time in my spiritual walk, it had to be perfect, it had to be memorable.
Time went on . . . life went on, and in keeping with my upbringing, I saw more and more in the Bible of how I must behave, especially now that I loved Jesus. This presented a problem. Each time I made a mistake, I was even harder on myself. I began to work harder, to focus more – I could do it if I just put forth more effort. But what I saw in myself was so pathetic. I began struggling as I tried to mix my love for Jesus into my old legalistic lifestyle. But as Satan exulted, he didn't leave me with just that. He threw every other aspect of life into the mix of trials.
Physical . . .
It started two years after the meetings. Not only did we move, but we moved our house. God was leading and we could see that, but this move put us out of a place to live, literally, for four months. When we did move back into our home, there was one hassle after another, and it took a total of two years of hard physical work (heavy work twelve to sixteen hours a day that women just aren't built for) to just get settled. Then some urgent or essential thing always came up, and I remember having only about five literal days during those two years that didn’t end at the point of exhaustion. Even Sabbaths were spent extending hospitality, from which I derived pleasure but still taxed my physical resources. I felt like my life was set by everyone else's time frames. I couldn't do it anymore.
Mental . . .
Having a new job, I was newly exposed to serious traumas and critically ill cases coming at me from all directions. Our unit was short staffed for the high acuity patient population that we served, and I ran twelve hours a day with minimal, if any, breaks. Many times I had more than one patient that needed treatment now, and having to choose which to treat first meant the other’s condition would deteriorate or they might not even survive. I felt I was choosing who lived or died. Again I could not meet my own expectations, and the fear and stress was beyond comprehension . . . day after day for almost a year, which impacted every aspect of my life.
Emotional . . .
While trying to keep the other issues of my life under control, I found another aspect very much out of control. A misunderstanding occurred with a brother in the faith. I held him very dear to my heart, and it was a painful experience to add to my lot. My mental capacity was seriously affected by my emotional response. Yet again, I had to keep moving, and I had to go to work that day. I kept thinking I should call in sick, but I couldn't. Good Christians, who do right, do not call in sick when they aren't physically ill. I went to work but asked the charge nurse to put me in the less acute area of the Emergency Room, somewhere that I couldn't "kill" someone. My emotional state was that of deep distress, and I feared making a big mistake. Within fifteen minutes I had over-medicated a sweet elderly lady. I gave the usual dose, but hadn’t noticed that only half that dose was ordered. She ended up over-sedated in ICU with tubes going everywhere, including directly into her chest. Though she needed only to survive the eight hours until the drug wore off, I never learned if she survived. This was the only time in my life that I chose to avoid discovering truth, as denial seemed the better alternative. The emotional blow could have put me over the top. To this day I do not know, but I have faith.
Spiritual . . .
Intentionally utilizing denial as an emotional coping skill began to expose my true spiritual condition. In an attempt to meld this new love for Jesus into my old thought processes, my efforts were making life miserable. The last two years had been difficult indeed. The last two months had been excruciating. I was not dealing well with the physical and mental exhaustion, but more than that, I couldn't deal with the emotional component . . . the emotional turmoil of my own consequences.
One day during this struggle I walked through my messy bedroom that needed desperate attention. I was so exhausted that a crane could not lift my heart, and my steps dragged like an anchor engulfed in clay. I glimpsed a paper sack that needed unloaded. All I wanted to do was put the contents away where they belonged . . . just one sack full, but I couldn't! I was late for an appointment.
I stood there for a moment, so depressed that I didn't think I could go on. Something had to be done, or the alternative was unspeakable. I couldn’t move, but I asked my options. The first thing that came to mind was suicide . . . not an option. Suicide seemed so selfish, and though a rest seemed appealing, it certainly did not fit into my legalistic ideals. Satan had to try, but I did not desire that and dismissed it immediately.
I saw that I simply had two choices, both of which hinged on Spirituality. I either had to choose to give up or do it His way – it couldn’t be both. The Holy Spirit was asking . . . .
If I just gave up trying or caring about anything, Jesus included, I could go on being the “good” person I was but dead inside. Dead people don't hurt, and no one would ever know.
Or, the Spirit suggested, I could quit trying to do everything myself and give it to Jesus. But as much as I loved Him, the latter didn't fit into my forty-plus years of belief patterns. I didn't know how to give it to Jesus even if I wanted.
As I stood there staring at that elusive paper sack, I saw Him. He was as vivid in my mind as the pain in my heart. I stood looking at His face, wondering what to do, trying to decide. Either way meant rest, either way would solve my problems . . . for today.
As I stood face to face with my Lord and Savior, the only thing I could imagine to be more painful than what I had experienced in the last two months would be to look into His eyes and tell Him, "Your sacrifice was not for me." I could see His tears and imagine the emptiness in His heart yearning for me throughout eternity. No matter what I was experiencing, I could not bear to think of the pain that decision would inflict on Him, and I melted . . . so completely. The Lord brought me to my lowest point physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually so that He could finally lift me up. For the first time ever, I surrendered fully.
In this brief encounter, which may have lasted all of 10 seconds (though it seemed like hours), I realized that it isn't what I do. Life is not all about what I do. I tried for forty-two years to do it right – I can’t. In that one moment, I realized that what I do, or did, was not important but rather what He does in me. It was this transformation that would ultimately bring the obedience I desired, only now it would be out of love for Him, not wanting to see the pang of loss on Jesus face.
Since that day my peace has been indescribable – sweet indeed. My love for Him is insurmountable. Do I occasionally get discouraged? Sometimes . . . but then I look at Him again, face to face.
On November 20, 2004, my husband and I were re-baptized at Jere Patzer's evangelistic series in Forest Grove. I looked at a congregation of three-hundred and shared my testimony. Never before would I have considered doing such a thing, never before would the words have even been intelligible, for I had a serious phobia of public speaking. On that Sabbath, my words were clear, my voice resonant, my heart stable . . . the most convincing evidence of His conversion in my life.
Pastor Vio told me to just hold onto his arm, and he would bring me up out of the water. He was a strong man, and I felt secure. As I submerged below, I looked upward and saw how the light above the water was shining dimly and out of focus, but I remembered his instructions and held fast to his arm. I let him do the work, a novel concept for me, and just as he promised, he lifted me up and out of the watery grave . . . and the light became brilliant and clear. What a blessed symbolism God gave us in baptism! And it was just the right time, it was perfect, it was memorable – in His time.
I believe all of us must meet Jesus face to face before we are fully converted. It will be a different for each of us, a different time, a different place, a different process. Ultimately, we need to draw close, consciously look into His eyes, and tell Him whether His sacrifice was for us . . . or not. If you have never looked close, I pray that you’ll stop long enough to look again. His image is beautiful.
How am I doing with my performance, my 'behavior'? Well, it has never been easier. I am far from perfect, but my strength comes from the transformation that His love makes in my heart, and I can look at Him and smile. I can't wait to see Him . . . face to face. Can you?
Epilogue: I realized that the next growth process involved stepping out in faith and trusting God to supply my needs. After much prayer, I resigned my job, made some other “radical” but appropriate adjustments in my life, and until recently, have only turned down more work that I can handle. Every need has been supplied.
Having just been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, fibromyalgia, and severe spinal arthritis in 2014, I can no longer work, but I see how He is leading, how He has grown my faith through the years to equip me for today. His blessings flow in miraculous ways, and He continues to nurture my faith in preparation for each tomorrow. Maranatha!
(Authored 2005 with epilogue)
I was raised in a nominal Seventh-Day Adventist family. We had an interesting mix of spirituality in our home – quite liberal while extremely legalistic. I was baptized when eleven or twelve years of age, but only because someone mentioned that "it was about time." Certainly I believed in God and wanted to serve Him; I knew the doctrines and so was baptized without the longing, without the desire.
I grew up expecting others to see black-and-white as I did, to 'buck up" and perform. After all, if we didn't, we would be lost. How important obedience is, but today it comes from drastically different motive, as I have a desire to be saved rather than avoid being lost. You see, there are two essential components to conversion: the intellectual and the emotional. Many times they happen together – many times they do not. Intellectual conversion comes when we accept the Bible as the true Word of God. Emotional conversion occurs when we see Jesus face to face. When we see the Truest Love for what He is, from that point forward, things are never the same. We cannot help but want to emulate that love to all those around us.
Though this is my personal testimony of conversion and focused on my own internal struggles, I must express appreciation to my family. All of my struggles were just that those two years . . . internal. Though I did not share what really went on in my heart until after my conversion experience, they were very loving and supportive of my perceived needs. I appreciate their unconditional love when I chose to drive rather than lead. I have no doubts that there will be, at the very least, a shadow of my star in each of their crowns.
I married a Seventh-day Adventist friend of many years. We met at church before I was old enough to remember, we attended school together throughout our elementary and high school years, and we married at the young ages of seventeen and twenty. Many said we would never make it. The one thing we both knew was that love is a choice and divorce was not an option for either of us. We just celebrated our twenty-fifth anniversary, for which we credit the Holy Spirit.
My husband has always seen his spirituality confidently, as “just a part of life.” He was not perfect, he and God knew this, and it was life, so . . . carry on. I couldn't even come close to living up to the values and principles of legalism that I had been taught so well. Therefore, I tried harder.
Then we had children. From the time I was first exposed to misbehaving little ones, I determined I could, and would, raise perfect children, because raising perfect children was right as any good Christian knows. At some point, I believe when our firstborn was about eighteen-months-old, a new revelation moved me one step towards conversion. Though I had been able to extract certain behaviors (whether she liked it or not) from this blessed "charge" that God had given me, I was unable to make her think the way I wanted. Heretofore, I had been living with "all the answers" but suddenly this little twenty-pound bundle of cuddles (and struggles) pulled the rug out from under my feet. This revelation was a serious blow, indeed.
I learned in Nursing School that there is so much more information in this world than I know. The more I learned, the more I knew I didn't know. I really didn’t have all the answers, a humility which brought me another step toward conversion.
At one particular job, my position required Conflict Resolution classes. These studies were extensive and so valuable that I believed every person on earth should be required to attend such a seminar before turning twelve years of age. It was here that I learned how people's differing experiences affected that person's behavior. If someone didn't behave just as I thought they should . . . they actually might have had a different upbringing, different exposures, different causes and effects, and perhaps it was not a lack of integrity that caused their less-than-desirable behavior but rather their lack of knowing the real truth (something we all miss in at least one area of life). I was again humbled, realizing that I was not so intelligent at evaluating other people's value systems as I once thought. I learned to love and pity those souls whose behavior betrayed their lack of guidance, love, and nurturing support while growing up. I learned to question my own motives and to be thankful for my own upbringing. I praised God for gifting me with the brotherly love that moved me one more step closer to Him.
We continued to be active in church, and in 2000, Black Hills Mission College of Evangelism presented an Evangelistic Series in Forest Grove, Oregon. We were among the usual twelve families who always supported church events – it was the right thing to do. When we “supported” these meeting, we heard we had not heard before – same Bible, different “stuff.” The great controversy between Christ and Satan became so clear, so real. What struck me so significantly was the concept of seeing not only what God said in the Bible, but what He didn’t say. It suddenly came alive and was no longer a superficial dramatization or list of rules. I no longer studied to prove the other guy wrong. I met the Lord on a more intellectual level than I had before, and I was excited and invigorated. Though I had learned my memory verses in school, and I knew the basis for biblical doctrines, for the first time in my life I found myself falling in love with a Man named Jesus. Now I longed for baptism, but not yet. It had to be at just the right time in my spiritual walk, it had to be perfect, it had to be memorable.
Time went on . . . life went on, and in keeping with my upbringing, I saw more and more in the Bible of how I must behave, especially now that I loved Jesus. This presented a problem. Each time I made a mistake, I was even harder on myself. I began to work harder, to focus more – I could do it if I just put forth more effort. But what I saw in myself was so pathetic. I began struggling as I tried to mix my love for Jesus into my old legalistic lifestyle. But as Satan exulted, he didn't leave me with just that. He threw every other aspect of life into the mix of trials.
Physical . . .
It started two years after the meetings. Not only did we move, but we moved our house. God was leading and we could see that, but this move put us out of a place to live, literally, for four months. When we did move back into our home, there was one hassle after another, and it took a total of two years of hard physical work (heavy work twelve to sixteen hours a day that women just aren't built for) to just get settled. Then some urgent or essential thing always came up, and I remember having only about five literal days during those two years that didn’t end at the point of exhaustion. Even Sabbaths were spent extending hospitality, from which I derived pleasure but still taxed my physical resources. I felt like my life was set by everyone else's time frames. I couldn't do it anymore.
Mental . . .
Having a new job, I was newly exposed to serious traumas and critically ill cases coming at me from all directions. Our unit was short staffed for the high acuity patient population that we served, and I ran twelve hours a day with minimal, if any, breaks. Many times I had more than one patient that needed treatment now, and having to choose which to treat first meant the other’s condition would deteriorate or they might not even survive. I felt I was choosing who lived or died. Again I could not meet my own expectations, and the fear and stress was beyond comprehension . . . day after day for almost a year, which impacted every aspect of my life.
Emotional . . .
While trying to keep the other issues of my life under control, I found another aspect very much out of control. A misunderstanding occurred with a brother in the faith. I held him very dear to my heart, and it was a painful experience to add to my lot. My mental capacity was seriously affected by my emotional response. Yet again, I had to keep moving, and I had to go to work that day. I kept thinking I should call in sick, but I couldn't. Good Christians, who do right, do not call in sick when they aren't physically ill. I went to work but asked the charge nurse to put me in the less acute area of the Emergency Room, somewhere that I couldn't "kill" someone. My emotional state was that of deep distress, and I feared making a big mistake. Within fifteen minutes I had over-medicated a sweet elderly lady. I gave the usual dose, but hadn’t noticed that only half that dose was ordered. She ended up over-sedated in ICU with tubes going everywhere, including directly into her chest. Though she needed only to survive the eight hours until the drug wore off, I never learned if she survived. This was the only time in my life that I chose to avoid discovering truth, as denial seemed the better alternative. The emotional blow could have put me over the top. To this day I do not know, but I have faith.
Spiritual . . .
Intentionally utilizing denial as an emotional coping skill began to expose my true spiritual condition. In an attempt to meld this new love for Jesus into my old thought processes, my efforts were making life miserable. The last two years had been difficult indeed. The last two months had been excruciating. I was not dealing well with the physical and mental exhaustion, but more than that, I couldn't deal with the emotional component . . . the emotional turmoil of my own consequences.
One day during this struggle I walked through my messy bedroom that needed desperate attention. I was so exhausted that a crane could not lift my heart, and my steps dragged like an anchor engulfed in clay. I glimpsed a paper sack that needed unloaded. All I wanted to do was put the contents away where they belonged . . . just one sack full, but I couldn't! I was late for an appointment.
I stood there for a moment, so depressed that I didn't think I could go on. Something had to be done, or the alternative was unspeakable. I couldn’t move, but I asked my options. The first thing that came to mind was suicide . . . not an option. Suicide seemed so selfish, and though a rest seemed appealing, it certainly did not fit into my legalistic ideals. Satan had to try, but I did not desire that and dismissed it immediately.
I saw that I simply had two choices, both of which hinged on Spirituality. I either had to choose to give up or do it His way – it couldn’t be both. The Holy Spirit was asking . . . .
If I just gave up trying or caring about anything, Jesus included, I could go on being the “good” person I was but dead inside. Dead people don't hurt, and no one would ever know.
Or, the Spirit suggested, I could quit trying to do everything myself and give it to Jesus. But as much as I loved Him, the latter didn't fit into my forty-plus years of belief patterns. I didn't know how to give it to Jesus even if I wanted.
As I stood there staring at that elusive paper sack, I saw Him. He was as vivid in my mind as the pain in my heart. I stood looking at His face, wondering what to do, trying to decide. Either way meant rest, either way would solve my problems . . . for today.
As I stood face to face with my Lord and Savior, the only thing I could imagine to be more painful than what I had experienced in the last two months would be to look into His eyes and tell Him, "Your sacrifice was not for me." I could see His tears and imagine the emptiness in His heart yearning for me throughout eternity. No matter what I was experiencing, I could not bear to think of the pain that decision would inflict on Him, and I melted . . . so completely. The Lord brought me to my lowest point physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually so that He could finally lift me up. For the first time ever, I surrendered fully.
In this brief encounter, which may have lasted all of 10 seconds (though it seemed like hours), I realized that it isn't what I do. Life is not all about what I do. I tried for forty-two years to do it right – I can’t. In that one moment, I realized that what I do, or did, was not important but rather what He does in me. It was this transformation that would ultimately bring the obedience I desired, only now it would be out of love for Him, not wanting to see the pang of loss on Jesus face.
Since that day my peace has been indescribable – sweet indeed. My love for Him is insurmountable. Do I occasionally get discouraged? Sometimes . . . but then I look at Him again, face to face.
On November 20, 2004, my husband and I were re-baptized at Jere Patzer's evangelistic series in Forest Grove. I looked at a congregation of three-hundred and shared my testimony. Never before would I have considered doing such a thing, never before would the words have even been intelligible, for I had a serious phobia of public speaking. On that Sabbath, my words were clear, my voice resonant, my heart stable . . . the most convincing evidence of His conversion in my life.
Pastor Vio told me to just hold onto his arm, and he would bring me up out of the water. He was a strong man, and I felt secure. As I submerged below, I looked upward and saw how the light above the water was shining dimly and out of focus, but I remembered his instructions and held fast to his arm. I let him do the work, a novel concept for me, and just as he promised, he lifted me up and out of the watery grave . . . and the light became brilliant and clear. What a blessed symbolism God gave us in baptism! And it was just the right time, it was perfect, it was memorable – in His time.
I believe all of us must meet Jesus face to face before we are fully converted. It will be a different for each of us, a different time, a different place, a different process. Ultimately, we need to draw close, consciously look into His eyes, and tell Him whether His sacrifice was for us . . . or not. If you have never looked close, I pray that you’ll stop long enough to look again. His image is beautiful.
How am I doing with my performance, my 'behavior'? Well, it has never been easier. I am far from perfect, but my strength comes from the transformation that His love makes in my heart, and I can look at Him and smile. I can't wait to see Him . . . face to face. Can you?
Epilogue: I realized that the next growth process involved stepping out in faith and trusting God to supply my needs. After much prayer, I resigned my job, made some other “radical” but appropriate adjustments in my life, and until recently, have only turned down more work that I can handle. Every need has been supplied.
Having just been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, fibromyalgia, and severe spinal arthritis in 2014, I can no longer work, but I see how He is leading, how He has grown my faith through the years to equip me for today. His blessings flow in miraculous ways, and He continues to nurture my faith in preparation for each tomorrow. Maranatha!
