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[FONT="]It seems as if I had spent the majority of my early childhood running after God, yet not quite reaching him. I recall as a six-year old watching a Billy Graham crusade on television with my mother. Even at that young age, I was moved by his words and when he gave an altar call, I made my way to the TV screen for him to pray with me. My mother corrected what she thought was impulsiveness and told me that I should stop playing around and go back and sit down on the sofa. I lowered my head in embarrassment and returned to my seat. I did not meet Jesus that day.[/FONT]
[FONT="]When I was in the 4th grade, I was given the opportunity to attend a youth camp through my aunt’s church. I had a wonderful time and learned a lot about God. A local band called The Reflected Light led us in praise and worship on the last night of camp, and I was so touched by the music and the message that I made my way down to the altar when the call was given. There were so many teens there, and not enough prayer workers, and no one made their way over to pray with me. Feeling out of place, I got up and returned to where I had been sitting, hoping no one had noticed. I did not meet Jesus that night.[/FONT]
[FONT="]During my Junior High School years, my mother sent my brothers and me to church on a bus. For many months, I went but did not pay attention to the sermons. I would doodle on the bulletins or listen to the radio concealed in my purse through an ear phone cleverly disguised as a hearing aid. On one particular Sunday, the pastor’s message pricked my heart, and during the altar call I went up to the front of the church and was escorted into a prayer room. I sat down in a corner waiting for someone to pray with me, and as time went by I remained unnoticed. Feeling rejected, I left the prayer room, returned to the bus and went home. I did not meet Jesus that day, either.[/FONT]
[FONT="]By the time I had reached the age of seventeen, I had become quite rebellious. I had been expelled from Junior High School but had finished enough of that last year to graduate to Senior High School. My home life in a divorced family was difficult, and I reacted with rude and rebellious behavior. I had stopped going to church and rarely, if ever, thought about God. One Saturday night, my mother came into my room and said that she had read an announcement in the newspaper that a former country-western singer had become a Christian and was sharing his testimony and music at a church nearby the following Sunday morning. She insisted I go with her. I insisted that I shouldn’t, and that she should choose my sister or one of my three brothers to go since I had no desire to step foot in another church. I went to bed angry that night after losing the argument. Little did I know of the work the Holy Spirit would do in my heart as I slept.[/FONT]
[FONT="]I awoke the next morning unexplainably excited about going to church with my mother. She was shocked, and so was I. The service was wonderful, and I couldn’t believe the man’s testimony. He had led such a wild life, but God had forgiven him and had even given him a powerful ministry. I thought to myself that if God could forgive him, He could definitely forgive me. I eagerly anticipated the altar call. My mother, being a chain smoker at that time, could no longer sit still, so we left before the end of the service. I asked if we could go back to the evening meeting that night, and my mom agreed. Again, it was an awesome service, and I could not wait to get to the altar. Again, however, my mom needed to leave early. Once more, I did not meet Jesus.[/FONT]
[FONT="]But wait . . . who said that Jesus only resides inside a church building? [/FONT]
[FONT="]After returning home that night, I went to bed early and pondered the services that day and all of the other times that I had run after God and not found Him. I decided that I would simply have to find Him on my own. I pulled my Bible off my shelf and dusted it off. Having never read it before, I did not know where to look for help, and then the Holy Spirit reminded me of a Bible verse that I had memorized in Sunday school many years before. I searched the index for the Book of John, then turned to 3:16 and read those precious words: “For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.” It was as if I were reading them for the first time. They were so fresh and alive! I cried as I read of God’s love for me . . . simple me. I did not know how to pray, so I just talked with God for a while, confessing my sins and inviting Him to come into my heart.[/FONT]
[FONT="]My marathon was finally over. I met Jesus that night, and I have never been the same.[/FONT]
[FONT="]When I was in the 4th grade, I was given the opportunity to attend a youth camp through my aunt’s church. I had a wonderful time and learned a lot about God. A local band called The Reflected Light led us in praise and worship on the last night of camp, and I was so touched by the music and the message that I made my way down to the altar when the call was given. There were so many teens there, and not enough prayer workers, and no one made their way over to pray with me. Feeling out of place, I got up and returned to where I had been sitting, hoping no one had noticed. I did not meet Jesus that night.[/FONT]
[FONT="]During my Junior High School years, my mother sent my brothers and me to church on a bus. For many months, I went but did not pay attention to the sermons. I would doodle on the bulletins or listen to the radio concealed in my purse through an ear phone cleverly disguised as a hearing aid. On one particular Sunday, the pastor’s message pricked my heart, and during the altar call I went up to the front of the church and was escorted into a prayer room. I sat down in a corner waiting for someone to pray with me, and as time went by I remained unnoticed. Feeling rejected, I left the prayer room, returned to the bus and went home. I did not meet Jesus that day, either.[/FONT]
[FONT="]By the time I had reached the age of seventeen, I had become quite rebellious. I had been expelled from Junior High School but had finished enough of that last year to graduate to Senior High School. My home life in a divorced family was difficult, and I reacted with rude and rebellious behavior. I had stopped going to church and rarely, if ever, thought about God. One Saturday night, my mother came into my room and said that she had read an announcement in the newspaper that a former country-western singer had become a Christian and was sharing his testimony and music at a church nearby the following Sunday morning. She insisted I go with her. I insisted that I shouldn’t, and that she should choose my sister or one of my three brothers to go since I had no desire to step foot in another church. I went to bed angry that night after losing the argument. Little did I know of the work the Holy Spirit would do in my heart as I slept.[/FONT]
[FONT="]I awoke the next morning unexplainably excited about going to church with my mother. She was shocked, and so was I. The service was wonderful, and I couldn’t believe the man’s testimony. He had led such a wild life, but God had forgiven him and had even given him a powerful ministry. I thought to myself that if God could forgive him, He could definitely forgive me. I eagerly anticipated the altar call. My mother, being a chain smoker at that time, could no longer sit still, so we left before the end of the service. I asked if we could go back to the evening meeting that night, and my mom agreed. Again, it was an awesome service, and I could not wait to get to the altar. Again, however, my mom needed to leave early. Once more, I did not meet Jesus.[/FONT]
[FONT="]But wait . . . who said that Jesus only resides inside a church building? [/FONT]
[FONT="]After returning home that night, I went to bed early and pondered the services that day and all of the other times that I had run after God and not found Him. I decided that I would simply have to find Him on my own. I pulled my Bible off my shelf and dusted it off. Having never read it before, I did not know where to look for help, and then the Holy Spirit reminded me of a Bible verse that I had memorized in Sunday school many years before. I searched the index for the Book of John, then turned to 3:16 and read those precious words: “For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.” It was as if I were reading them for the first time. They were so fresh and alive! I cried as I read of God’s love for me . . . simple me. I did not know how to pray, so I just talked with God for a while, confessing my sins and inviting Him to come into my heart.[/FONT]
[FONT="]My marathon was finally over. I met Jesus that night, and I have never been the same.[/FONT]
Thanks for sharing ur testimony. Yes u were running after Him but God was and is always knocking at the door .Isnt that awsome? And u opened the door.