Recently someone asked me, "How old were you when you were saved?"
A rush of events flashed before my eyes.
The stagnant smell of the little brown room where a fluctuation of teachers would come in and teach hit me instantly. It was the C.C.E. class, also known as, our Sunday school program.
About a year later, I recall memorizing and reciting the Lord's Prayer, the Hail Mary, and the Apostles' Creed for my Confirmation. Shortly thereafter, it was the frilly white dress I despised. At the age of twelve, my fondest memory was the deliciously, hot menudo (popular Mexican soup) and barbacoa tacos we had after the service.
Then, I saw a glimpse of my mother sitting my family down on a Friday evening, reciting the Rosary together. This was the last thing I wanted to do on a Friday night, especially being in high school.
Graduation came and went and by twenty-one, I knew everything and did not need anyone. This was furthest from the truth because I found myself searching for something and this went on for years.
I had kept up with the Our Father and Hail Mary and usually ended the prayer with, "God, I need this, God, I need that..."
My junior year of college, I was called to be a Chaplain in my sorority and this is where it began to stir up again. Something lit up inside me when I was able to pray for group of women. Still being lost, I visited churches throughout my college years and thumbed through numerous self-help books but I still fell short. I was still missing something.
Years had flown by, I was in my late twenties, battling an eating disorder and my marriage had just failed. I was running around town to keep away from lonely, dark nights and ended up with one or two hours of sleep after a night of debauchery.
I was tired and I was alone.
In 2012, I was invited to join some friends at a church service; the same church in which my bosses told me about for years but I had absolutely no interest in attending. That day, I did. We dressed up and sat mid-row in front of a beautifully designed church. The worship choir belted out songs I had not ever heard before and my eyes filled with tears.
Unfortunately, I do not remember the message that beautiful Sunday, but I do remember when the Pastor called on me; not me specifically, but there I was walking up to the altar in front of hundreds of people. I was not walking by my own strength nor was it an executive decision I had in mind. It was the Holy Spirit, peeling me from the floor, as I was crying out to the Lord. I do not remember what my friends said, or who took me to another room but minutes later, I was in front of a woman I had not ever met, sobbing like a baby at thirty years old, giving myself to the Lord.
Just like that, I was free.
I cried for days. I repented for many more of those days.
My heart did not turn overnight, but God was finally welcome to start working on me. Though I am still under construction, my something was filled.
Photography by: Maltz Photography
My heart began to feel, love, and forgive.
God gave me life.
It has been six years since I gave myself over to the Lord. It has been a winding road with pot holes, speed bumps, head wind and MOST importantly, full of sunshine because "I was helpless and He saved me."
For anyone who is searching for "something", I know someone who can help. I know a faithful Savior who is waiting for you to join the family.
Romans 10:9-10 says, If you declare with your mouth, "Jesus is Lord," and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For it is with your heart that you believe and are justified, and it is with your mouth that you profess your faith and are saved.
So my question to you is, How old were you when you were saved?