A fundamentalist turned freedom chaser with an obnoxiously stubborn faith.

Salvation | Emmaus Writer's Group

My beautiful friend Jessica (of Happily Ever Housewife) and I have started a “writer’s” group for artists of all kinds to gather and share and be.
We are meeting every other Wednesday (in real life) and if you live in the area and want more information please just ask!
We hope to foster creativity by being a fun, safe, loving place for people to share their hearts. And we also hope to keep this open to ALL kinds of expression. So you can write, draw, paint, dance, sculpt, sing, whatever! Even if you feel inspired by someone else’s work and want to share it, do that!
We’re taking prompts from the sermons at Emmaus (but you don’t have to attend Emmaus to participate!). We’ll take the sermon topics for the following 2 Sundays and either choose one or mix them together. Our first prompt was Salvation/Faith.

It didn’t come in a prayer, singular. It came in many, some said before I was born and long before I knew what to ask.
It didn’t come in a flash of light. Nothing burst to bring me to submission, no cracks in the sky marked my conversion.
It didn’t come at the end of Roman’s Road or inside a bible tract designed to shame me. No one knocked on my door to ask if I had a personal relationship with their lord and savior.
It came… It came. It just… Has been. And whether my feet were set or I stumbled onto this path, I’m here. With my Jesus. My version of Jesus which shifts and reforms constantly, but also Him. With his strong hand gripping mine, scrambling to find me again when I wriggle away like a child seeking independence she doesn’t understand. When did his hand become insufficient?
It’s here. And I’m here. And when I’ve wandered He’s followed. Like I mean, really followed. I led him down some strange alleys and I ignored his protests when I swallowed poison dressed as piety. But he stayed. Can I say that again? He stayed. With me. Out of the throne room and in the gutters, he stayed. When I was too embarrassed to kiss him in public he stayed.
So now I think about what salvation means to me and there are too many words to funnel onto paper, too many memories to recite, too many times my hand was gripped hard by Love that doesn’t just remain, but follows into strange places. And stays.
I couldn’t pray once for that, I couldn’t be convinced by a lightning bolt, I won’t find that at the end of Roman’s Road. I have been courted and embraced by Love itself and that just… comes.

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