My Life Plain And Simple

2004 started well. My husband had a good job; we lived in a pretty house on a quiet street with friendly neighbors and beautiful views out our windows. Our children were healthy and busy about their lives, and our siblings and elderly parents were active about theirs. We were involved in our church and had many new friends. Even a long desired art room was mine, and local art shows exhibited my work.

But in the mystery of life, serious changes crouched below the horizon. In fact, those changes – and challenges – were rooted in events two years earlier.

The first came with our move to Connecticut when we began to attend an Anglican church. Although we had never visited a sacramental church before, our interest was aroused when this particular Anglican church was strongly recommended by Christians we respected.

The Sunday we walked into the vestibule we were warmly greeted by the senior pastor. We felt at home with his sermon, the praise choir and the welcome from many in the congregation. But the transition from the non-sacramental Protestant upbringing of my childhood brought lots of questions from family and friends who wanted to know why we would attend a church they suspected to be non-biblical.

My faith and understanding of Christ was born and matured during my fifty-plus years in non-sacramental churches, although, as a young adult, I briefly investigated different styles of worship. I was intrigued by what I experienced at Newman Centers (special parishes that minister to the needs of college students) and for a brief time engaged in some discussions with a friend’s priest about the Catholic faith. Those experiences were more like looking through a window as an observer.

But, I became alive in Jesus the November evening I bowed my 26 year old heart before him, confessed my sins and gave Him my life – all of it. An Evangelical, Pentecostal, and Baptist foundation formed my doctrine and practice. Jesus accepted my commitment to Him and sent me to Japan where I taught kindergarten on the naval base. Within a month of my arrival, I met Rich. A short time later, we married and began our life in that foreign land. When we returned a year later to the States, Rich attended an Assemblies of God Bible college, and we began a family.

I grew in my relationship with Christ as a result of the testimonies of others, and was nurtured by the rich fellowship with godly men and women. My spiritual mentors – men and women of seasoned faith and experience – encouraged me to trust God’s plan for me, to stand firm against temptation, and live each day dedicated to Jesus. I learned to read the Bible from cover to cover, and choose books about Christians who lived totally for Christ. I attended Bible studies taught by mature Christians who also encouraged me to place my feet on the Rock, Christ Jesus.

But in time, I became complacent in my walk with the Lord. When I recognized it, I sought to be renewed in my spirit, and our gracious God sent a Pentecostal revival meeting to our town. It was a wonderful time of getting back to the basics of faith: Jesus’ death on the cross, salvation, resurrection . . . the renewed blessing of the Holy Spirit in my life encouraged me to be more active in the spreading of the gospel.

I believe I understand some of the nature of fallen man. We tend to get in a rut and that rut feels comfortable. So when we started attending the Anglican services I was forced out of my cozy rut. In time, I came to love the sacramental service, the people, and the idea that perhaps for a few moments I was touching the body and the blood of Christ. Our pastors were Anglo-Catholic in their teaching. Although the praise team led our worship, for me, simply entering the sanctuary was a time of worshipful recognition that Jesus was present there. That was not a new concept for me; that idea was held by members of all the Pentecostal and Holiness churches I attended.

The most difficult part of attending the Anglican Church was that it took me a long time to address the pastor as “Father.” I don’t know how often I would find myself not speaking to the man just so I did not say “Father.” He must have thought me a real dunce. But all those years as a child being told to “call no man father” really were hard to get past. After two years I was partly successful.

Life was not perfect but it was pleasant and even the hard places were manageable, taken one day at a time. Life became comfortable again.

I should have thought more about that as I read my Bible. Nowhere are Christians urged to sit back and relax. We are called to be salt and light, not comfy pillows on a couch. I was blinded by the thought that I was doing all I could for Jesus. I was as good a wife as I thought I could be. I was a loving mom and daughter. I attended church, helped out cleaning the sanctuary, taught first and second graders in a youth club, supported hungry and uneducated children . . . I thought I was doing all I could. I looked forward to a life of the same kind of service as I had been accustomed to for over 30 years.

What I did not know was Jesus wanted more.