Religion works in mysterious ways

Can I tell you a little story about what religion means to me? I could write about what it means to the world, but I find one's personal journey on this subject a lot less controversial.

It was a dreary day and I was home alone. All three of my kids were out on play dates. Usually I'd curl up with a good book at those rare moments, but there was no unread book to read in the house. I'm talking about pre technology days here. Reading meant a trip to the book store or the library. Thinking about the time it would take to get to either, I decided to be a couch potato and turned on the TV. Flipping through the channels, I was hoping to find something interesting. Don't worry, I'm getting to the religion part of the story.

"Is that John Tesh?" I thought. He caught my eye since I knew some people who personally knew him. He grew up near my home town. For those who don't know who he is, you can Google him if you so choose. "What's he up to these days? Huh. Looks like he landed a good gig." I can't remember the venue; it might have been Carnegie Hall. And then I thought, "Oh crap. Is this one of those religious concerts?"

Me, the atheiest that I was would never have remained on that channel; no way Jose, but it was John Tesh, a local celebrity, so I continued watching. He's actually quite talented. The spectators were on their feet chanting and clapping to the music as he played gospel music on the keyboard. I heard all sorts of hallelujah's and praise God's and amen's coming out of their mouths. "Such fools", I thought.

And then I saw her face. Corny as it sounds; the face of an angel. Either time was frozen for me, or the camera man froze on her because she seemed to become magnified in such a way that said, "Look at me: see me: know my heart." I wanted to reject her face but I could not look away. She had long hair and dark eyes that were looking up, with tears streaming down her cheeks. She didn't wipe the tears as she raised her arms above her head. She was reaching for something unknown to me, but through her face I knew she knew exactly what she was reaching towards. Her heart spoke directly to me and said, "If you want to know these tears of joy, follow me."

Not knowing how much time had passed when I turned off the TV, her face stayed with me. It stayed with me when my kids came home, and it stayed with me for years. Every time I would conjure up her face, I'd think, "You know you want what she has." But I perpetually ignored that message for about 15 years, until one stormy night.

Driving home from my Dad's house alone, I could barely see out of the windshield with my wipers on high. My brother was visiting from Texas and earlier that evening, he stabbed me through the heart, at least it felt like he did. It was the first time I was meeting his infant son. As a mother of three, as soon as I saw his precious infant, I reached for him. Abruptly, my brother stepped away from me, enveloping the baby like a joey in a kangaroo pouch. He looked at me with venomous eyes and said sharply, "If you ever hurt him, I will kill you!" I couldn't speak; couldn't breath, as it became apparent he meant what he said and he directed it at me but he was really talking to a dead person that he saw in me. MOTHER. The one who caused us all the unspeakable pain. "Look at me!" I wanted to scream, but I was defeated in genetic resemblance, so I remained silent in my agony until I left the house.

As I drove on, almost as hard as the pouring rain, my tears began to fall. I cried out loud that I hated him till my throat went hoarse. When I could yell no more, I heard a sweet but commanding voice say, "Love him anyway!"

"Who the hell are you?" I yelled back with defiance and fear; considering that I had lost my mind. And then I heard it again, louder this time, "Love him anyway." My grandmother had passed away a few years earlier, so I thought, "Was it her? I must be crazy. Maybe I'm dead." And then that sweet angel face from some hokey spiritual revival popped into my mind once again. Her loveliness comforted me. I arrived home safe and shaken, but slept well that night with the words, "Love him anyway," in my heart.

Acting as an obedient child, as soon as I got up the next morning, I called my brother at my Dad's. It took awhile for him to come to the phone and I'm sure he was reluctant to speak to me. "What do you want?" he said coldly. And I replied, "I have no idea what I have done to make you angry with me. What ever it is, if I've ever hurt you, I'm so sorry. And I want you to know that I love you. I love you very much and that is never going to change." He remained silent for several seconds and then like a calm sea, he said, "I love you, too."

Cut to the chase, he and I started talking every week over the phone when he returned to Texas. He told me how he had recently started going to church and I listened to him about his bible studies. He asked me to start reading the bible. I actually took out "Bibles for Dummies" from the library because I thought there was no way I was going to get through that mammoth text with any understanding. On our weekly chats, my brother began to teach me the gospel and talk to me about how his faith; his love for Jesus was healing him. Even though I slowly, skeptically began to believe in the power of faith, I was so resisting stepping into a church. At my brother's gentle suggestion, I finally started bible study at a local church. After some months passed, I remember the moment I first felt the power of God's love. I was walking my dog. It was cold, moonlit and starry. While my dog was doing his business (lol) I looked up towards the stars and I felt this amazing wash of love pour over me, like a warm trusted embrace. Like a whisper, "I've got you my child. You are mine."

I felt it. Tears of joy. The joy some random chick had demonstrated from a dumbass spiritual revival so many years prior. God truly does work in mysterious ways.