HIS ADVENT INTO MY LIFE
HIS ADVENT
INTO MY LIFE
At Christmas
we celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ, God’s only Son, the promised Messiah. I would like to share some of the process of
receiving Him into my own life, for His advent means nothing if He is not
received personally.
My mother read me Bible stories as a child,
along with other literature. I remember
enjoying the story of Baby Jesus’ birth, as well as the story of Samuel, hearing
God speak to him. In Grade Three I had a
Christian teacher who taught us all the children’s hymns during five-minute
breaks of standing beside our desks.
Later, in Grade Five, the Gideons came in and gave each student a New Testament. All the way through elementary school, religious
instruction was scheduled, and many ladies came in with Bible flannelgraph
stories. I remember in Grade eight
hearing about Pharaoh’s dream of the seven fat cows and the seven lean
cows. We also said the Lord’s Prayer
every morning at school.
As a teenager, I was hungry to learn
about God. We did not attend church,
although we had membership in the local Presbyterian church. At night, I used to listen to Father Meehan
under the covers, seeking for our Heavenly Father. I also read a book entitled “Everyone calls
Me Father” by Father X, which had many stories of a priest who did good deeds
in the community, such as helping a delinquent teenaged boy.
In Grade Eleven, Renata, the sister
of a very nice, shy German boy who always sat behind me in school, gave me a
little tract and invited me to a Christian club meeting. I went, and although I enjoyed the loving
atmosphere and the Salvation Army leader’s trumpet playing, I left because I
felt afraid for some reason. Nevertheless, their kindness and love stayed
with me for years. I also received a
tract from my Great Aunt Jean. I did not
quite understand the message, but always appreciated her prayers and her
reaching out to me spiritually. I am
sure that these prayers bore fruit later on in my life.
I attended Girl Guides from age
eleven through fifteen, and at summer camp at Doe Lake we always held a “Guide’s
Own Service” where we sat on logs in the woods and sang such hymns as “This is
My Father’s World”. Later, I attended an
Anglican private school, my mother’s Alma Mater, and there I learned all the
hymns as well as participating in glorious psalm singing along with the
choir. I was also allowed to sit in the
alcove to turn the pages for my friend Val, the organist for the evening
service for boarding students, since I could read music. I so loved the quiet evening chapel services,
having a quiet devotional spirit myself.
At Trinity College, the Anglican college
at the University of Toronto, I had many chats with the chaplain, who lent me
four books over the summer. From them I
learned basic Christian doctrines, such as the Trinity and the atonement. I had thought the term “Holy Ghost” ´was
superstitious! We did not believe in ghosts in the Heddle household! In my second year, I took the confirmation
classes with Father Challacombe, or “Father Chumleigh” as he was
nicknamed. I became a member of the
Anglican Church and took my first Communion, my mother attending, and wearing
my new navy silk chantung dress and jacket. My sweet university friends gave me
gifts: a Phillips New Testament, an orange candle, and a gold cross with all my
initials on it except the “M” for Moodie, which they could not afford. When I left university before the end of my
second year, my friend Val said, “At least you found a faith here!”
Within a few years, however, I found
myself restlessly seeking spiritual truth again. The stringent requirements of the Sermon on
the Mount had me worried. Many are
called, but few are chosen. Would I be
among the few? I began seeking every day,
getting books out of the religious section of the library, only to return them
in disgust. I attended noon hour mainline
services held before Easter in Hamilton, where I worked at a downtown
bank. My friend Sue, in the next wicket,
and Ralph, the new mail clerk, were both witnessing to me about the Lord. Sue passed missionary letters through the
wicket. She and Ralph had friendly
arguments about Christian doctrine. One
day, Sue mentioned accepting Christ as one’s personal Saviour, and this time
there was no arguing, but a silence which underlined the importance of this
idea. The attractiveness of this concept
gripped me, until one day I telephoned Ralph on his day off, to ask
for tips on prayer. He came in from his
home in the suburbs to talk me through a tract over lunch. That night, at home, I received Jesus Christ
as my personal Savior with great joy.
Jesus is alive and has led me through many adventures, heartaches and
trials over the last fifty-two years. He
is so loving and reliable, and very worth serving. May everyone who reads this be drawn to
receive Him as well. Amen and amen!
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