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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