By Rachel King
Growing up in Kansas, church was a regular part of my life. Sundays were dedicated to worship and rest and my cousins and I would eagerly look forward to the rest of the day once church was over. I did believe in God and the teachings of the Church, but back in those days, I worshipped more because my parents believed and wanted me to follow their lead. I knew all the prayers because I had said them a thousand times, but I did not take the time to say them with meaning because I was too busy enjoying my childhood and the company of like-minded cousins.
Years passed and I moved to New York City once I graduated. As you can imagine, there was a vast difference in the environment that I had been used to so far and the one that I was thrown in right now. I was so caught up in the hustle and bustle of this huge city that I forgot a legacy that my mother had passed down to me and one which was a part of my life every day as a child – I stopped going to church and slowly stopped praying as well.
It was not that I did not believe, it was just that I had no time for religion and God. Initially there was guilt, but slowly that wore away too and I became engrossed in my new life. I was happy and content and when I met the man of my dreams, my life was complete. It was a whirlwind romance that swept me off my feet and made me feel like flying. The day we got married was one of the best days of my life, and so I began a new chapter in my life, one that had almost excluded God.
And then tragedy struck – I returned home from work one day to find that my husband of less than a year was having an affair with my neighbor. I was devastated and totally demoralized. I ran to the only place I could call home – my mother’s arms. As I nursed my hurt and tried to limp back to normalcy, I still refused to go to church even though my mother begged me to. I was guilty about forsaking the Lord for trivial pursuits and I did not know how to ask for forgiveness.
I slowly worked up the courage to venture out and into public places. And the day my eyes caught sight of a prayer tacked up to a wall in a grocery store was the day I was born again. The prayer Footprints in the Sand, was written by a young woman who was walking along the beach with God. She saw two sets of footprints for every phase of her life. And in certain phases, the most difficult ones, she saw only one. So she asks God – Why did you forsake me in my hour of need? And God replies – My child, those footprints you see are mine. In times of trouble when you needed me the most, I carried you on my shoulders to spare you pain.
I
wept on reading that. I went to church the next day and cried my heart
out. God had carried me on his shoulders and brought me home. He had
given me a new lease of life, one in which I found the strength to
carry on and create a new beginning based on faith and love.
This guest post is contributed by Rachel King, who writes on the topic of Christian Universities . Rachel welcomes your comments at her email address: rachel.101king@gmail.com
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