Meatballs and Jesus. A Faith Story.

I have friends whose faith stories contain dramatic contrasts between before and after deciding to follow Jesus. I’m always inspired and encouraged by their stories. For many years, I believed my story was too boring to inspire. I’ve also been tempted to believe that my story disqualified me from sharing with people who are not yet followers – that somehow, following Jesus for a long time makes me ineffective with people who don’t yet know him.

I don’t believe those lies anymore. And you shouldn’t either.

I became a Jesus follower at a young age. It was a calm, quiet event with no fanfare (at least, as far as my human eyes could see). Here’s how it happened:

My family lived in New Jersey when I was ages 2-8 and we attended church every week. I often wore white tights with black patent leather shoes. I remember the way my parents helped me by cinching up my tights so that I could simply stick my foot in and then easily pull the tights up myself. But I digress. The church we attended had children’s programming that began in an area with tiered steps that created “stadium seating” to the floor below, where the large group lessons were taught from. I usually sat “stage right, by the wall.” Not sure if we sat with our age groups or if I had simply chosen to sit there, but that was “my spot.” The “stage” opened out into a multi-purpose space – there were dividers set up on Sunday mornings for our age-specific classes, but at other times, the space was used for mid-week programs and pot-luck suppers.

To this day (even having experienced a pandemic), I love a pot-luck situation. There is something magical about sampling other people’s prized recipes. Something that seemed to be a staple at this church’s pot-luck dinners was a steaming chafing dish full of the most delicious Swedish meatballs. They were awesome. I remember going back again and again to the chafing dish and helping myself. Only the Lord himself can say for sure, but my estimation is that over the course of the evening, I would eat at least 16 of them.

One Sunday morning at church, my teacher shared about having a relationship with Jesus. I don’t remember her name, or exactly how old I was, but I clearly remember her words: “If you ask Jesus into your heart, he will come in. He will be with you always and never ever leave you.”

This was immensely comforting. I had been wrestling with fear and worry over “what if something happens to my parents?” Looking back, I know that God saw me. He knew my fears, he cared and he worked on my behalf. He sent someone to bring the Good News to me in a way that I could understand. I don’t remember any other lessons from that church. But that day, that lesson, her words (I can almost HEAR her voice in my memory) are all crystal clear. There was something about the way she said it – the joy on her face, the confidence in her voice. I could tell that she knew what she was talking about. Her faith story helped me begin my faith journey.

I didn’t waste any time. When we got home from church that day, I went to our backyard and invited Jesus in.

No one told me what to do next, And to be fair, no one knew I had done this. I didn’t even tell my parents. It was just me and Jesus in the backyard of our little house on East Zoller Road. It was many years before my faith was nurtured in a way that it could really grow. But I am 100% certain that Jesus did come into my heart that day, and that he has never left.

We moved to another state when I was 8 and we didn’t have family in New Jersey, so we never went back to that church to visit. Recently, I had the opportunity to share my faith story with a group and it got me thinking about that church building, those meatballs and, especially, the kind woman who told me about Jesus. I had an epiphany: the internet! So I searched “Presbyterian church in East Brunswick, NJ” and I found their Facebook page! Here’s a photo that shows the carpeted steps where I’d sit for the children’s large group lesson. “My spot” was near the man who is standing with his hand on the railing. Notice the sweet blonde girl surveying “the goods?” Haha! And here’s a photo of a full-on pot luck dinner – I even spy a chafing dish. (Could it be?) Somewhere under those florescent lights is where I learned about Jesus and decided to follow him.

My heart skipped a beat when I saw these images. My memory of the space was really accurate, for it being so long ago. I believe the mental images were so strong to help me know that it really happened. God is gracious like that.

So my simple story: a volunteer in the children’s ministry at my church told me about Jesus and I believed. Sometimes it really is that easy. I’m living proof that the Holy Spirit will fill in all the gaps for us when God is already drawing someone to Himself. Our obedience in sharing our stories with others is part of the process.

There was no fanfare around me that day in the lower level of Trinity Presbyterian Church or in my backyard. But I know now that on that day, there was a party in Heaven. As I’ve matured in my faith, I’ve rejoiced again and again about finding Jesus early on and I understand that there is power in every Jesus story. Even mine!

My story is a story of God’s faithfulness. Of Jesus fulfilling His promise to never leave me. It’s a story about hope, protection and provision. My story has helped parents whose children also began their relationship early (it’s possible for it to “stick!”) My story can also encourage people who volunteer in Kids’ ministry (“You are changing lives, even when you don’t hear about it!”)

And your story? It’s awesome, too. The Spirit is working in hearts all around us. Someone is ready to hear your story today, to hear the conviction in your voice and see the joy on your face.

Let’s share our stories with abandon. Heaven is always ready for a party.

 

“There once was a shepherd with a hundred lambs, but one of his lambs wandered away and was lost. So the shepherd left the ninety-nine lambs out in the open field and searched in the wilderness for that one lost lamb. He didn’t stop until he finally found it. With exuberant joy, he raised it up, placed it on his shoulders, and carried it back with cheerful delight!  Returning home, he called all his friends and neighbors together and said, ‘Let’s have a party! Come and celebrate with me the return of my lost lamb. It wandered away, but I found it and brought it home.’ ” Jesus continued, “In the same way, there will be a glorious celebration in heaven over the rescue of one lost sinner who repents, comes back home, and returns to the fold—more so than for all the righteous people who never strayed away.-Luke 15:7