Whispers in the Heart, Part 2

This week we continue on with the first chapter of my “Remnants of Eden: Evolution, Deep-Time, & the Antediluvian World.” God bless, and stay with me as the story unfolds with the next post…

Late one evening in 1997, the still of the night was shattered by a panicked call. My grandmother, they informed us, was being rushed to the hospital, unresponsive. Over the course of the next few days, a new reality for which I was woefully unprepared began to rise around me. In the end, as the life support system was turned off, my grandmother passed on. She was only sixty years old.

For anyone who has lost someone suddenly and unexpectedly, there is a nagging burden left in the wake of their passing. I felt rushes of anger and sadness and confusion, to be sure, but even more so, I was left with regrets. Regrets over things that could not be changed. Regrets over my inability to say just how much I loved her. Regrets over knowing I’d never hug her again, knowing I could never say goodbye. Even now as I write this, dealing with those thoughts as though they were yet again fresh, brings memories welling up in my eyes. Still, beyond those regrets, many wonderful memories remain, and they will forever be cherished within my heart.

Even after death my grandmother inspired me still, and in the months that followed her passing, I began to seek the God I knew she was with. I wasn’t alone. My grandfather (who had, in my experience, never been particularly committed to church) and my sister accompanied me, and together we three began attending regularly for a time. As for my sister and me, there were many who tried to dissuade us; friends and even some family. My sister’s journey aside, opposition to my decision was rampant, encouragement scarce. Even so, the ultimate choice was mine, and on a Sunday evening’s service, several weeks after my regular attendances began, I slowly moved toward the altar…

1.01 Church of My Childhood

Figure 1:01 – The Church of My Childhood

Raised as a Pentecostal, I had grown accustomed to the regular “speaking in tongues” and the ecstatic gesticulations of those who had received the Holy Ghost, yet being in the midst of it that night, hands upon me, tongues afire around me, it all became overwhelming. I knew what I had been told I’d experience, but in truth, I felt no such phenomenon then. Not then. In the end, I was more unnerved than enlightened. The general consensus of the congregation that night was that I too had received the Holy Ghost, and I, under pressure from their excited and expectant questions, agreed. I was too shaken, and too willing to please, to disappoint them by saying anything other. I even tried to convince myself, yet it was to no avail. Still, I kept the faith as best I could for a time, even wondering quietly to myself if I had in fact been touched by God that evening and just missed it amidst the flurry of voices and hands around me. It was a question that burned within me for many weeks…

The Story Continues with the Next Post…

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