Twinkling Lights of Faith
From the archives, about a life-changing Christmas Eve
I wrote this post a few years ago on my now-defunct blog, and I felt it was appropriate to share here as we approach Christmas. Christmas Eve 2019 was a life-changing day, and I sometimes wish I could experience it all over again. The twinkling white lights during church service illuminated a whole new path for me and I haven’t looked back. Merry Christmas to you all from the Sutton fam.
Love,
Mia
I'm shifting nervously in my seat. I haven't been to church in YEARS. It's Christmas Eve in 2019 and I'm attending service with my family. My mother-in-law invited us and told us all how important it was to her that we attend. My first instinct is to always say no. To politely decline and shake off the uncomfortable restraints I feel when I think of the words church, religion, faith. But we decide to go. It's one night, I think to myself.
Knowing what I know now, it was meant to be.
*****
Everyone is dressed up in Christmas cheer. Shades of red, green, gold, and silver flash beautifully all around me. There are white Christmas lights hanging from the ceiling. It feels very, well, Christmas-y. My boys are fidgeting next to me. So is my husband. These Sutton boys don't know how to sit still and stay quiet for long and I'm chuckling to myself at how alike they are. I'm ready for service to begin so that we can get it over with and go home.
We stand and the singing begins. I’m unsure of everything because church always made me feel like an outsider, an imposter. Everyone always seemed to know something that I didn't, to feel this joy that I could never access.
The pastor welcomes everyone and then says something that really struck a chord with me. I'm paraphrasing, but he told us that we were ALL welcome. That none of us are perfect. We're all broken, all sinners, but God loves us anyway. I think to myself, IF I was ever going to attend church, this is the kind of church I would choose. One that doesn't give off this essence of perfection and judgment that it seemed to me most Christians portrayed. His words felt genuine, welcoming, comforting. There were toddlers running around the room and no one batted an eye. It felt laidback, like a place where everyone could be themselves.
As the pastor is speaking, my mind starts to wander. I'm internally at war with myself. One part of me thinks, Why am I here? Another part of me whispers quietly, Why not? I scoff at myself. God? Where was God when I was being abused? Who would do that to a child? I feel bitter and irritated.
The pastor leads us in prayer and I bow my head and close my eyes, out of respect.
And this is it. This is where something happens.
As I sit there, stewing, I start to feel very warm. Not in an uncomfortable way. Just nice and cozy. My eyes are closed, but I can feel this brightness and warmth on my face, as if the sun is shining down on my upturned face. It's not, though. I'm just sitting there, indoors, during the evening, underneath the twinkling lights that are too high up on the ceiling to be causing any physical warmth. All of a sudden, I want to cry. I feel it welling up inside, but I don't let it out. I just keep my eyes closed, feeling the warmth. The warmth seems to say to me, I'm here for you. You are welcome here. You are loved. It's what I want to hear, but also what I don't want to let myself hear. I cling again to my argument: Where was God? Why would He let a child be hurt?
And I hear an answer. It was my own voice in my head, but they were not my own words. The answer said, "God did not hurt you. People did. People who make mistakes, who sin, who are sometimes lost. Forgive them as He does. Let it go."
And I know that some of you are going to roll your eyes after reading that. I get it, I was absolutely that person for 30+ years of my life. One who would have said, "God speaks to you? OK, Crazy-Pants." But all I can say is, it happened. That was the exact moment I believed in things I couldn't see with my own two eyes, things that could only be felt, truths that were brought out of my soul. It was the moment I finally knew what faith meant.
I sat there with my eyes closed, feeling that warmth, and I felt lighter. I felt like a burden had been lifted. This concept of forgiveness, of letting go of bitterness and anger, had been foreign to me all my life. But in that moment, I knew it was right. I knew it was a sign.
When we got home that night, I told my husband that I was considering going to church regularly. I expected a million questions because that was probably the LAST thing he would have expected me to say. But all he said was, "OK. If you want to, you should do it." But in usual stubborn Mia fashion, I hesitated for a couple of months. I ruminated. I argued with myself. I began reading scripture online and listening to Christian podcasts. I started reading books by Christian authors. And the more I listened, the more I felt like it was the right decision.
Finally, I asked my mother-in-law if I could attend church with her and she said yes, that I was always more than welcome. She has been my biggest supporter and encouragement in becoming a Christian. I am so grateful for her guidance and I look up to her so much.
And since then, I haven't looked back. Whether it's attending in person (before COVID hit), to church on Zoom, or catching the replay later on YouTube, I always listen to every sermon and every testimony and every prayer. I read my Bible every day. I never would have guessed, ever, that my life would change in this way. But I'm so glad it has. That's not to say that I'm all of a sudden this perfect person who never struggles with anything nor makes mistakes. But now I just know where to turn when that happens.
Those twinkling lights lit up my path to faith. If I close my eyes, I can still feel their warmth. Thank you, God, for everything.