As we prepare to remember our baptisms, I am remembering my own. It was Easter Sunday 1968 at the First Christian Church in Freeport, Texas. I had participated in a program for 12 year olds in preparation for the sacrament. My maternal grandmother was in the room with me as I changed out of my Jackie O inspired pink suit into the white baptismal gown. Granny raised nine children in rural central Texas during the Great Depression. She never owned much in the way of worldly goods, but she passed down to her children and grandchildren a legacy of faith in God and love of family. In that changing room all those years ago, she gave me a little white Bible with my name engraved on it in gold lettering. It remains one of my most prized possessions.
I felt a strong sense of God's presence as I slid into the cleansing waters.
Granny always dreamed of visiting the Holy Land, and today I feel that she is a part of my journey as I remember my baptism.
No comments:
Post a Comment