Prompt: Tell the story of how you gave your life to Christ—or how you first began seeking God. Even if you’re still figuring things out, write from where you are.
Me:
I did not get saved during altar call at a camp meeting. I did not get saved because someone shared a tract to me on my way to get something from mama bolu’s store. I’m not saved because God called my name in my bedroom one evening.
I think of my salvation story as one they would call little drops of rain make an ocean.
It was a quiet, intentional decision I made in my bedroom almost three years ago. I’m not sure the particular date or time. But it was towards the end of the year. In the last quarter, just like this one.
A decision I made because though I could not physically lay my eyes on God and describe what He looked like, I know, I felt, saw, and heard His realness. Not just in one day or on that day, but in countless seasons and ways leading up to that day.
Answers to prayers made from places. Seasons of fear, brokenness, identity crisis. Prayers made in reckless abandon. Realizing that He kept me within Arm’s reach, in sight. Also, people’s testimonies. My family’s testimonies. Those were the little drops.
I was certain. Why would I not? Later, I would learn that I, we, love because He loved first.
That day, there was a readiness to die, to continually die to self, be completely sold out, after all, I was bought with blood.
I don’t have a dramatic salvation story, and I’m not in any way invalidating those who do.
But my salvation story has taught me, supernatural does not have to be spectacular.
Selah 💛
Someone you know needs to see this, kindly share with them🤍
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