being baptized as a grown up changed my life
I really don’t like the word grown up but you get what I’m going for.
Mostly when we think of baptism we think baby. My mind goes right to a little cherubesque babe, wearing a long white gown & old fashion bonnet, held in their parents arms, surrounded by family, godparents, a priest. In a church. Invitations, family travel plans, brunches. There’s a way these things are done. A checklist of what it’s all supposed to look like. It most certainly does not involve a jean shorts and t-shirt wearing grown-up (ahem, me), wading out into the ocean with other grown-ups dunking you in the salty ocean water.
Or does it? What is baptism anyway?
It’s confusing when the images and ideas you’ve absorbed growing up begin to morph into new things. New ways of being and thinking about how stuff is supposed to happen. It doesn't make one right or wrong, it makes it - Life - deeper, fuller, richer. More beautiful, inclusive, open.
And yet. That hard wired cage of ideas that sits somewhere inside me insists on running its mouth. Insists on retreating to ideas and ways of living life that are known. Safe. Antiquated. Boring. But mostly just, not me.
You are an adult, Sara. Baptism is not for you. You missed it. Move along. Why do you want to do it, anyway? Does it really matter? Don’t draw attention to yourself, take up space, be seen. Getting all wet in front of a bunch of people - alone, all eyes on you. So dramatic, attention seeking. Why do you care, anyway?
That’s the voice inside (we all have it) that tells stories to keep me small. Silenced. What is that voice? Where does it come from? That ickiness. That self-loathing.
When we are on the verge of growth, expanding into the next level version of ourselves, from the inside out comes a voice that tries to cut us off at the knees. It’s out for blood. It’s relentless. It’s job is to literally keep us the same. Frozen, paralyzed, obedient. Small.
And often, I’ve listened.
Not today. God woke me up about 5 years ago. Like, literally.
I sat strait up in bed one night after hearing a voice that was as clear and miraculous as sunrises and birth.
It said, find your church.
It wasn’t some airy-fairy moment, it was more like a command. Marching orders. I didn't even think about not taking action. That day I Googled “churches near me” and made a list. I decided I’d start with the church furthest away (a 20 minute drive) because this whole find a church thing probably wasn’t going to be easy.
I resisted thinking about how I was going to share this with my other half.
Hey honey, guess what? God spoke to me last night!
He told me to find a church.
Get dressed, let’s go drive to places we’ve never been, meet strangers, sing, talk about God and give them money!
Amazing, right?!
You can see why I was hesitant. We’d been together over 10 years and had never gone to church or talked much about God. Legally married wasn’t a checked box for us. Church, God, marriage - you know, all the big, important things that are the pillars of life - I froze in their presence. I didn't know my place in life back then. I felt flimsy. I blew in the direction of least resistance. I felt grateful for what I had, but unworthy of stepping into my Self. I put on the costume the world handed me. Head down, mouth closed.
I made up all kinds of reasons for “not caring” about the things I really cared about.
On marriage my story went like this: We both came from divorced parents so marriage was a diluted concept for us. It held no real meaning anymore once you’ve been through multiple failed til-death-do-us parts with your parents/ stepparents/step-siblings and “new families” were in/out of your life. We can be married in our own way. We can follow our own design for life.
What was actually happening was that I didn't feel worthy of questioning these things. I didn’t feel I mattered enough to have opinions and feelings about my own life. I should just be grateful for what I had. A man who loved me, and I him. Who wanted to raise a family with me. Who chose me. But my heart ached for the fairy tale. For the man who wanted to shout from the rooftops his love and adoration for me, who wanted to make all my dreams come true, who couldn’t stand another day in this world if I were not his wife.
As I write from the other side, I already had that human man who loved, cherished and adored me. I’d found him. He was mine. What I didn’t have was a relationship with my creator, the divine man in my life. My heart was aching for a relationship with God. For my Heavenly Father. That was the hole, the missing relationship, the great big love of my life.
That calling was to something so much greater than marriage or wedding plans. It was to the the one true love that will heal all wounds and change everything about your life if you surrender. If you let yourself be led. If you follow God’s marching orders.
We tried to make the wedding thing happen a few times but it never caught. We’d take 3 steps forward, 5 steps back. We chose a date, I got a dress, made some actual decisions (a location, a band). And then we quickly decided this was not for us. Nothing felt right. It felt contrived, fake. We cancelled the few plans we’d made. My dress hung zipped up in the back of my closet. Over the years my veil was used in many weddings, but none my own. My sister wore it. It travelled all the way to Poland with a family friend for her wedding. Each time it returned, holding the memories of someone else’s magical day.
Our daughter was 3 when God gave me these find a church marching orders.
She was baptized just before her first birthday at a church down the street from us . The pastor was a family friend. It was a very special day for all of us. It was the start of God stirring within me.
During all this we were also trying to make another baby. I had a miscarriage a few months prior and felt the veil of darkness creeping in. I was angry, sad, tired, over it all. I felt a little pathetic for going to God when life hit the fan, begging for grace, help, a lifeline. Something to keep me going. Typical, Sara. God has given you this amazing life and you go to him only when you come up against a roadblock. Now you want to pray. Good Luck.
Every Sunday we’d go to another church on my Google list. I’d get up early and shower before Sienna woke up. Once she was up I could focus on mom stuff. I’d get her dressed and pack a bag of coloring books, a favorite stuffed animal, snacks, water, a sweater. I’d put my makeup on while she watched Paw Patrol with a bowl of scrambled eggs and a smoothie.
My other half was usually doing stuff around the house or headed out for some exercise. He was always supportive and loving, but never asked many questions. I asked him to come with us. No, not my thing. I decided that once I found “our church” I’d be a tiny bit more persuasive in my asking. For now, I let it be. But it was hard. My heart ached for his presence with us as we drove along listening to Gigglebellies, Sienna snacking on goldfish and me with tiny butterflies in my tummy about showing up to a new church alone.
A mom, her purse slung over one shoulder and a Peppa Pig backpack wearing toddler on the other hip, walking in with watery eyes and looking around for something, someone. Where do I go? What do I do? It was a metaphor for my life. What’s next, God? Please, help me, guide me, show me the way.
We did this for many, many Sundays. And each experience was amazing. I usually cried big, wet, heavy tears all through the worship music. I took notes on the Bible lessons as if I were in freshman year statistics class and would be meticulously tested. I could not get enough. I was literally feasting on the word of God. The feeling of God. I was being filled up. Carefully stitched back together by the great Creator himself. I knew it was just the beginning. Things were happening that you don’t go backwards from. Like once the toothpaste is out of the tube there’s no shoving it back in.
And then one Sunday we came to the last church on my list. It was the closest, most convenient church for us. It was only a few miles from our home, Sienna’s school, our businesses. It was right in the heart of our orbit. I saved it for last because I thought it could never be that easy. This God thing is going to be hard work.
When we stepped into Family Church downtown for the first time I’d been crying on the way there. It was a difficult morning. And I remember wishing the car ride were longer because I needed more time to let my tears flow. I parked the car and there were people holding signs that said “We’re glad you’re here” and “Welcome to Family Church.” And the people holding these signs were smiling & waving like I was their long lost sister and seeing me was just the happiest thing that they could ever imagine happening. I’m not kidding you, this is what it felt like. Everyone looked me in the eyes, smiled, said Welcome! Do you need help?
And I was like, “oh my goodness it’s that obvious how much I need help!” Cringe. How broken I felt on the inside and how desperate I was for a lifeline and it’s written all over me. Everyone can see it. I felt naked. Vulnerable.
Like everything I was feeling on the inside was tattooed on the outside for the world to see: I’m unmarried with a child, my partners not into the church thing, I just had a miscarriage and am afraid I’ll never have another baby, I don’t know God and haven’t been to church since childhood, I feel unworthy to have an opinion about any of this and should probably just stay quiet and be grateful.
I felt like lightening was going to strike me in the midst of all these happy, smiling, God people.
And that was the beginning of my next chapter. I had found my people. My church. I was Home. I was pulled in, lifted up. Building a relationship with God has changed the course of my life. And my testimony, the living story of my faith, continues to unfold in ways beyond what my humanness could ever accomplish. You can poke around this blog and see/read/feel my transformation. There is a definite line in the sand. Me before God lit up my life and me after.
I’m going to skip a lot of parts and fast fast forward to the present.
I was baptized on July 24, 2022. A Sunday. After church, we hustled home with that giddy excitement you have when you anticipate something special, magical. I changed into my bathing suit, slipped on jean shorts and a t shirt. The girls put their suits on, too. The sky was sparkling, we played and sang along to Way Maker by Leeland.
We parked and piled out of the car onto the beach, familiar territory for our FL family. There were some words from Pastor Jimmy. But it was in the feels, not what could be communicated by words. The hairs on my arms stood up, I felt butterflies in my tummy. I was surrounded by my family, the heart exploding kinda love. I could feel God. I was held.
Aster started to cry when I went into the water. But when I emerged and ran to my people opened armed and smiling so much my jaw hurt, I saw that love and joy mirrored back to me in every face on that beach. In watery eyes. They could feel it, too. The energy of the unseen, the holy. The most powerful things in this world are those which we cannot see.
The t-shirt I wore that day said Raised To Life. R A I S E D to L I F E. I feel that energy ring true in my soul every single day. Being baptized was an outward declaration of my love for Jesus. A visible act that we can be Who We Are - no hiding, no mask wearing, no filtering, no pretending. You get to be exactly who you were created to be.
That deserves an Amen, my friends.
