With any bit of story telling there are many details that are not included. Such was the case in the piece I wrote for Lisa’s writing contest. I could have gone on for pages and pages, but felt it best to be brief. On my own blog, however, I can expound on the details. Today, I want to share one huge detail: an answer to years of prayer and a testimony to the power and grace of God. First, I’m going to have to take you back to the early 80’s so you’ll know how HUGE the events of the last months are to me.

I would say that my birth family began well. My parents were both professing Christians. Both were Baptists. They settled in Greensboro, AL and were members of Greensboro Baptist Church. My mother was very active, probably because of us kids. My father was like most men: he attended Sunday School and the Sunday morning Worship service. Here are my childhood memories of “big” church: lush, velvet-like, deep red carpet, walking down the right aisle and sitting center right (to this day I feel strange sitting anywhere else), a sweet lady with a beehive hair-do who handed out Juicy Fruit to all the children, Momma in a pretty dress and Daddy wearing a suit and tie, pantyhose (actually that’s a nightmare memory from getting ready for big church), sleeping on Daddy’s lap, The Doxology (our church sang it at the end of every service).

At some point, Mother’s feelings were hurt by someone else at church. My understanding of it is that Mom wanted to be in the same Sunday School class with Dad. There were not any co-ed classes at the time, so she and some of her lady friends asked the higher-ups about starting a married couples’ class. All of the classes were separated by age and gender, so to have a married couples’ class would have really thrown a kink into the whole church education plan. I guess. There has to be more to it than this. I just can’t imagine a bunch of grown ups getting so upset about this that they decided to never go to church again, but that’s my understanding of the story. Some of Mom’s friends decided a change in denomination was the right course. Mom, on the other hand, decided she had had enough of Jesus.

My father continued to take my brother and me to church regularly. Mom didn’t help him get us ready, and he told me once that he put my dress on backwards. He thought the buttons went in front. My Sunday school teacher, Mrs. Lavender (maybe she is why I like purple so much) fixed me up when I got to class.

Fast forward through a divorce, living with Mom, moving to another city, and never going to church again until I was 13 years old, a period of about five or six years. That is a mighty long time to not hear Truth. Rather, I heard what is today referred to as postmodern philosophy. In April of 1991, I heard the gospel for the first time. Even though I had been taken to church for several years as a youngster and had memorized John 3:16, my ears were not opened to it until that moment when God poured His love and grace into my heart.

On the way home, I explained to my mom that I’d be going to church again and that I wanted to be a Christian. Her reply?

“I was afraid you were going to say that,” she said.

She attended my baptism, but years passed before she ever went to church again. My faith became an obstacle between us. She didn’t like me very much anymore. “I wasn’t any fun anymore,” she said.

She dropped me off at church and picked me up, but I wasn’t very consistent until my Sunday school teachers offered to pick me up and take me home. She laughed at me whenever my sins found me out. If ever I behaved in a sinful way, she was quick to point it out and rub it in.

Fast forward many years: I graduated from high school, graduated from college, married. The birth of my first child began the softening of her heart. Though it was strained, we began to talk more. She made efforts to be kind to Karl. Over the last eight years, our relationship has become much better.

My mother and brother were my weekly mentions for a prayer request. For the last couple of decades, they have been prayed over by dozens of believers. I encouraged men and women from my church to visit her and my brother. They were visited and called and invited to all sorts of church services over the years. Mom always had her reasons for not attending. Her top three were, “Everyone is a hypocrite. I was a church member for a lot longer than you have been, and everyone is phony,” “I don’t have anything nice enough to wear,” and, “I won’t know anybody there.”

Some people actually told me “she is just one of those people that are too far gone and set in her ways.” I don’t know why, but I’ve always believed that as long as you’re drawing breath, then there is hope for God to work and do something. Believing that truth helps me get out of bed some mornings!

A few months ago, out of the blue, she says to me, “I’ve started going to this little church down the road. The people there are just regular people…so friendly. I even talked to the pastor at the end of the service. I told him the truth… ‘I need to start living right. I’ve been going on the wrong path for a long time and I want to do better. I think I’d like to start coming here every week. I hope my son will come with me. This church is different from any I’ve ever seen.’ He actually teared up and hugged my neck and told me he would love it if I came back. I’ve never been treated that way at a church. And he doesn’t pull any punches with the preaching, either.” That conversation is a miracle! She asked me which version of the Bible she should buy. Part of our Christmas gifts to everyone was a John Piper book. I couldn’t wait to get it in her hands so she could read it along with the new Bible she bought herself for Christmas.

Then, last week, she informed me that she joined that church. ALL BY HERSELF! (By that I just mean that no one was physically with her.) The fact that she wants to be a part of a church fellowship and worship Jesus with a body of believers…folks, that is a bona fide miracle!

When I went to visit my grandmother in the hospital on Sunday I almost fainted when I saw my mother had her Sunday School lesson out and was reading it! I’m just so proud of Jesus right now—is it o.k. to be proud of Jesus? Paul says it is right to boast in Him, so I guess that’s what I’m doing. He has done great things and I am filled with joy. My Mom is happier than I’ve ever known her to be. Her circumstances are not any better, you might say they are worse, but she is different.

For the last 17 years, we have exercised our faith and prayed that these days would come in my mother’s life. Now that I’m seeing it I almost can’t believe it. God had hundreds of details to work out to bring this to pass. That church didn’t exist ten years ago. Mom didn’t live where she does now ten years ago. So many things happened to bring her to where she is today. I just want to burst into tears when I consider the sovereign power and goodness of the grace of God through Jesus! I know that’s a mouthful, but it’s the truth. Without Jesus, there would be no grace. Without Jesus, there would be no hope for transformation. Without Jesus, there would be no redemption. But in Him, there is hope for glory. In Him, there is forgiveness and full redemption. In Him, there is unfailing love and faithfulness. Turn away from sin and follow Him!

The greatest miracles are performed in the hearts of men and women, where mortal eyes cannot see. I will continue to pray for Mom and my brother. We have a long way to go, but I am still hopeful for full restoration and healing.

God is at work. Put your hope in Him.