If I Only Knew Then…What I Know Now….

My 7 siblings and I were raised by a god-fearing, god-loving mother named Tiny.  Her name was the antithesis of who she was.  Although we didn’t know it at the time, her strong faith and prayer life ultimately shaped us.  Being drug to Christian worship services twice a week, in addition to home Bible study every Monday night, caused each of us to run from organized religion once we reached the age of 18.

That is not to say that we didn’t recognize and appreciate the helping hand of God.  My family has experienced actual miracles…many of which were realized in retrospect.   My father worked on the postal mail train that would take him away from home for days at a time.  One week, the mail train was delayed, and so was he, and his paycheck.  All we had to eat were mayonnaise sandwiches…. noodles with butter…Wonder bread and peanut butter sandwiches.  As children, we didn’t know that these were hard-time meals.   In fact, on some days, these meals were preferred over sauerkraut and spare ribs, liver and onions, or chicken cacciatore.  But, my mother would later tell us that she prayed for food one day during that week.  And before the street lights came on, a woman, who she did not know, rang the bell, offering my mother bags of groceries.  It was an immediate answer to a prayer…a miracle.

One summer afternoon, at the age of 8, my youngest brother Bobby defied the parental order to stay on the block. “Do not go around the corner to play with your friends”. “Do not go to the grocery store for candy”.  Well, the need for candy, along with the childish confidence that he could go to, and return from the grocery store, with a pocket full of twisters before anyone would know he had left the block, got him hit by a truck.  The truck rolled over his back.  Yet, Bobby managed to jump up and run home with only an incidental mention to us siblings that he had been hit.  A week later, Bobby was sitting on the floor watching TV, with his bare back towards those of us seated on the sofa.  To our amazement, we all noticed the scabby tread marks of the truck that ran him over.  The marks ran up his spinal cord.  The laws of physics dictate that his vertebrae should have been crushed under the weight of the truck.  He should have been paralyzed, or worst.  Yet, he sat there watching cartoons, oblivious to the divine intervention…a miracle.

There were many instances in our family’s history that were undeniable miracles.  Yet, in our youth, we didn’t spend time pursuing the being that we knew was responsible.  In fact, we substantially avoided Him.  We knelt and prayed every night…were respectful during religious ceremonies…treated others as we wanted to be treated.  But, there was no commitment to truly developing a deeper relationship with God… let alone understanding His nature.  We knew how to “break-the-glass” for emergencies; but, believed that we alone were responsible for grooming ourselves for success. We stressed what the future would bring.  We were anxious about the impact of world events on our lives.

As I got older, and more retrospective, I began to pursue this God that delivered groceries and protected my family.  After all, I knew He existed.  In this pursuit, I began to understand and know just how present and attentive He is.  Just how loving He is.  And not because I love Him.  Back then, I could have pursued a relationship based on what I saw through my mother and the lives of the faithful.  But, was I worthy of being close to God?  Did I even want to have my style-cramped with the belief that He was a joy-killer?  So many excuses…so many years of unnecessary struggle and anxiety. 

If only I knew then, what I know now…that receiving God’s love and the resulting joy has nothing to do with my worthiness, or the need to earn it by going through trials and tribulations with fearful supplication.  I know now that it’s simply being aware of the eternal and unconditional nature of His love, and being willing to accept the fact that God loves us that much.