On December 12, 2020, I gave testimony of my faith in a tiny little baptistery hidden behind four walls off Main Street on a wide spot on the road in the Northwestern Nevada desert. One of the most beautiful moments of life, I’ll remember it the rest of my days.
VST died during his 65 year. As if he knew he would never see 66, speed limit signs would always grab his attention. Don’t Pass 65. He’d comment on the signs often, almost as a warning that he wouldn’t make it, and he did not.
For the last six months, I’ve been attending Baptist on Main while falling in love with my church family. Such a caring group of people, I’ve witnessed prayer at work. There has been one inexplicable healing of a friend who has suffered from broken vertebrate for the last two years. Some would say time healed her. I believe it was God. Her pain was debilitating and constant. One day, she accepted a full and total healing from GOD. Whatever you choose to believe is fine by me. I believe in the power of God’s mercy and grace watching her broad smile as she comes to church, now pain free. A miracle in my eyes, she no longer wears her cumbersome brace. A testament to her faith and the miracle of prayer.
As I became a part of this circle of believers, their prayers for me were heartfelt. As the weeks passed, the fact that I was baptized as an infant in another little country church far away wasn’t quite enough for me. I made a conscious choice to become baptized as an adult.
Pastor C and I are friends. I look to him for answers as I travel through the confusing wilderness of widowhood. Prayers are a comfort while walking a widow’s journey through loss towards acceptance. Testimony about his wife’s recent illness and the miracle their family received is a beautiful story of strength, determination, and God’s grace. Although their struggle through illness is still very real and raw, her health is returning a little at a time, along with her smile. His strength and support to his church family during his own dark days is remarkable.
One day before Bible Study, on a bright, blue sky morning, I asked Pastor C if he would baptize me before my church family. We talked for a little bit and he agreed. He offered to baptize me on Christmas Eve by candlelight. Something about taking away the spotlight and meaning of the candlelight Christmas communion didn’t see right. Besides, I wanted to be baptized during my 65th year. December 24th would be eight days too late.
Baptism represents death, burial, and rebirth. Doing this during my 65 year was another part of healing. Each year, between July and December, I was two years younger than VST. It just bugged him. I would enjoy those days immensely, teasing him until December 16th rolled around. Now, I’m officially older than VST. He must be chuckling in heaven about that. I wanted my Baptism to be on my 65th year as a special shout out to heaven, and so, December 12th was the chosen date.
The week before, Pastor C teased me promising to hold me down a bit too long while making sure the temperature of the water was as cold as the grave. In my mind, I was thinking about what to wear in front of a room full of onlookers. Just what does one wear to a Southern Baptist Baptism when you are the center of attention? Someone had mentioned a bathing suit, but that seemed all too revealing.
It finally came to me. In the winter, I wear black long-sleeved turtlenecks under everything, adding additional warmth. I’d choose one of those and grey cotton shorts. Perfect for me.
The morning of the 12th, the chapel was pretty full. Visitors had chosen the day to see what Baptist on Main was about. Strangers and friendly faces watched as I went behind the door marked “Office” to change with help from Miss Willow. Alone, I slipped into the turtleneck and shorts, ready to climb some very steep steps up to the baptismal pool.
Entering the water, it was neither cold nor warm. Freshly drawn during Bible Study, the font sits in front of a stunning mural of a local lake. The bottom of the font isn’t visible from the chapel side, giving the impression that one is just sitting in water by the lake. When immersed, the person being baptized is visible to the church members through a window in the side of the baptistry as they go underwater. While I sat on a little seat built into the baptistery, Pastor C stood behind it, quite dry.
Although the entire event took less than a minute, it seemed like a lifetime to me. Pastor C prayed over me and then, quickly, I was under the water and raised back out. As I looked out into a sea of my new family, I was glad I was wet. Only Pastor C could tell my tears were mixed with the water in the baptistery. Just like that, I was baptized. Just like that, I became a new member of OUR church.
Quick as a cricket and down the steep stairs, I dried off in the office as Pastor C went on with his Sunday sermon. Wet headed, I rejoined the worship service so glad that I’d chosen this ceremony to publicly declare my acceptance of Jesus as my Lord and Savior. Somedays, Faith is all I have to help guide me through the wilderness of widowhood. Belonging to this little parish is another way I’m sinking roots into my desert home. It’s here I’ve belonged all along.
Back with the flock, the service ended. A friend asked if I’d join her for lunch at the local diner. Two others joined us and we had a delightful meal. Friends make life worth living. Returning home, chores were all still waiting, but so was a chance for a nap. Dying, being buried, and rising again is tough work, even if only symbolic.
That’s my story. Such a beautiful memory, mine alone. A day I’ll never forget.
Have a wonderful day today, whatever you choose to do. Fill it with happiness.
More tomorrow.