Therefore as you have received Christ Jesus the Lord, so walk in Him, having been firmly rooted and now being built up in Him and established in your faith, just as you were instructed, and overflowing with gratitude. (Col 2:6-7 NASB)

As the reality of spiritual forces at work in the invisible realms roiled through my once-tranquil mind, I grew more contemplative at work, at home, and everywhere in between. I couldn’t shake the growing sense of uncertainty that my soul did not lie secure in the Father’s bosom. I felt deceived and misled. Why had this truth eluded me for so long? Why did I see things more clearly now than ever before? What do I do next? How can I rectify my grave errors in judgment? How can I change teams? Is it too late? All this spiritual tumult finally came to a head on an ordinary day in mid-January 1995, at the close of a hard shift. It was a day like any other, except it turned out to be unlike any other day I had ever experienced. 

I finished closing up the shop, dismissed my workers for the day, and walked into the office, where Earl was seated quietly, an unusually contemplative expression fixed on his weathered face. I stood by his desk, waiting for him to dismiss me for the evening. But I had a sneaking feeling he wanted to share something with me first. Now, I had long endured his lectures and gospel proclamations throughout the years. By then, I had heard it all, several times over. However, my attitude toward his ramblings had changed since God zapped me with the Ephesians chapter six Scripture. I grudgingly admitted I had come to enjoy hearing him expound on things the Bible had unveiled to Him in his daily readings, or when he had insights into cultural issues from a biblical perspective. 

I glanced at the clock, torn between wanting to hurry home to my family or inclining my ear to his daily morsel of wisdom. He was the boss, so I really had no choice in the matter. If he wanted to talk, I would clamp shut and listen attentively. As I expected, he launched into a passionate discourse about God’s goodness and faithfulness in his life. I cannot recall exactly what he said, but I remember it moving me. I felt a strong emotional response that matched the passion with which he spoke. I recall the moment he started pounding his desk with his fist as he extolled God’s blessings in his everyday walk. A remarkable thing happened to me in that moment that I cannot explain rationally. I felt a tingling sensation begin at the top of my head, running down my face and down my entire body to the tips of my toes, like someone had poured warm honey over me. I gasped, not comprehending what had just occurred. Was I having a stroke? No, I didn’t feel alarmed, but strangely at complete peace. I intuitively knew the sensation wasn’t something to fear but to embrace, so I did. I stood there in silence, continuing to listen to Earl effuse.

I felt exactly what he felt: awe and gratitude at the infinite love and graciousness of a sovereign and holy God. I felt completely in tune with Earl’s passion for the one true God and His Son, Jesus Christ. Now, Earl did not take any notice of my strange experience, although I can only imagine what kind of bizarre expression I wore in those brief moments. Finally, drained of exuberance, he smiled and dismissed me for the day. I thanked him politely and slipped out the door into the brisk January air. I took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, trying to make sense of the supernatural encounter. All I knew was that the person who had walked through that same door earlier that day didn’t resemble the person who had just walked back out. Something very fundamental had changed. I didn’t know what exactly, and to be honest, I wouldn’t fully understand the experience for many years. 

In those days, I spent a lot of my spare time at home reading Sci-Fi and fantasy books or playing video games on my Super Nintendo. I had lots of hobbies to keep my mind occupied. Reading holy Scripture had never been on my list of leisure-time activities. I would’ve scoffed at the notion any time previous to that particular winter day in 1995. I remember arriving home from work and, after greeting my wife, I asked a simple question: “Don’t we have a Bible lying around here somewhere?” She gave me an odd look and pointed to a built-in bookcase in our little two-bedroom apartment, where a stack of long-forgotten, dust-covered books sat. I quickly found an old Bible. I’m not entirely sure where it came from. It certainly wasn’t mine. I had never owned one. I eagerly grabbed it, wiped off the thick layer of dust, then sat in my worn recliner and opened to the beginning of the New Testament. 

I devoured every word with a spiritual hunger I had never felt before. I locked my focus on a singular goal as I read chapter after chapter. I wanted to learn all I could about who Jesus Christ was. I wanted to hear the words he spoke and see the actions he took. I wanted to know His nature and character; what He did for me in his life, death, and resurrection. I could not rest until I had the answers. Nothing could stop me from seeking His face in Scripture’s testimony. I can’t adequately describe the zeal and determination, or where it came from. How does a person who, for so many years, dismissed the Christian gospel as irrelevant and inconsequential come to see its cosmic significance in an instant? How does a man who trod under the Son of God, His church, his people, and His sacraments come to reverence and honor Him as King and seek to enter His kingdom no matter the cost? I recognized with awe that my mind was not my own. I didn’t recognize the person I had suddenly become. The dark part of me, who had been driven into a corner by the light of Christ, hated this new man who had intruded so rudely into the territory long claimed by the principalities and powers that be, the spiritual wickedness ruling my heart from high places. My mind couldn’t comprehend any of this; my intellect is too small to grasp the infinite mind, the eternal plan. I simply had to be what I had become.

 I yielded to the new, foreign desires born in my heart that day. I tore through the book of Matthew in an evening. I loved every word, tasted each syllable, and turned over every concept in my feverish mind. I felt Scripture permeate my bones. A fire that had kindled in my boss’s office a couple of hours earlier spread through my entire body, like that warm honey sensation that had washed over me. My mind and spirit were set ablaze, and the old needs and desires of my sinful self were reduced to ashes. You, reader, may conclude I’m overselling the experience, but honestly, I feel these words fall short of describing what I felt. I don’t have the vocabulary for it. My intellectual and emotional depth are not developed enough to contain what God wrought within me on that fateful January day.

In summary, all I can say is that I found Jesus that evening. No, that’s not correct. Jesus found ME that day in Earl’s office, and His grip on me only tightened as the hours passed. He guided me, as a long-suffering shepherd guides a blind, dumb sheep, to the still waters of His holy word, so I could drink deeply and come to know Him not just as a Lord and Savior, but as MY Lord and Savior.  

As the days passed by, I continued to slake my unquenchable thirst at the leather-bound well of living water my hands pried open every evening. I slowed my pace so I could absorb the profound truths I kept discovering night after exultant night. I encouraged Earl to give me a daily dose of godly wisdom, and he marveled at my newfound zeal. A week, then two, passed, and strangely I had not yet dropped to my knees and prayed to God to forgive my sin and wash me clean by the blood of Jesus. Looking back, my decision to withhold confession made little sense. I already believed in my heart all the spiritual realities of Christ and His gospel, but for reasons I cannot fully comprehend, some thirty years later, I wanted to make a spectacle of the entire affair. I had concocted a scheme to hike to an old childhood haunt west of town, past the cemetery, to a small pond my friends and I used to hang out at, and make my confession there, alone with just me and God. I naively assumed at the time that my open verbal confession would seal the deal and the New Covenant made in Christ’s blood would be mine to appropriate. But God had a different plan. 

Our recycling department was open on Saturdays until noon, so people too busy during the week could drop off their recyclables. Earl and I typically alternated the weekend shift. I checked in one Saturday morning to complete my shift. I remember the cloudy, cold, and dreary weather with a chill that soaked through to the bone – typical for late January/early February. I set my employees to work bailing cardboard, then retired to the office. I made myself comfortable at Earl’s desk, pulled out my Bible, and started reading. I meditated on the word for quite some time uninterrupted. Not many people could be bothered to brave the cold weather to earn a little pocket change in exchange for heaving a bag full of nasty aluminum cans onto our scale.

 As I kept studying, I felt overwhelmed by an urge to fall to my knees and pray. I tried to ignore it, but the call grew louder and louder in my conscience. I tried to reason my way out of doing so because my employees would see me, or a customer might unexpectedly walk through the door while I lay prostrate. I didn’t want to risk the embarrassment, so I kept reading. It didn’t go away. I grew agitated and shifted restlessly in my chair. I knew the urge came from God, and I would only subject myself to needless anxiety until I submitted to His will and obeyed. I jumped up and made my way to the back door, which led to the dock area. I didn’t say a word to my workers. I was on a mission and would not allow myself to be distracted. I went out the door and closed it behind me. I walked past the dock into a gravel field peppered with patches of grass. I knew what I had to do, and what I needed to confess. I didn’t hesitate to think of the eloquent words I had planned to speak. I simply knelt as snow began to fall from heaven.

My knees found unfortunate purchase on a patch of stickers, but I paid scant attention. I lifted my gaze heavenward, confessed the Lord Jesus Christ, repented of my many sins, and asked for divine forgiveness. I made a plea for the blood to cover me and cleanse away every evil deed, whether in mind, body, or soul. I can’t remember the exact words I spoke, but I’ll never forget the moment. The snow fell on my face, and all I could think about was the verse from Isaiah where God promises His people their scarlet sins would be made white as snow. I knew without looking that all my scarlet sins were gone. My garment had threads of pure brilliant white light. I knew, without knowing, that my confession had not brought these realities into existence; they only bore witness to what God had already done in this poor, wretched vessel of mercy some time back, inside the little nondescript office, when the Spirit of God made me alive.