They say smell is the best trigger for memories.
I don’t know what it looked like or felt like or smelled like the first time you were introduced to Jesus, but for me it was in a dimly lit hallway, in the basement of my grandparent’s church with a woman who’s name I can’t recall today. But I do remember the smell. Mothballs. She was an older woman. At least 65. Short hair that was mostly silver, but scattered throughout the curls, some of the silver strands had long since lost their shine and were now a pale white.
I remember this woman was not one of the particularly nice Sunday school teachers but rather was one that frequently got annoyed and frustrated with us younger children. I rarely saw her smile and her tone was usually stern and sharp. I was 5, maybe 6, at the time. She asked our whole class if there was anyone who hadn’t accepted Jesus Christ into their heart as their own personal Lord and Savior. At this time, I knew who Jesus was and I understood that He died for our sins-as well as any 5–6-year-old could understand what that meant.
When she asked the question, I didn’t really know what she meant by accepted Jesus Christ into their hearts. I mean I prayed when I was scared of the dark or when I heard my parents fighting. I made the crosses out of popsicle sticks at Easter time, I came to church every so often when my grandparents brought me and we celebrated Christmas which I knew was His birthday ssooo did that count as ‘accepting Him into my heart?’ I wasn’t sure, which made me realize ‘Maybe I haven’t.’ Before making a move, I glanced around and realized no one else in my class was raising their hand. Nervously, I lifted mine, but just high enough that I could simultaneously hide my face behind it. I was embarrassed. All this time, all those other kids had seemingly taken this big important step and here I was not even knowing it was a requirement.
The woman made her way to the back of the room and reached out, taking my hand in hers before leading me to the hallway. I remember feeling so nervous that my hands were shaking and my heart was pounding in my chest so loudly I could hear it in my ears almost drowning out my fearful thoughts. Where is she taking me? Am I in trouble?!
We made it a few steps out the door before she turned to face me and knelt down in front of me. Her expression softened and a small smile spread on her lips. Looking me in the eyes she said, “Do you believe in your heart that Jesus Christ is your personal Lord and Savior and that he died on the cross and rose again?”
Shocked that she asked me such a loaded question I frantically racked my brain for the easy answer. Quickly, I nodded my head yes and she replied, “Then you must confess it with your mouth.”
And I repeated her words as best I could, “I believe Jesus is my Savior and that he died on the cross for my sins.” Her small smile grew larger and I knew in that moment that she was pleased and that I did what I was supposed to do.
Voila! I was saved!
Or so I thought…