I oddly remembered back to when I was seven year old as I was driving into work this morning. I don’t know exactly what triggered the memory. He brings me back to this place from time to time, randomly. He wants to talk to seven year old me.
It was at seven years old that I knew God existed. I had just started going to Sunday School, something that was very new to me. It wasn’t the pictures of Jesus on the wall that convinced me He was real, it wasn’t the Bible stories read by the teacher, it was something much deeper.
Inside my house there was always a ticking bomb about to go off, you carefully stepped as not to let off a landmine full of rage, expletives screamed, household items flying through the air with an intended victim. My Mom was the glue that held our family together, although her younger years she was insecure, doubtful that she would receive the love she deserved. She worked in a factory and would come home with fingers full of metal shavings embedded in skin. She come home from long hours to come cook for her children and hopefully for my Father if he were home. Many of her nights she spent restless wondering what bar our Father would be in drinking himself to oblivion. She pack us in the car and off in the night we would start the search to find him and bring him home, once home, the fight started.
Often I would go to school unable to concentrate on anything, I guess it didn’t help that I drank coffee for breakfast with at least four slices of Wonder bread. We were one exhausted family in every sense.
This is when it started with God and me. I started walking out of the house in the late of night and go sit on the curb in front of my house. Perhaps to just find peace so I can rest. I was looking for something in the night and there God was.
I would sit on the curb, never fearful, as I sat there in the dark I would start making up words to a song that was in my heart for God. I would sing these little made up songs of worship to God. I would tell Him how much I loved Him and needed Him. Often times I would feel His Presence right there with me on the curb, in the night. That was our time together. He would fill me with peace. It was God and I. He wanted to hear the accounts of my seven year old life and for years to come.
I sat on the curb, this little girl who had no idea that there was two opposing kingdoms of both good and evil (Godly and ungodly) battling for her; I was exposed to events from both kingdoms. Most often, when there is a very real and intense exposure, those who experience such events will have like occurrences throughout life. God was covering me with His weapons of war. His weapons were my prayers, my little songs, Angelic host who guarded me and the very presence of the Holy Spirit.
He would also give me dreams to assure me He was real and He was there. In my first dream of God I was in my Sunday School class and the room was empty of people but there on a wooden throne is sitting God ( I don’t see his face) but I’m talking to Him while I am kneeled. I don’t remember what God is saying in the dream but I keep answering by saying, “Yes Lord” “Yes I will” I say that each time He asked me a questions.
God continues to fill my sleep with dreams just like my second favorite person in the bible; Joseph. See my blog, Joseph, my man!
You may have a small child in you still crying out and scared and in need of peace. Go find your “curb” and sit there singing praises to God then just talk to Him….share everything in your heart as a child would, who is trying to explain how bad the ouchie hurts. God will be there, to listen intently, to embrace you, to love you.