How vividly I remember the moment I received Christ.
I was alone and stunned that He had let me know that He was real and interested in me. I knelt on the red and fake tile of my tiny kitchen in Waterville, Maine, and invited Him to be my Lord and King. I could hardly get the words out, because I was so overwhelmed by the fact that He was real. I knew He had touched me. That was all I needed.
I was twenty-nine years old and had been so jaded, there was no hope.
After I gave my heart to Him, I grabbed the bible and it fell open to the book of John. I read about the man who had been blind from birth. I was almost unable to breathe, because I knew that was about me. I had had all the information. I had the right answers. But, I had always been blind.
I had been the only child of missionary parents who had their own issues. My father was a deep and godly man. I was raised on the laps of missionaries who had been expelled from
I was bright and responsive. Just, not saved. No one knew the real situation except my father, who made it abundantly clear, to my distress. He was not confrontive, but I knew he sounded me accurately.
I had all the information, the doctrine and the history. How thankful I am for a father who continued in prayer until the Lord heald my sight and revealed Himself.
Do not be discouraged. Blind is blind. Holding the most stunningly gorgeous painting before blind eyes does nothing.
Sight comes only by prayer.
Don't give up.