Over a year ago, I began a series chronicling how I was changed from a self-righteous athiest to a lover of Jesus. You can reference all those posts here. And now I'm ready to finish that story...
The night that the Holy Spirit confronted me, after Michael left, I went into my bedroom, sat on the bed, looked up at the ceiling and said, out loud, "God, I think you are trying to say something to me. Will you please speak clearly, because I have no idea what is going on here?!?"
You could probably consider that the first prayer I ever prayed.
Shortly after that, on another evening spent talking with Michael, we ended up kissing on his couch. I told my boyfriend about it, and when he returned to town, Michael asked to meet him to apologize. So, while I was at work, Michael and my boyfriend spent three hours talking over coffee. During that conversation, Michael and he decided that the three of us would attend a church service together that weekend.
That Saturday evening was the first time I had set foot in a church building since I was a confirmed Catholic in eighth grade - and this service was nothing like the Catholic church! I found myself fighting back tears and wondering what on earth I had gotten myself into. Afterwards, the three of us - Michael, my boyfriend, and I - went out to dinner. And during our meal, we jointly decided that I was going to move out of my boyfriend's apartment and move in with Michael's mom and stepdad.
This part of my story amazes me to this day. God was so obviously chasing after me, but at the time, I just had no idea. At the time, I knew that even though I wasn't a Christian, my life was headed in a direction that didn't include my boyfriend. At the time, it just seemed logical that I needed to end our relationship and find a new place to live for the remainder of the summer.
I moved my stuff out of my boyfriend's apartment, then headed down to Iowa to celebrate my 20th birthday with my family. On the way, my gas light came on while I was 40 miles from the nearest town, but I had to take a detour around said small town, which led to my second prayer ever - "God, I know you are not finished with me yet. You have more you want to say to me, so I'm going to trust that I'm not about to break down in the middle of nowhere with no way to reach anyone. Will you just get me to the next gas station, please?"
Which he did, but my prayer was forgotten by that point. I didn't mention anything to my family about Michael or any of our conversations. God really wasn't a part of that trip home. But God was patient with all of that. And he was waiting for me when I returned to Minneapolis...