Locked Out

How I became a Christian, part two. Previous posts: My Witness, the introduction, and Mourning Dove.

If Isaiah helped me find the door, I think Mark showed me the keyhole and the lock.

KeyholeThat summer of 1970 I had a small New Testament I carried in my purse. It was a tiny, white King James Version I had been given by my Sunday School teachers when I was four years old because my family was moving to another town. Now that’s an incongruous picture for you. Here I was an eighteen-year-old college coed with long hair taking my childhood New Testament to my summer job on a campus rife with hippies and the radical Left.

In the gospel of Mark I came to his account of a father whose son was possessed by an evil spirit. It’s a tumultuous scene with crowds, arguments and a desperate father trying to find help for his son. As I was reading I came to these words,

And straightway the father of the child cried out, and said with tears, Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief.”

The father’s words gave voice to the cry of my heart. We use the phrase locked in a struggle. That’s how I felt—locked in a struggle—locked in, yet locked out. I knew I thought some things were true about Jesus—that He existed and was God’s Son—but I realized I didn’t have the whole picture, and I had no idea what else I needed to believe or what I was even capable of believing.

I was locked out from God, and I knew I’d found the keyhole where the lock was. I thought belief was the key; but what that key of belief looked like or how I could find it, I did not know.
Keyhole, Parish Church, Whalton, Northumberland: FreeFoto.com
Mark 9:24: King James Version.


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