Twice Baptized, Twice Blessed

"The quality of mercy is not strained.
It falleth as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath.
It is twice blessed:
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes."
- Shakespeare, "The Merchant Of Venice" 

For as long as I can remember, I've believed in God. There have been moments when I had to confirm that yes, this is what I believe and this is how I am choosing to live my life. I can pinpoint a moment as a little girl when I first turned to God and put my trust in Him, prayed for His help and presence. As far back as I can remember, my parents would say a nightly prayer with me and tell me Bible stories and explain why they were Christians. It was always understood in my parent's house that they believed in God and in living according to Biblical principles, just as it was understood that each of their children must chose that faith, or not, solely as their own. Back before I can even remember, I did.


When I was a tiny brand-new infant, my parents baptized me. I loved to hear my Mom tell the story of how they took me down to a nearby lake and gently rinsed me in the water. Baptizing me as an infant wasn't about saving me: it was about them dedicating me to God, promising to raise me, and all their children, in a godly way. The chose of what I would believe and how I would live would be mine to make. They would simply raise me as best they could according to what they believed. I have always appreciated their love which encouraged my siblings and I to seek truth.
As they held me in the calm lake, the lightest bit of rain began to fall from the grey sky. To them, it was as though God was blessing their promise and their future efforts, participating in a baptism which was before Him and for Him only.


Last year, I was baptized again, this time as a statement that I had indeed chosen the Christian life my parents had raised me in. I had chosen it for as long as I could remember, so the baptism was a symbol of that commitment for my life so far and the rest of my life to come. The pastor who baptized me is a dear mentor and friend. His family became a second family to me. I have been a part of his church for nine years now. I have attended a number of Bible studies and worked in the church office for almost five years. That church led by that pastor is a big part of my testimony: through that church I have been consistently spiritually fed, have made deep friendships with fellow Christians, and went on several mission trips which would solidify my heart for following God to serve in any part of the world He would call me.
That time, instead of a lake, I was baptized in a river. Another girl about my age was also baptized that day. We each shared a part of our testimonies, and I sang "Down In The River" to my beloved family and friends who came to support me. I have a photo of my pastor lifting me up from the water as a smile is breaking over my face. I love that picture.

Water is cleansing and renewing. Like faith, like mercy. Many times, more than I know, God's mercy has rushed over me like a river or fallen like gentle rain. It is endless, ceaseless. Too often I ignore it, careless and forgetful and preoccupied. So I remember when my parent's dedicated me to God, and when I committed my life to Him and proclaimed that promise publicly, and I am thankful. I am thankful.