On My Baptism and Taking the Long Way Around

As I climbed the carpeted stairs I remember feeling exhilarated. I don’t remember feeling nervous at all. As if at ten years old it was somehow normal for me to have a microphone in hand addressing a jam-packed sanctuary.

I had written my speech that afternoon, procrastination as much a part of me then as it is now, on white recipe cards I had found in the junk drawer in the kitchen. They’ve long since been lost; relegated to the heaps of memories of things I probably should have held on to. I do remember feeling passionate about what I had written. I innately knew that what I was doing was a Big Deal.

I had decided I should be baptized one Tuesday evening during AWANA—a scripture memory Bible club for kids. A close friend from my soccer team had invited me to come and, being incredibly competitive, AWANA’s mix of team sports and memory verse workbooks was inspiring for me. That fateful Tuesday night I had seen a flyer taped to the inside of the stall in the women’s restroom advertising that there would be upcoming baptisms and for anyone interested to contact the church office. I washed my hands and told my friend that I wanted to get baptized and she decided that she would, too.

I remember being disappointed as a ten year old that there wasn’t more education offered for the process. Which is just so me that I cannot help smiling at my young indignation and thirst for understanding. When I attended the single pre-baptism class they mostly went over how we were going to be baptized and what the process would look like. I was stressed that I would forget which arm to cross over which or that I would forget to plug my nose and come up sputtering.

I don’t remember saying anything especially remarkable in my testimony. I just opened up my heart with the passion and ease of a kid that has never had a reason to fear. I am told that after I delivered my impassioned address to the congregation stating my reasons for desiring baptism the pastor quipped, “And I think she really means it, folks!”

I stepped into the portable font wearing my swimsuit under a t-shirt and soccer shorts. I hesitated crossing my arms and the smiling pastor helped get me settled. With the worship band playing in the background he baptized me in the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. I went under and came up to applause and climbed out so the next person could get in.

All of these memories came rushing back over the weekend when my dad gave me a yellowing manila envelope that he had found cleaning out his desk. In it is my certificate of baptism dated the 28^th of January, 1995. Also enclosed was a brief letter from whom I assume was the pastor that actually baptized me:

What a significant step of obedience you took Saturday. We all were so encouraged        by your testimony and baptism. May his blessing be abundant and apparent.

Twenty years ago I already knew who I was. Maybe more than I ever have. I was Aleah Veikos, fifth grader, and I was His—Father, Son, and Spirit’s—and I did not doubt for a moment my desire to be baptized. There was never a deciding, in reality it was more of a knowing; a response. I saw the writing scotch taped to the beige metal wall and knew without question or hesitation it was for me.

Oh, for the innocent assurance of childhood!

Today I hem and haw and am easily muddled by the divergent voices in my head. I read and reread and edit and re-reread. I tack inspirational quotes to the burlap covered cork board above my desk to remind me that God is able and to take the risk to blossom and I must be hatched or go bad. All this to coax myself into a place of just enough confidence to stop staring paralyzed at the cursor blinking out my insecurities and dig in.

I’m tempted, and obviously have given in, to be sentimental about the whole thing. I’m also tempted to start down the winding path of if only. Regrets swirl the surface painting pictures of what might have been had I continued down this wholehearted, confident path. What could have been if I had known then all that I knew now, and could have saved myself from myself during the oncoming adolescent years?

In Exodus 13:17 God is leading the Israelites up out of slavery in Egypt. He makes a comment there that has been stuck in my head since I read it.

When Pharaoh let the people go, God did not lead them by way of the land of the Philistines although that was near. For God said, “Lest the people change their minds when they see war and return to Egypt.”

But God led the people around by the way of the wilderness toward the Red Sea. God chose to take the long way around because He knew that if He put too much in front of newly released slaves they would be tempted to retreat back to the perceived safety of their captors. It would have been no difficulty for God to deal with the Philistines, but He knew His people were not yet ready to face giants. They were only beginning to be won over, to be wooed by plagues sent on their enemies to set them free. Ever-wise God chooses to lead them on a wilderness path. Holding off on victory in battle, which they could mistake for their own strength, He dazzles them with miracles instead. He carves an escape for them through water.

I’ve heard Israel chastised that had they only believed God sooner they could have traveled in a week what took them forty years. I have chided myself for the same failing. Had I just been able to hold on to that drive, confidence, and effortless faith I possessed at ten, then maybe I would be much closer twenty years later to doing what I feel God has been continuously circling me around.

But I wasn’t ready to face the giants then.

I have a growing appreciation for my circling. I have a deeper gratitude for my Father that doesn’t take shortcuts, but waits until the doubts have died (or at least that generation of doubts) before leading me in to face the giants. I am better equipped, more able to persevere, less likely to run screaming back to my comfortable sin at the first sign of oppression. God could have brought me here sooner, but I wouldn’t have been the person I needed to be to possess the land.

Don’t give up hope when God seems to be taking the long way around, friends. If He has called you, if you have responded in faith, He will surely bring you into the Promised Land—no matter how long it takes to get there. He is patient. Let’s be diligent in our circling to learn all we can and leave our doubts to die. He could have brought you straight in, but He’s just as invested in the person you become as the place He’s taking you.

Just as invested in a dripping ten year old wide-eyed in wonder at the Big Deal she has done, as He is in a frazzled thirty year old wide-eyed in wonder at where He continues to lead.

Image credit: James Wheeler Flickr Creative Commons