I write about this anniversary every year because I never want to forget. This was the day in 1968 when the earth shook my pew in a little country church. I thought God was trying to get my attention. I would learn much later that the earthquake was real. In that moment, though, life was all about me. That was the problem.
Before the day ended, life had become about something more. Something bigger. I didn’t understand it at the time. I didn’t even know enough to ask questions. But the next afternoon, I followed my grandfather into the cold water of my great-uncle’s pond to be baptized and to “find a home in the church”. I wore my rainbow-striped minidress. Grandpa wore a suit.
When I came up out of the water, the small congregation was singing Amazing Grace. They wrapped me in a warm quilt. I can still feel the weight of that quilt in my memory, and I feel the love in my soul. I’m forever grateful for my home in the Church. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.