A couple weeks ago, my friend sent me a picture. A picture hearkening back toward my past. The more I stare at it, the more I want to cry.
A year and a half ago, I was baptized. Baptized on my 25th birthday despite ascribing to the name of Christ for most of the last quarter-century.
Surrounded by roommates, parents, and most of my church’s small group, I would never be the same. It was a baptism with so many layers to it.
I suppose all baptisms have their own unique “layers.” But mine did especially.
That baptism was the stand against years of fear.
That baptism materialized such clear community after numerous isolating church experiences.
That baptism issued the shedding of shame that my story didn’t matter.
With that single dunk into icy cold water and the many subsequent cheers and songs and wet hugs, I was reminded that I am not alone on this planet.
I am not alone in the Church.
I am not alone in my fight and in my faith.
Sometimes, I remember that unbelievable 25th birthday baptism and see it playing out as clearly as on a television screen.
And sometimes … some nights … on nights like tonight … I desperately need to be reminded of that day. That life-altering, soul-defining day.
I don’t know about you, but pictures help me remember things.
This picture was recently taken at the water park where I was baptized last year, and it features a glorious rainbow sprouting from the very spot I was dunked — just to the left of that massive pirate ship at Buccaneer Bay.
Icy cold water, I tell you.
In the Bible, the rainbow was a promise. A visual reminder from the God above struggle and redemption alike.
It’s so easy to forget things. Or diminish their significance.
May I never lose sight of that birthday baptism that unintentionally grows fuzzier and foggier with the inevitable passage of time.