Redeeming-Love-By-Francine-Rivers

boy who lived in the house next door. We arrived with our U-Haul and were
carrying in boxes to the small rental house in Sebastopol when little Eric
came over to welcome us and help out. “Have I got a church for you!” he
said, and Rick and I rolled our eyes and wished he would go bother someone
else.
Out of curiosity, a few weeks later I attended Eric’s church. After all, I had
found no peace in anything else. Well, our little neighbor was right! The
warmth and love I felt in the congregation drew me the moment I walked in
the front door. I heard the Word of God being preached; I felt God’s truth
and love in action all around me. Many churches seem to be mere museums
for plastic saints, or they preach fulfillment from the world’s point of view—
a “prosperity gospel.” This church was different. It was a hospital for repentant
sinners; their only blueprint for life was the Bible, which everyone was
carrying and—most amazing of all—reading! The church wasn’t connected
to an organization. They went by the name of “Christians,” and said living
according to Christ’s example is a lifetime process.
I started taking the children to church with me. Then Rick started coming.
Our lives began to change, not from the outside, but from the inside
out. We were all baptized by immersion, not just in water, but in the Spirit.
It did not happen quickly, and we still have struggles, but we belong to the
Lord and He is molding and making us according to His will.
I believe we all serve someone in this life. For the first thirty-eight years
of mine, I served myself. My conversion was not a highly emotional experience.
It was a conscious, thought-out decision that changed my focus, my
direction, my heart, my life. But I don’t want to mislead anyone. It was not
all peace and light afterward. The first thing that happened was that I
couldn’t write. Oh, I tried, but it didn’t feel right. Writing just didn’t work
for me anymore. I couldn’t escape into it. I had given myself to the Lord,
and He had something else in mind. I finally accepted that it might not even
be in His plan that I ever write again. And I surrendered. What I came to
understand was that He wanted me to get to know Him first. He wanted no
other gods in my life—not my family, not my writing. Nothing.
I started craving the Word of God. I read page by page, cover to cover
and cover to cover and cover to cover. I started to pray. I started to listen and
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