Rev Willis just finished the Friday night sermon, "Will Jesus Come Tonight?", that I had heard twice before. I loved his week of revival sermons. Daddy invited him every year.
every night that week, i held on to the pew with white knuckles when Rev. Willis gave the altar call, repeating to myself, "I don't need to go. i don't need to go." i stared at my hands wondering why i was so moved every night.
this night, i did the same but when the sermon was over, and the hymn and the second call and the final call and the final piano note faded away and and the people began to say goodbye and move out of the sanctuary, i still held onto the pew...and burst into tears. i didn't know why. i just stood there, embarrassed, but helpless to stop the sobbing. people came to see if i was hurt. they got my mother. she said, "Carla, what's wrong? are you hurt? ...are you sick? ...i shook my head...are you upset?...I cried harder...she stared at me. then a softer look came to her face. "Carla, did you want to go to the altar?"
that was it. i didn't know until she asked. yes. i wanted to go to the altar. such a relief to know it.
mom yelled at dad to come here. we walked to the front of the almost empty sanctuary. he and i knelt at the altar and he opened his Bible. his tears dripped on the papery pages as he showed me and read me the passages about God's saving.
we prayed. i asked God to forgive my sins and save me. very simple. very powerful. i felt unearthly peace. i felt very clean.
this was my first conscious encounter with the Holy Spirit's sweet, powerful presence, though i couldn't have named it then. i was saved. i was being saved. he knew what i needed when i didn't know. a beginning.
