I came to Christ when I was very young. I can’t remember exactly how old I was, but I do know that it was before I started kindergarten, and I do remember the circumstances. I was a little girl, standing on the back pew of small church in rural Idaho, listening (believe it or not!) to the sermon.
I don’t remember the whole sermon, but I do remember that somewhere within it there was an explanation of Christ’s death on the cross and I was transfixed. I saw an image of my Saviour on the cross, suffering for me, and at that instant I understood that I needed what was accomplished for me there. And more than that: I knew that I wanted, above everything else, what was provided for me there.
Since I was only 4 or 5, I really shouldn’t have understood that sermon at all. It wasn’t the children’s sermon; it was the regular adult sermon and a pretty deeply doctrinal one at that. Yet I heard truths of Christ and the cross, put it all together and saw something wonderful: the beauty of Christ and the wisdom of the cross.
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