Life on Rural Street

In reading Traveling Mercies by Anne Lamott last night I came across one of the greatest "conversion stories" I've ever read. I'll type it out here for all who are interested - I hope it inspires someone else to read the book (this is found on page 49-50) You should know that she had just had an abortion, was an alcoholic and drug addict.

"I had a cigarette and turned off the light. After a while, as I lay there, I became aware of someone with me, hunkered down in the corner, and I just assumed it was my father, whose present I had felt over the years when I was frightened and alone. The feeling was so strong that I actually turned on the light for a moment to make sure no one was there - of course, there wasn't. But after a while, in the dark again, I knew beyond a doubt that it was Jesus. I felt him as surely as I feel my dog lying nearby as I write this.
And I was appalled. I thought about my life and my brilliant hilarious progressive friends, I thought about what everyone would think of me if I became a Christian, and it seemed an utterly impossible thing that simply could not be allowed to happen. I turned to the wall and said out loud, "I would rather die."
I felt him just sitting there on his haunches in the corner of my sleeping loft, watching me with patience and love, and I squinched my eyes shut, but that didn't help because that's not what I seeing him with.
Finally I fell asleep, and in the morning, he was gone.
This experience spooked me badly, but I thought it was just an apparition, born of fear and self-loathing and booze and loss of blood. But then everywhere I went, I had the feeling that a little cat was following me, wanting me to reach down and pick it up, wanting me to open the door and let it in. But I knew what would happen: you let a cat in one time, give it a little milk, and then it stays forever. So I tried to keep one step ahead of it, slamming my houseboat door when I entered or left.
And one week later, when I went back to church, I was so hungover that I couldn't stand up for the song, and this time I stayed for the sermon, which I just thought was so ridiculous, like someone trying to convinvce me of the existence of extraterrestrials, but the last song was so deep and raw and pure that I could not escape. It was as if the people were singing in between the notes, weeping an djoyful at the same time, and I felt like their voices or something was rocking me in its bosom, holding me like a scared kid, and I opened up to that feeling - and it washed over me.
I began to cry and left before the benediction, and I raced home and felt the little cat running along at my heels, and I walked down dock past dozens of potted flowers, under a sky a blue as one of God's own dreams, and I opened the door to my houseboat, and I stood there a minute, and then I hung my head and said, "Fuck it: I quit." I took a long deep breath and said out loud, "All right. You can come in."
So this was my beautiful moment of conversion."

One of my favorite parts of that story is when she's in the church and she says the last song was so "raw and pure that I could not escape..." That is how our worship gatherings should be! Raw and pure - what a great way to describe true worship. I want my whole life to be raw and pure before God. What a thing to aspire to!

Lately I feel as if I have a little cat following me around. (yes, I do have a cat - but I mean this metaphorically like Anne did) God is really working on me in so many ways. And he's really good at annoying me about things in my life I need to work on and let Him take control of. He doesn't give up until He gets his way. And that's a good thing - because I'm really stubborn, just ask my husband.