A memoir - 9 October 2022
My baptism was nothing like I imagined it to be. Don’t get me wrong, I vaguely knew about the process of a baptism, but I was not familiar with the experience. The time for my rebirth had arrived, and I was anxiety-ridden.
My parents, grandparents, friends, coworkers, aunt, and cousin were all there to cheer me on. Despite the feeling of my heart pounding against my ribcage and the moisture collecting in palms, I felt very loved. I felt seen.
As I walked up to the iron oval tub, I couldn't think straight. I was finally doing this. I had come to the decision of getting baptized a couple months prior. I can’t tell you much, other than there was a sudden, deep yearning in my soul to go through with it. The huge decision was not made solely from an impulsive reaction to my battle with depression and constant anxiety—I wanted to do it because I wanted to obey God.
I walked towards my pastor, who was kneeling by the tub with a smile on his face. He helped me into the tub and I immediately felt the lukewarm water submerge my entire torso. I looked around at the audience that sat before me.
“What are you expecting to receive from this moment?” my pastor’s soft gaze landed on me while everyone in the audience waited for my response. Except, the words I wanted to say were stuck in my throat. I could feel the words creeping up and dancing on the tip of my tongue, only for me to blurt out something along the lines of “I want to be obedient to the calling on my life”. It was a very 'vanilla' answer, which held a degree of truth, but it was not the main reason at all.
What I really wanted to say was that my soul desperately thirsted for a reason to keep going, to keep fighting. I wish I would have said that, because that was my honest truth. I did not want the darkness to win. That was all.
I closed my eyes when I felt my pastor gently tilt my body down towards the water. I held my breath, and just as fast as I went under, I felt myself being pulled right back up. I felt the water roll off of my face as I entered the world again. When I emerged, I was met with cheers and clapping hands. I looked around and smiled, raising both arms in victory.
Freedom.
I did not feel refreshed, full of energy, or “lighter” as some say. I felt like I had been assigned the most important mission in the world.
To live as Christ lived.
I left there knowing that I had obeyed God, and that was enough.
Later that day in the comfort of my own home, I cried in my mother and fathers arms, telling them that I was so tired. I had been emotionally weary for so long that I finally broke down– my tears speaking the truth that I verbally could not express.
I hugged my dad for a long time after that, possibly the longest time I have ever hugged him in my entire life.
When I cried in his embrace, he told me that I was doing a great job. “I am so proud of you” he mumbled into my hair.
Immediately, I felt whatever was left of myself crumble to pieces. Not in a destructive way, but in a way that when the pieces fell they would be in the best position to be built back up.
That moment could have served as the baptism itself. It was the feeling I was looking for. It was what my weary soul needed. I do not know how much time had passed as we stood in that embrace. I drank in as much of that moment as I could. That was what I was missing as a little girl. A true hug from her father.
As he hugged me, I felt like I was hugging God.
The love a father has for his daughter in physical form. I was healing.
“You are just going through. You are going through, and you will make it out”.
And for the first time ever, I believed it.
-k.a.
“And your ancient ruins shall be rebuilt;
you shall raise up the foundations of many generations;
you shall be called the repairer of the breach,
the restorer of streets to dwell in”. - Isaiah 58:12
So beautiful thank you for sharing your experience!
A good word. Amen sister.