September 9th, 2007 15:00 EST
Judyth Piazza Interviews Mark Raborn, Author of Journal of the Angelic
I was blessed to grow up in a wonderful Christian home with parents who took me to church regularly and taught me to pray at a very young age. Actually, I cannot remember a time when I didn`t pray, and well recall my mother coaching me in prayer as a very small child.
By the time I was eight years old my family and I attended Mt. Lebanon Baptist church near Augusta, Georgia and it was on one bright Sunday morning during Sunday School that I discovered I left a necessary booklet inside the family car. I walked from the classroom to the parking lot and uneventfully retrieved the item from our car; however, while walking back I noticed an elderly gentleman standing near the steps that lead to the church sanctuary, motioning for me to come closer.
I obediently complied and observed that he was quite tall and handsomely dressed in a dark colored suit, though I specifically recall he had quite a weathered and aged appearance. Almost immediately he asked if I had ever allowed Jesus to come into " my heart, to which I responded, no sir. "
Leading me into the empty sanctuary, we sat down on one of the pews as he began to explain, in language an eight-year old could understand, what it meant to allow Jesus to come into " my heart. Jesus stands at the door of our heart and knocks, " he said, and if we will only invite Him to come into our heart, He will save us from our sins and we will live forever with Him, in Heaven. "
When the elderly gentlemen finished his brief discourse, he explained that Jesus was also knocking at the door of my heart and asked if I would like to ask Jesus to come into " my heart, to which I responded, yes sir. " With that, the gentleman asked me to repeat after him and we prayed the sinner`s prayer. Then, as though he had prepared for this very moment, he pulled from his inner coat pocket a little, red New Testament and with pen in hand, wrote the following on the inside of the back cover before giving it to me:
On Sunday, Sept. 8, 1968, I asked Jesus to come into my heart and He did! Thank you, Lord Jesus, for saving my soul, for forgiving my sins and for making me a Christian. I love you, Lord Jesus and I truly want to please you by everything I say and do the rest of my life. "
After church I related what had happened to my mother, who was overjoyed that I had been saved. " She even telephoned my maternal grandparents (long-distance was a big deal in those days) to share the good news that her eldest child had become a Christian. Indeed, the day was one of much jubilation.
Later, my mother, my siblings and I returned for the evening service and I agreed to show her the gentleman that had conducted this marvelous symphony of salvation with her son, but I didn`t see him.
The following Sunday, my dad (he often worked out of town and had not been present the weekend previous) insisted I point out the man that led me to Christ, but the man, once again, was not there.
Each Sunday I searched the pews for the elderly gentleman but as I explained to my parents I had never seen the man before "and I never saw him again. Whoever he was, whatever he was, the Lord`s Hand was most assuredly upon him that day as he led one of God`s lambs across the valley of the shadow of death, and into the fold of the redeemed in another victory for the great symphony of God`s elect.
For more information: www.markraborn.net