You Belong
Outfitted in a white baptismal robe far too big for my 12-year-old, four-and-a-half-foot frame, I had no language for theology. But I knew I loved Jesus, and I sensed I was stepping into something life changing. Something holy.
Being dipped into the small pool by the pastor, trying not to breathe through my nose, feeling enveloped by the water, hearing only muffled sounds . . . This was baptism by immersion, and for a split second, it felt as if it was just me and Jesus beneath the surface. Just as quickly, I emerged to a chorus of “Amen!” and “Praise the Lord!”
Soon after, I—a new creation—changed into my new dress. It felt like Easter! Pink on the top and gray on the bottom, gathered at the waist with a gray-and-white-striped sash that tied into a big bow in the back, my dress was paired with my first one-inch heels, also pink. Unmistakable 1980s fashion.
My dripping hair clung to my neck, and I was so embarrassed I didn’t have time to dry and style it again. You just didn’t go out with wet hair in my Southern household. But today was an exception. The shoulders of my dress were damp when I returned to the pews, and I eagerly awaited the sermon’s end.
That day I received a Bible embossed with my name, its silver-edged pages stiff and new. I held it carefully, proud of my choice. In the receiving line after church, parishioners stacked cards, bookmarks, and stickers on top of my Bible—small tokens that confirmed a greater calling. With a seriousness I entered the world with (according to my mother, I was born 30), I understood I was a member of God’s kingdom.
I belonged. I belonged!
Even now, decades later, I tear up when I witness a baptism because I remember how deeply vulnerable it is to step into the baptismal pool, to name hope aloud, to declare belief with your very own body.
If you haven’t made that choice yet, know this: you belong too. And the water is warmer than you expect.
Tanya R. Cochran teaches English and Communication at Union Adventist University in Lincoln, Nebraska. When she isn’t in the classroom with her beloved students, she’s on her sofa with a book in her hands and one of two cats in her lap.
Tanya’s Life Journey Tip: When packing to hit the road, be sure to include patience and prayer. Travel—and life—rarely go as planned, but with a little longsuffering in your back pocket and Jesus by your side, you’re certain to savor the journey.
Double Dipping
The first time I asked to be baptized was primarily to gain access to the thin wheat wafer and gulp of grape juice at Communion service. I’d watched the adults and teens enjoy that little snack, and I wanted in.
So at age 12 I joined the other juniors in doctrinal classes at the Mountain View Seventh-day Adventist Church in California. The beliefs made sense, and I had no problem with them. After all, I was a pastor’s kid, so the lessons didn’t reveal anything particularly new or disturbing. So I added my name to the list of baptismal candidates.
My father got to dunk me, and the smile on his face made the moment memorable. I think it meant more to him than it did to me. But I had this odd thought that maybe it would be good to die stepping out of the stone baptismal font because I’d be clean and sin-free . . . for a second. I recognized I wouldn’t be able to stay that way for long.
The second time I was baptized was about 25 years later. My husband and I accompanied my parents on a trip to Israel. We made a stop at Yardenit, a Christian pilgrimage site beside the Jordan River. We wanted to see where Jesus was baptized—if not the exact spot, at least the body of water He went under.
Visitors, some wearing white robes, some in shorts and T-shirts, waded into the murky water and took turns submerging each other. All down the river, people rose out of the stream with smiles on their faces and tears in their eyes. Hymns sung in various languages drifted across the muggy air: “Amazing Grace,” “Jesus Paid It All,” “In Christ Alone.”
I turned to my dad. “Will you baptize me again?” I asked.
“Me too,” my mom chimed in.
So the three of us stepped into the natural pool. My father lowered me backward into the water, then brought me up. This time I relished the experience: tiny fish nipping my legs, ancient olive trees shading the bank, believers from all over the world worshipping Jesus and committing their lives to Him.
As I regained footing and wiped droplets from my face, I realized I stood in the same mud Jesus had. I stood in the power of Christ alone.
My dad had that same glowing smile on his face, and this time so did I.
Lori Peckham teaches writing courses at Union Adventist University, as well as writes and edits stories, articles, scripts, and books, including Guide’s Greatest story collections.
Lori’s Life Journey Tip: Sometimes it takes leaving what’s comfortable and familiar to experience greater joys and blessings.
