On this Day in History

A girl named Copper sat across the table from me. Her pale blue eyes intermittenly caught mine as we observed the excitement of the other girls with us. I slowly munched on a squishy fry, and Copper sipped from a Coke. McDonald's seemed like an odd place to come and celebrate, although Copper and I had no idea what exactly we were celebrating.
That weekend my parents had allowed me to finally go to my friend Terri's youth group, and jumping in with both feet, I went on a weekend retreat with with fifty or so 12 to 13 year olds of whom I'd only met one or two. For a person as shy as me at that time in my life, I was definately in over my head.
The focus of the weekend was The Dawson McAllister Student Conference held at Riverside Baptist Church in Denver, Colorado. I had never heard of Dawson McAllister before that weekend, and really, haven't heard of him since, but whenever I drive through downtown Denver I like to give a wink and a nod to Riverside Baptist Church, which is actually no where near a river, but instead located next door to what was then Mile High Stadium.
In traditional fashion the conference feature alot of cutting edge worship music, performed by a man named Todd, whose bleached blond hair and less than casual use of the word "dude" and the phrase "odd for God" would now nauseate me, but then, endeared him to my heart. I hung on every word that came out of his mouth. If Todd was the looks of the operation, then Dawson was the brains, as he did all of the teachings that weekend. The topic of that conference was something along the lines of spiritual warfare. Actually, the only thing I remember clearly was an illustration of a Roman guard and a fill in the blank sort of excercise in which we labeled that parts of the guard's armor that Paul spoke of in Galatians 5.
By Saturday night, the overstimulation of the weekend lead to emotional vulnerabilty and the time was right for Dawson to share the Gospel. Dawson shared things that I'd heard before, that Jesus was the Son of God, and came to earth to die for my sins, and that I had the chance to accept him into my life as my personal savior. That night it clicked. When Dawson gave the opportunity for people to come forward if they wanted to accept Christ into their lives, my stomach flip-flopped a thousand times over as I knew that I was one of those people. I looked behind me, our youth group had totally scored seats in the second row, and there where hundreds of other kids who I'm certain were staring directly at me. I hunched further into my seat, avoiding eye contact with the kids I was with, I didn't want them to know that I was one of those people whom Dawson was speaking to, with whom Dawson was imploring, "Tonight may be your last night on earth. Do you know what will happen when you die?"
Two things happened at once. I had the overwhelming sense that this really was going to be my last chance to accept Christ into my life, and the boy sitting in front of me, Matt, who played soccer and had lots of friends in youth group got up and started walking toward the alter. I did not have this cognitive thought at the time, but it now seems to me that some where in my brain I figured that if that kid, who did have friends in this youth group didn't have Jesus in his heart, it would probably be okay for me to admit that I didn't have Jesus in my heart as well. I stood up, and -- let me say without irony --that I felt very much like I was being pushed toward the stage. I quickly found myself wrapped in a throng of weeping teenagers grasping on to their friends with one hand, and with the other lifting their hands in worship. I tried to mimic what they were doing, it seemed like they had received some kind instruction that I had missed out on, but the tears weren't in me and when I meekly lifted my hands, I felt quite foolish. So instead, I put my hands in my pocket, and mumbled the words of the song wondering if I had accepted Jesus yet.
Before long those of us standing in front of the stage were directed to exit the auditorium where we were paired up with understanding adults, beaming at the opportunity to share the gospel with some one like me. The woman I was paired up with was kind, with glasses and brown hair. She commented on my brightly-hued, magenta Greenpeace t-shirt as we walked down the spiralling hall into the basement of the church. I told her that it was actually my mother's t-shirt. Her look of relief diminshed slightly when I proudly told her that I also donated portions of my Christmas money to Greenpeace, the Nature Conservancy and had adopted my own whale and gorilla.
We shuffled into a room with several other adult-adolescent pairs, she set up a couple of folding chairs facing each other and motioned for me to sit down. I started to get scared again, like maybe I had made the wrong decision and was some how in trouble, but on the other side of the room I saw my friend Terri, who had invited me on the trip with one of counselors, asking a question that the counselor was clearly not prepared to answer. The woman gave me a little booklet that demonstrated that there was a gap between God and me, as a result of my sin, and the only way to fill that gap was to accept Jesus. There was even a cute little drawing of a stick figure walking over a bridge, formed by the cross, and into Heaven. I liked this idea, and decided to pray with the woman in order to accept Jesus Christ into my life.
There is a gap in my memory from that moment, until sitting at that table in McDonalds with Copper and the other excitable girls, congratulating us on "the best decision we could ever make." I don't disagree with them, but I wonder, if at twelve, they really had the authority to make that sort of declaration in regard to they way my life would unfold. I also wonder, if I'd know then what it really meant to be a Christian, and they way God would guide my life as a result of my choice that night, if I would have have gotten up from my seat at all. I sort of think that I would not have, which may be why that night, in my heart I was so thoroughly convinced that I had to act then, that I would never again have the opportunity that was before me.
"Best" really isn't the word to describe the weight of my choice to accept Christ, because I think some of the "best" decisions I've made were the ones that came after that night, but that I would not have made had that night not happened.
There is a strange fatality looking back at that night. I didn't understand what I was getting myself into, sometimes I still don't understand what I have gotten myself into, but that push is still there. The push from behind me and from within me that tells me there is no other option but to do this, and to live this life according to the opportunities presented to me.