Tinkle Pants

I had my own plans for Saturday.  I was going to get Major dog in my car, grab an old comforter, my bible and my journal… and drive East to the sea.  I wanted to take in the Lord and His beautiful creation.  I wanted to be reminded that I was alive; that I was young, and that I had so much life left to live.  I wanted to feel free again- uninhibited- like myself- bold and strong… complete in the knowledge that God is, in fact, for me. 

But, the plans changed… drastically.

The plans changed to include a soggy bottom, bacteria rampant water, a few shed tears, and smiles I could no longer hold inside my heart.  Weird combo, I know, but a beautiful and complete love story that I could never have written by myself.  It’s a love story that I am not even apart of—I am more of a page-turner…the observer of all that dances around me. I can only lick my finger to hurry and turn the page.  The love story is one that I will never be worthy of, but feel desperately honored to even catch a glimpse of on the periphery. 

Though I had an itch to “get away” from Raleigh for the day— my unusual lack of planning left me with few options, and a feeling of defeat.  I stayed in my comfy green reading chair and read through 1 and 2 Chronicles, did some heavy journaling, cuddled with Major, went on a walk with a friend, went on a visit to Oxford Manor, and finally… my usual Saturday evening endeavor… went to church.  (So scandalous, I know.)  (Are you shocked that I am, in fact, single?) (Yeah, I’m not either…)

I was meeting my friend Beka, who— only planned on attending church with me that night because she knew I had a heavy heart, she knew I was going to church alone as I normally do, and wanted to keep me company.  I’m an overachiever, so I sat down in my usual front and center spot so that I could take my overly detailed notes of J.D.’s sermon for review later. (And also be showered with his spit.  I like to refer to this portion of the evening as my “pre-baptism.”  This is when the Holy Spirit flies out of J.D.’s mouth through his spit, and then lands on me. It’s ballin.)  The sermon ended, the Hoppinator (this is his real name…) came to the stage to give the call for baptism, followed by instructions, and the band started playing again.  I remember feeling distracted.  I couldn’t focus on what I was singing.  I couldn’t control my brain.  I couldn’t slow it down. 

Brief history:  I’ve been baptized twice— mainly because my mom was SUPER pumped to have a child and wanted me to be extra holy (which I am) (no but really…).  I won’t attach the typed document that I gave to the Hoppinator upon our first meeting outlining the issues I see in both infant and believer’s baptism because it would literally bore you to death, however, my conclusion has been— that Scripture does not affirm the argument of one to the level of absolute certainty that the other is proven irrelevant or completely wrong.  I can argue for both.  I can argue against both.  All I knew— was that the Lord had called me to membership at the Summit.  You had to be baptized as an adult (believer’s baptism) to be a member… and this is where I have been marinating for a couple months now.

Intermission for historical interlude is now over.  Back to our regularly scheduled programing…

I couldn’t get my thoughts in order.  I could feel the Hoppinator’s eyes stare through to my soul— as I constantly avoided his face and simultaneously did my best Kari Jobe impression singing like a champ.  No avail.  Without my permission, my mouth whispered in Beka’s ear to my right, “If I get baptized, will you stay?” [Followed by Beka peeing on herself, jumping up and down, running out of the sanctuary with me, and skipping with joy…].  The Hoppinator had somehow made a mad Superman-esque dash to the lobby of the church and out the front door (still entangled in AV equipment and not at all planning to be the actual person baptizing people that night)— in shock asked if I was serious.  In true Kam-gurl form, I responded, “Yes, and you’re the one doing it— go get changed you crazy man.” 

Now, let me explain something about these baptismal pool-thingys.  At first glance, they look like intense hot tubs— you know, the ones with the neon lights that flash to the beat of the music.  Don’t be fooled.  Let me explain a few key differences before we embark upon the climax of this story.  Difference #1) Hot tubs are hot, baptismal pool-thingys are cold.   Difference #2) Hot tubs use appropriate chlorine levels to kill bacteria manifestations, baptismal pools do not use appropriate chlorine levels to kill bacteria manifestations.  Difference #3) In a hot tub you wear a bathing suit, in a baptismal pool-thingy you wear a black onesie that when many are cloaked in such form in a single file line…looks mildly cult-ish.  The goal= for the on looking crowd to be spared the sight of your drenched bod when these black onesies cling to your fat rolls.  Difference #4) In hot tubs, you do not wear your undergarments— in a spontaneous baptism encouraged by none other than the holy spirit…you do because you did not plan to be submerged in water when you left home looking like a rockstar for church that evening.  Difference #5) In hot tubs, you sit around, chill, and talk about the meaning of life.  In baptismal pool-thingys you answer two heavy questions in front of a crowd of onlookers that you don’t really know as a profession of your faith and confirmation of Lordship in Jesus Christ… that they expect you to follow through with.  HELLLOOO.

Similarity—the one and only: Both hot tubs and baptismal pool-thingys make you want to have to pee.  (Don’t worry, I didn’t.  It’s holy water people!  Duh!)  (Plus the bubbles aren’t on so everyone would have been able to identify me as the peer.  Not a good plan.)

So I did it.  (NO!  I didn't PEE!) I took the plunge.  I left church with a large wet spot on the bottom of my jeans and a mop of hair— and I was completely unashamed.  I was clean.  In one day— the Lord took my silly plans and multiplied them one hundred fold.  I feel alive.  I feel free.  I feel strong and bold and young and full.  But not because of some beach a hundred miles East of me— but because I was washed by THE water.  

...Water that I will always be happy to walk away from… looking like I peed in my pants. 

Just a girl stumbling through a new beginning, with a new heart, with a shot of really living… and the new spokesperson for adult Depends diapers, the self-appointed Summit baptismal pool-thingy cleaner and preparer (Chlorine added??), and the Summit buyer for Hanes undergarments so all future children that the Lord elects to follow him… can walk away with a dry booty… and fly new boxer briefs. 

Kami