Oh yes. I remembered as I stumbled into the bathroom and noticed the bag I had started packing last night. A change of clothes. A towel. A hairbrush.
I dressed down for church - denim capris, not my usual churchy attire. Made breakfast for the family. Even managed to eat a little bit of it.
Got in the car and drove to church, arriving a full half hour before anything would begin. Checked in with a man near the door, was given a brand new OBC t-shirt, and went to change into it.
Sat in a room with 16 other people wearing identical black t-shirts. Lots of people in shorts and capris. Mostly barefoot. Definitely not a typical Sunday morning. We talked, we prayed, and then we were led down a hallway that I had never seen before, one that ran behind the sanctuary.
My heart started pounding as we lined up at the bottom of a staircase. I was near the end of the line, with only two little girls behind me. One had gorgeous curly red hair. The other was a little blonde girl, seven years old, who waited with her daddy. She reminded me so much of Rachael.
The lady in front of me was nervous too, so we chatted to pass the time. But conversation ceased when we heard the music begin in the sanctuary.
After the first song and announcements, the line began moving up the staircase, one at a time. We watched what was happening to the people ahead of us with both joy and, yes, maybe a little trepidation.
Finally, I was at the top of the stairs, and Jeff, the assistant pastor who was standing in the water, was holding out his hand toward me.
No turning back now, even if I'd wanted to.
I did not allow myself to look to the left, where the congregation was seated. (I would notice only later that it was a very, very full house this morning.) Instead, I concentrated on listening and replying when I was asked if I had accepted Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior.
Why yes, I have. Many years ago, actually. Why hadn't I done this sooner? I have no idea.
I held my nose with one hand and Jeff's arm with the other. Leaning backward, I was aware of being under the water, but only for a second. He made good on his word that he'd be able to lift me back out. (I'm sure I asked him several times if he was sure he could! Luckily for me, he's obviously an old pro.)
I blinked the water out of my eyes and somehow made it up the steps on the opposite side. Received a towel. Dripped halfway across the building. Briefly felt bad about that, then decided to call it "carpet cleaning" and consider it an act of service.
I was baptized.
I truly have no reason for not having done it years ago. I don't recall ever attending a baptism as a child, or being asked if I wanted to participate in one. Maybe someone did ask and I just don't remember. But it seems that it just...never came up. Not as a teenager, not as an adult.
It was only recently that I attended my first baptism as an adult, and I was too busy attending to my precious daughter, who bravely (and obediently) asked to be baptized as soon as she could. I wanted it to be her day, but when she asked me why I hadn't yet been baptized, I promised her that I would do it the very next time the opportunity presented itself.
And today it did.
"Know ye not, that so many of us as were baptized into Jesus Christ were baptized into his death? Therefore we are buried with him by baptism into death: that like as Christ was raised up from the dead by the glory of the Father, even so we also should walk in newness of life. For if we have been planted together in the likeness of his death, we shall be also in the likeness of his resurrection." Romans 6:3-5
(A big WELCOME to my Spiritual Sunday friends!!)