It was late one Sunday evening and I was exhausted. Not so much physically, though I will admit to being bone tired. Rather, my exhaustion was a spiritual one. I'd been running from a Lordship-type relationship with Jesus for so long, I was (as we say in the South) give-out, and had at last come to a crossroad. It was time to turn to the right or the left...to fish or cut bait...to let the rubber hit the road.

 

I'd grown up a Christian. My parents were Christians; my brother was a Christian. We went to Sunday school in the morning, followed by an hour sitting on the padded pews under the steepled roof of the First United Methodist Church in our little hometown. We returned on Sunday and Wednesday evenings and, every summer, spent a week within its hallowed halls during Vacation Bible School. I grew up attending Bible studies with my parents and I married in the church. 

 

The Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit had been a constant part of my life, and while-at almost 30 years of age-I had spent the previous seven-and-a-half years working diligently within the church my husband and I attended with our children, I had yet to commit my life to the Lordship of the Messiah.

 

Until that night, when I returned home from a church in Atlanta (a four-hour drive away) where I'd visited friends, where I had witnessed folks who were so sold out, they would have followed Jesus anywhere and who trusted Him, come what may. 

 

I arrived home, fell across my bed, and said, "I want everything you have to give, Lord. I don't care what it is. I want it all. I want you to be the Lord of my life."

 

I fell asleep, awaking the following morning a brand new creation. What had occurred between the dark of the night and the light of morning is so personal I can hardly discuss it in this forum, but I can tell you that it was the dividing moment in my spiritual life.

 

I finally made Jesus Lord of my life after He'd been a part of my life since day one. 

 

Here's another story, the story of a woman who made Him her Lord when she'd been with Him all of His earthly life. His mother, Mary.

 

On the third day, a wedding took place at Cana in Galilee. Jesus' mother was there, and Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding. When the wine was gone, Jesus' mother said to him, "They have no more wine." "Dear woman, why do you involve me?" Jesus replied, "My time has not yet come." His mother said to the servants, "Do whatever he tells you." -- (John 2:1-5)

 

I have several friends who are Jewish, and all of them make me laugh when they talk about their mothers. "Jewish mothers," one of them tells me, "are all about guilt." Then again," he continued, "maybe all mothers are all about guilt."

 

Maybe so. Maybe not. "Historically," another expert-in-her-field says, "the guilt trip from Jewish mothers is all about survival."