Isaac Moore: Testimony
I was asked roughly six months ago to give my testimony for this purpose. I was willing, and glad to do so from the very beginning, but couldn’t seem to get the clearance from The Lord on what I needed to say altogether. I’ve finally reached that place, and I hope that something I have on my heart will be an encouragement, no matter how many or how few eyes read this.
I’ve been unbelievably blessed throughout my life. The privilege of having Godly parents is beyond explanation. I’m very proud of my heritage, and I can’t begin to explain how much I appreciate my father being the strong man of faith that he is. He’s been pastoring little country churches since even before I was born. He took his first church at the tender age of nineteen. Two years thereafter, my sister came along. Two years after that, I came along. If the doors of a church were open somewhere, that’s where we were growing up. That was my life, and now as an adult, nothing has changed. I realized early on in life that the Christian way is the very best way. I don’t have much, but I have everything. That will only make as much sense as you allow it to.
At the age of seven, I had nothing to worry about. I had a family full of love, food on the table, good clothes to wear, and I could go to church without the feeling of condemnation because I was innocent. On one Sunday night, I sat in the pew not even hearing what my father was preaching. Altar call came, and out of nowhere, I was blindsided by the drawing power of The Spirit. I had never before felt even the slightest bit of conviction, but in the snap of a finger, without even hearing any of the words that were preached, I found myself dead in sin. I looked over at my mother and said, “I think I might need to go to the altar.” She had always told me what to do if The Lord came knocking on my heart’s door. A year earlier she had placed a small framed picture of Jesus standing at a door knocking, and pointed out that in the painting, there is no knob. If The Lord is going to come in, the door has to be opened from the inside. I sat in the pew for a few seconds, and that was all I could take. I went down, the whole church flooded in behind me, and in a matter of minutes I was new. Cleansed, made pure, and forever changed.
By the age of thirteen, I was no less saved than I was as a seven-year-old on that Sunday night, but my focus wasn’t on The Lord, my prayer life, and God’s word. My father had given me a Bible with a very thought out letter, written from his heart in the front of it. When he gave it to me, I read it like it was anything else, and placed it on the shelf in my room. A year later, I found myself struggling as a young man. Struggling to find myself, and struggling to find happiness in the hallways of a dark, sinful school. Trying to fit in didn’t seem to work, and I eventually found myself downright miserable. Many times I would come home from school and throw my school bag behind boxes in my closet because I knew if I saw it, it would bring back the painful thoughts. I would then lock my door, and lay in the bed sometimes crying for the rest of the day. One night I found myself at the bottom. I walked up the stairs after dinner, sat down in my chair, and stared at the wall. I spun around in the chair, and when I stopped, my eyes were on the Bible that my father had given me. In my heart, the voice of The Lord said, “Get it.” I walked over to the shelf, picked it up, and literally wiped a layer of dust off of the top. I hadn’t so much as touched that Bible since it had been given to me. As I opened the cover and began to read the letter my father had written me, I began to cry like I never had before. My heart was shattered. The feeling of failing my father, and not living a Christian life that he would be proud of, far exceeded the pain I felt in the hallways at school. That night was a turning point in my life. I started praying and reading like you wouldn’t believe. I told God just how sorry I was for forgetting about Him, and neglecting to read His precious word. I started yearning to go to the church house, so much so that I made some friends that were old enough to drive so I could hitch rides to revivals. During those revival seasons, I was in church seven days a week, all summer long. That continued for the next five years, and in the same capacity, until I graduated school, and had to start working and becoming a man. Still though, if work doesn’t come into play, you can count on me being somewhere where a meeting is going on. The desire only grows stronger with time.
There have been rough times scattered throughout since then; times when my spiritual life waned, but I’ve always found my way back to where I needed to be through more time spent in God’s word, and more time spent on my knees. What I told in this testimony isn’t a tenth of what I could say. There’s much more, but you’ve read the highlights so to speak. This has been a good journey, and I’m glad to know that it’s a never ending journey. As for all of the trials that we as Christians have to face in this life; “There’ll be an answer by and by.”
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