Texas True?

Field of bluebonnet flowers
I had the pleasure of chatting with a new friend while watching my daughter's basketball practice.  We clicked right away.  She was generally interested and listened without over talking and hogging the conversation.  We talked of our dear, sweet husbands and darling children.  She asked about our decision to home school vs. private vs. public.  I asked her about her move from Kentucky and if she liked Texas.  It was really nice!

After 45 minutes of surface talk I asked her to tell me about the day she became a Christian.  What was it like for her and how had God been working in her life since then.  It was great to hear a mature sister in Christ tell me about her relationship with Him.

She then, with a close-to-my-heart boldness, asked me:

"So. . . are you a real Christian or just a Texas Christian?  I mean, it sounds like you are a real Christian from our conversation but you just never know around here!"

Do what?  Huh?  Say Again?

To be honest, this isn't the first time I've heard comments about the culture of Christianity in our area of the country.  In the south, we have such a relaxed atmosphere about church, praying, bible reading, and following the Lord.  Most everyone I know goes to some kind of church on Saturday nights or Sunday mornings.  It comes right after the Friday night happy hour and before the Sunday afternoon Cowboy game.  It's a box that is checked off of our many things to-do on our day of rest.

Thankfully, we had a few minutes left of basketball practice to talk about what she meant by a "real"  Christian.  I assured her that my everyday surrender to the Lord is real.  And difficult.  And never-ending.  I mentioned my need to seek His will for my day as I stand half-awake in the shower.  I told her of the many times a day that I bend my knee begging for His grace and mercy keeping me from accidentally locking my children in a closet.  I was able to retell of His redeeming work in my life - past, present, and yet to come. 

So, yes, I'm a Texas Christian.  A redeemed, forgiven, loved, cherished, and saved Texas Christian!

Comments

Post a Comment

I love to hear what you think.

Popular posts from this blog

No More "I" Word

Sitting through a long meeting, my mind begins to drift.  Unfortunately, this is not uncommon for me.  Sitting still and sitting quietly still is not a task I've mastered.  I'm 38 years old.  See . . . I'm drifting here, too.  Anyway, as I half listen I look around at a room full of women.  There's talk of this and that and I can only focus on things hidden beneath the service.  What is Lady A covering beneath her nervous laughter?  What is Gal B hiding behind her chewed-upon bottom lip?  Can Friend C twiddle her thumbs even faster to control her hidden-issues? You see, I am extra sensitive to others' attempt at pushing some sort of unwelcome hang-up behind a smile or laugh.  For I have been a master craftsman at hiding anything related to the "I-word".  You know the word.  Insecurity. Merriman Webster defines insecure as 1.not confident or sure, 2.deficient in assurance : beset by fear and anxiety. I define in...
Read more

A Glimpse of Guilt and Grace

That sweet child of mine that God gave me as a constant reminder of a need for mercy and grace?  That girl that exposes my every weakness and strength?  That 6 year old fire cracker that has struggled with an "appropriate attitude"?  I witnessed a bending in her spirit of self today.  Picture an afternoon of a tired and cranky mom trying to juggle kindergarten with an almost 5 year old and the book of Daniel with the girls.  And, the kicker - trying to be joyful and not tired or cranky - in my own strength.  As I am being pulled this way and that for attention, all I can think of is wanting to indulge in a giant spoonful of chocolate frosting cooling in the icebox.  I know, I know.  Some of you are disgusted by the thought of that chocolate treat.  For me, it is a creamy, rich sampling of manna God sends me as a daily fortifier. Sorry for the bunny trail.  Chocolate frosting can have that affect on me. Anyway, the stress is mo...
Read more

Rusty Gold

My husband and I have a guilty pleasure to confess.  It is not anything that is detrimental to our spirits or disastrous for our physical bodies.  It is just wasted minutes spent watching a program where we learn pretty much nil except the value of someone else's junk.  We love to spend late nights peering into other people's garages, basements, and store rooms via "American Pickers".  The hosts, Frank and Mike, travel around the country in a van looking for valuable recyclables - Rusty Gold .  Their eyes light up and sweat begins to roll off their foreheads when they spy something they can transform from junk to treasure.  Rare bicycles and tin toys or porcelain cafeteria signs and oil pumps incite giddiness between them.  Mike likes to say "I'm just an ordinary guy looking for extraordinary things". Rusty gold, huh?  Their finds are covered in dust and cobwebs and years of grime, neglected  under a bottom shelf at the bac...
Read more