Having just seen my nephew, his wife, and my great nephew baptized into Jesus, it got me to thinking about it. I was talking to mom and she told me two stories of family baptisms. One, I knew. The other, I didn’t.
My grandfather, Jim, passed away when my mother was seven years old. So I never got to know him. Mom said that one night, after church, and after having gone to bed, he jumped up in his long underwear outfit and shouted all over the house for salvation. She said that Mammy (my grandmother) said he woke the whole house up!
From there, she said, he proceeded to run out of the house, shouting up and down the holler, praising and worshiping Jesus. He proceeded then to roust people out of bed to take him to the river to be baptized. And that’s exactly what happened.
Then she told me the story I’d never heard. That my brother came to them in the middle of the night, when I was just an infant (my brother was 16 years older than me), also wanting to be baptized. Mom said she was afraid to take me out, as I was a newborn and was ill at the time.
So Daddy went with him. The story is that they could hardly find enough water to baptize him in, but found just enough to get his entire body beneath, and so he was baptized into Jesus for the remission of sin.
I’m thankful for all the family stories I’m lucky enough to hear. In fact, I collect them! If not on actual paper or in print of some kind, then at least in my head. I think, as we grow older, these fond recollections of days gone by can be such a comfort. Especially to me.
But stories like these… stories that affect eternity… I think they mean the most of all. And I just wanted to record them here and maybe if my own memory ever fails me, there will always be a record of these historical records of such joy!