Most would call this a modern-day conversion experience.
And it was. But I easily could have been the prodigal son who
returned home to a loving father after ruining his life and
wasting his inheritance (Luke 15:11–32). Or I could completely
identify with the Samaritan woman at the well with whom Jesus
openly, but not condemningly, talked about her immoral life.
And though Jesus knew all about her escapades, he offered to
exchange her adulterous life for His living water (John 4:4–42).
These were Bible stories I heard as a young child (and saw
acted out on a flannel board) that explained the
unfathomable love of God to those who didn’t deserve it.
I believe it was extremely helpful to have a picture of Jesus—
the Good Shepherd—in my mind on that day in August, when I
was about to commit suicide. I knew who was calling me to
come to Him instead of taking my life. Deep inside I knew it was
Jesus. I ran to the sound of His voice, and I’ve never been the
same.
Over thirty-three years later, I still feel as if Jesus is standing,
sitting, walking, or traveling right next to me. I’m familiar with
the sound of His voice. Though not audible, it is consistent. I
can sense when He nudges me, when He hugs me, and when
He tells me that He loves me. And I respond to the nudge, hug,
and suggestion just as I would respond to my husband’s
touch or request with a comment or a smile or a sigh.
I’m certain that the One who walks with me and talks to me is
the same Jesus of Nazareth who lived on this earth, died on a
cross, was buried in a tomb, and three days later rose from the
grave, and later ascended into heaven. The same Jesus who
was seen and heard by Romans and Jews and Gentiles, by
shepherds and children and earthly rulers, who spent most of