Part Two
It was a pivotal, terrifying moment in my life. The fear I felt that day still lingers, a constant reminder of how deeply that experience affected me. The air in the church was thick, charged with emotion. I could feel the pressure of the moment, like the weight of every saved congregant’s expectations pressing down on me. It was as if time slowed down, every second stretching longer as I stood there, frozen in fear.
Through tears of terror, I finally agreed to be saved, to be baptized. The next moments were a blur of actions and numbness. I remember being led downstairs to change into white baptismal clothes, a swim cap placed on my child-sized head, and flip-flops slipped onto my feet. I guess I couldn’t get baptized in my “dirty sin clothes”. Would they contaminate the holy baptismal water? I don’t know. My 11-year-old mind was filled with so many questions.
The blue baptismal tank was located in the church basement, tucked into the back corner, close to the bathrooms. The walk from the toilet stall, where I’d changed into my white baptismal clothes, to the tank was short, too short. The host pastor was already in the tank, waiting for each of us, the terrified souls who had been scared into baptism, to descend the stairs one by one.
I remember the sombre look on his face, but there was also a hint of triumph. So many children, young adults, and teens had heeded the call to be saved, to have their sins washed away… to be children of God. We were to be born again—freshly baked, untouched by sin. We were washed by the blood of the Lamb.
The Blood of the Lamb. How was a sheep’s blood supposed to save me from sin?! Does the water magically turn to blood? Do I get covered in blood? Does everyone who enters the tank get covered in blood? And does it change back to water between terrified souls? So many questions!
I walked up the six blue stairs that led to the top of the tank, stepped over the lip, and then descended six more steps into the water. It felt like a swimming pool, but not really. This was the place where I was supposed to be born again, without sin, right? That magical, holy water that turned into lamb’s blood was supposed to purify my soul, to save me from the hellfire and brimstone. This was the place where God would make me new. I was 11 years old, how much sin could I possibly have?
He told me to place my hands together, as if I were praying, and then asked me to repeat “I do” after he recited some scripture verses. After I agreed to be baptized, he dunked me under the water. When I surfaced, with his help, he said, “You rise to walk in the newness of life.” What does that even mean?
Before he dunked me underwater in that baptismal tank, I took a deep breath. When he plunged me under, terror gripped me. In that moment, I had fully entered survival mode, fear mode. This would become how I lived most of my life in unconscious fear and survival. I rose from the magical lamb’s blood baptismal water, supposedly saved, but I walked in fear and survival instead.
I was underwater for what felt like an eternity, though it was only measured in seconds. My life wasn’t my own anymore; fear and survival had entered my being and taken up residence. God didn’t enter my life, Jesus didn’t save me, and the water didn’t turn into the blood of salvation. I did this out of fear, a desperate act of supposed salvation, and it cost me my carefree, innocent childhood.
Part Three April 6, 2026
Follow on Instagram @theunraveling.ca