For those of you who have been long-term readers of these daily offerings, I apologize for returning to a subject upon which I have written many times in the past. But it is one that needs constant and continual attention.
March 10 is my baptismal anniversary.
One of the souvenirs we brought back from previous trips to Germany (34 of us will make that trip next week - over spring break) were t-shirts and coffee cups which proclaimed (in German) Ich bin getauft - "I am baptized!"
Luther insisted that remembering our baptism was enough. It was all that we needed to withstand the trails and temptations and hardships and perils.
I was born on February 10. It was a difficult delivery for my mother. She was carrying me and an ever growing tumor in her uterus. The doctors had told her, when she first discovered she was pregnant, that she should allow them to remove the tumor. She would not allow that to happen.
March 10 was the first time my mother and I left the house. We had not gone to visit relatives, we had not been to town to get some pictures taken. The first trip out of the house was to the church, for my baptism.
I am grateful for the way in which my mother and father and grandparents crafted my earliest days. They gave me a gift beyond anything I could imagine. My first trip, my first encounter with the world was to the font where water would be poured over my head and it would be loudly proclaimed that God loves me and would claim me.
Ich bin Getauft! What more could I want or hope for?
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