The Rock That Talked
By Dan Woods
Dan is a senior researcher at Procter & Gamble's Miami Valley Laboratories in Cincinnati Ohio, and currently serving as the Elder chairman for Tylersville Road Christian Church (Disciples of Christ).

A pivotal point in my life as a Christian was a talking rock. Now it didn't actually talk to me…hmm, well, maybe it did!

As a guy born and raised in a Christian family, I occasionally find myself envious of the 'lost sheep' that suddenly find their way to Christ. I envy that moment of revelation they experience; that moment they realize they are loved, they are saved, and Christ is there for them. How inspiring their stories can be - to come from the depths of despair, of heartache, of loneliness, to reach a magical moment when their eyes are opened and they see that they don't walk alone. To hear about their transformation is awe-inspiring, but as an 'always-been-a-Christian', I almost lament that I cannot say I experienced such a revelatory moment myself. Growing up in a deeply religious family, I was in church every Sunday from the time I was born; went to Sunday school, listened to my parents sing in the choir, and lived the Christian way every day because I knew of no other.

Yet even a born-and-raised-a-Christian boy can have his moments of doubt. Despite the fact that the church was an integral part of my life growing up, I remember the instant I truly believed there was a God looking out for me. It seemed like such a simple thing then. But the memory of what happened to me that summer day of my eighth year still warms me today in my fortieth year.

I was having a bad day. It could've been any number of reasons- my pesky little brothers getting on my nerves, a bad scare from the neighborhood bully, my parents being, well, parents- whatever it was, I just remember being in a true little-boy funk. My family was visiting an aunt and uncle in the country. They'd just built a new home in the middle of the woods. After enduring the obligatory tour of the inside of the new house, I quickly ditched my parents and my brothers and sneaked outside to explore, to be alone in my misery. I walked around the back of the house. There was no concrete driveway yet…only golf ball-sized, smooth stones leading from the unpaved street to the back of the house.

The sun was shining, the birds were chattering in the trees, the cool shadows of the mysterious woods and the nearby babble of a stream beckoned. Yet I was in a bad mood and determined to keep it. "Why is God making me have a bad day?" I thought. "Why isn't He making my life a nonstop thrill?" I kicked rocks around in my anger. An idea came to me and I immediately turned it into a challenge, spoken out loud: "If there IS a God, then make that rock move." I didn't have a particular rock in mind. I just stared at a nearby spot in the driveway. Any rock would do.

I gave Him a few seconds…then a few seconds more. No rock took up my challenge. So there it was - God didn't care about me. Surely He could've done something as simple as that to make me feel better, to show me He was up there. I remember thinking "Huh…just what I thought!" and carrying forth in my self-imposed state of misery; an even deeper misery now because there was no God proving Himself to me in my time of sadness.

At Sunday School that week, I still remember being depressed, still thinking about how God had failed the other day to prove to me He existed. Sunday School meant that we dutifully brought our Bibles along, because our teacher always had something on her agenda involving the Bible.

My classmates and I had recently memorized all of the books of the Old Testament, earning a silver dollar for our efforts. My parents were typically early arrivers at church, which meant that their three dutiful sons were, too. I liked to get to my classroom before anyone else. Each week I took my Bible and flipped the pages back and forth, at some point stopping and reading a verse on that page. On this particular Sunday morning, despite my continued funk, my routine stayed the same. What happened next, though, still speaks to me through the years - on the page that I flipped to that morning, one simple sentence leaped out at me as if it had been written in neon: "Do not put the Lord your God to the test."

Wow. I had done just that. How ashamed I felt. I knew that God was speaking directly to me, sitting there alone in the Sunday School room. And He was. God had given me the sign that I so desperately wanted. Just not the way I expected it.

It was a couple of years before I stumbled upon that verse again, but I made note of it and I've never lost sight of it again - Luke 4, verse 12. It's been highlighted in every Bible I've owned since. The memory of that experience occupies a prominent spot in my soul today; the day I truly believed.

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