I Wish You Were Hot or Cold

The summer of 1977 was filled with sun, fun, and friends. I had just graduated from Seminole High School in Seminole, Florida, and was excited about starting my freshman year at John Brown University, a Christian college in Siloam Springs, Arkansas. There was just one problem: I had one foot in the church and the other in the world.

A newly minted lifeguard, I landed a summer job doing double duty as a day camp counselor and lifeguard at the St. Pete Jewish Community Center. They knew I wasn’t Jewish, but that didn’t matter to them; they needed a willing worker. I loved learning the Jewish songs and culture. I also had a blast with my new co-workers, none of whom were believers. Slowly I compromised my values.

A Slow Slide

The truth is that I had been compromising my beliefs for several months before graduation. On Friday and Saturday nights, I went out with guys who didn’t know the Lord and didn’t respect my beliefs. I ended up drinking and dishonoring the Lord by my behavior. But come Sunday morning I was up in the choir loft at my Baptist church singing like an angel. The adult leaders and the students in my youth group all saw me as a leader. I helped teach a Sunday School class for younger girls. I had even requested a Thompson Chain Study Bible with a lovely hand-tooled leather cover for my graduation present.

Out of the 1000 students in my graduating class, I was privileged to offer the student prayer at our Baccalaureate Ceremony just 2 months earlier. But the night before that special day, I got drunk and high and completely ignored any pull of the Holy Spirit in my life. Standing before the full auditorium in my new peach dress to pray, I felt like such a hypocrite.

I did spend a lot of time going to the beach and hanging out at my backyard pool with my Christian friends. Honestly, though, we didn’t spend much time talking about the Lord when we weren’t at church. We talked about boys, clothes, music, and the fun we were having. Unfortunately, Jesus was rarely the focus of our conversations.

Hot or Cold?

All of that changed on August 10. I was just a week away from leaving for college. My summer job had ended, and I was getting excited about my upcoming adventure. I sat on my French Provincial canopy bed with my graduation present (King James Version) open in front of me. Our youth leader had challenged us to begin journaling, so I had my notebook open, too. I had begun reading the book of Revelation when I came across these words: “I know thy works, that thou art neither cold nor hot: I would thou wert cold or hot. So then because thou art lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will spue thee out of my mouth.” (Revelation 3:15-16)

Those words stopped me in my tracks! It felt like my Heavenly Father was speaking directly to me. I had been lukewarm for a long time; that made Him sick. I wasn’t cold to the Lord: I didn’t disown Him or hate Him. But neither was I on fire for Jesus, loving Him with all my heart, soul, and might. A hurricane-force wind of conviction swept over me. I saw the ugliness of my sin and collapsed before the Lord in tears of repentance. As I wrote in my journal that day, I knew my life would never be the same.

How gracious God was to me! Although I had asked Jesus to be my Savior when I was ten, I knew nothing about listening to the gentle whisper of the Holy Spirit in my life. Because He had set His love on me and chosen me to be His own, He wanted me to live my life for Him. I will forever be grateful for that day.

From that moment, I was a changed person -- truly a new creation in Christ Jesus. When I arrived at John Brown the following week, I immediately sought out friends who loved my Savior. No longer did I play church; now worshipping the Lord was a daily habit. During my four years at JBU, my fledgling faith deepened and matured, laying the foundation for a lifetime of service to my Father. Gone was my lukewarm mindset that so disgusted my Lord. In its place, a lifelong fire burned that continues to grow hotter and brighter with each passing year.