Confronted with rebellion

I have been having a bit of a dialogue regarding Calvinism with two people, and it is deeply moving me. I feel I am being changed, and I know that that may seem obvious considering my circumstances, but this is different. I had a very wrenching, falling on my knees type experience about two years ago. (It was actually Christmas Eve of 02.) I knew that I had been not trusting in Christ, that I was beginning to waver in many of my beliefs, because of the increasingly liberal climate in my home due to M. I fell on my knees and prayed that the Holy Spirit would change me, that I would desire to be like Christ. I think it has been a gradual process. God doesn't always strike us down with lightening and transform us, sometimes it takes years. There is a verse I came across today, and it was so poignant, that I must share it here: Ephesians 4:14-15 " Then we will no longer be like children, forever changing our minds about what we believe because someone has told us something different or because someone has cleverly lied to us and made the lie sound like the truth. Instead, we will hold to the truth in love, becoming more and more in every way like Christ, who is the head of his body, the church." I was recently confronted with these words, "Repent of your rebellion and trust in Christ." It made me weep. I acknowledge that on some days that isn't too hard to do, a soap ad could bring a tear to my eye, but this was really different and unexpected. It was like something inside said, " Yes, I will."

It has been a melancholy day. (You know it is when the supermarket checker asks you if you're okay.) I have been on the verge of tears all day, and I think this awareness of true truth has something to do with it. Also I had to see M as I dropped off the kids this afternoon. He said, "We don't talk to each other anymore." I said, "Yes, it has been good for me that way." He said, "It kind of sucks." Kind of? This goes well with the comment from Saturday about pumpkin bread. I had packed a pumpkin muffin in L's lunch, and M said, "Next time you make pumpkin bread, you might want to bring me some." Are you kidding me? I said, "It's not my job to take care of you anymore."(I had actually deliberated on whether or not I should take extra for him, and decided not to. Not out of meanness, but just so he can begin to see that he doesn't get those special privileges anymore.)