If I thought sleep was hard to come by this week, the possibility of Zane accepting Jesus in his life isn’t going to let me catch a wink.
32
Zane Ortiz
Staring at the raindrops trickling down the window, each one seems to have a purpose, a path to follow. They glide like they’re gracefully washing away my doubts and uncertainties. The loud thunder rolls and the intensifying flashes of lightning are adding to the moment. A flutter in my chest accompanies a faint voice telling me my life is about to change, and not just because Pearl texted me. In just a few minutes, I’ll be immersed in water that symbolizes leaving behind my old life and stepping into a new life with Jesus.
I’m getting baptized.
A small group of people—men, women, and even a couple of teenagers—gather in the stuffy classroom of the church. We’ve been meeting for an hour in the evenings this week to learn about baptism, and it’s incredible to see how the same God who has been working in my life has also been active in the lives of so many others. Each person here has experienced different struggles and has recognized their need for Him.
Some days this week, I questioned whether I truly wanted to make this public declaration of following Christ. I feared that I might falter or make mistakes, and worried about being judged for every little choice I make moving forward. But what I feared even more was that the same God who led me to make amends with Trent last week might continue to ask me to do even harder things—things I strongly oppose, like reconciling with Dad.
Aunt Melissa called again this week, urging me to visit, but I made it clear that I won’t come if Dad is still around.
I badly want to believe that God won’t ask me to forgive him, considering all he’s put me through and how dangerous being close to him can be. But if there’s anything I’ve learned in the past three weeks about God, it’s that He is a God of many chances. It would be consistent with His character to extend His mercy to my father too.
I shake my head and glance at the pastor once more. I know any hesitation I’m feeling is not from the Lord. Maybe if I take this act of faith and step into the water, God will remove my dad from my life for another decade of peace.
The pastor, with a cheerful tone, asks, “Any questions about anything before we say a prayer and head over to get baptized?”
A teenage boy, likely between fourteen and sixteen, speaks up. “Is it still safe if I can’t swim?”
This prompts laughter from the others.
Regaining composure, the pastor reassures him, “Don, it’s a tank. You won’t be drowning, and I’ll be right there holding you the whole time.”
A woman in her thirties then asks, “Can my husband take pictures?”
“Of course,” he responds warmly. “This is a day you’ll want to remember for the rest of your life. Having some visuals to look back on will be a gift.”
He pauses briefly, scanning the group for any more questions. “All right, if there aren’t any more questions, let’s give thanks to the Lord.”
The pastor then leads us in a prayer, “Gracious Heavenly Father, thank You for bringing each person gathered here to this momentous occasion. We pray for courage and faith for those stepping into the water today, knowing that You are with them every step of the way. We pray against any fears or doubts that may linger in their hearts. Grant them peace and assurance, not only for today but also as they journey through this life, by the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.”
We make a beeline for the hallway, and a few people who haven’t changed into their baptism clothes go do so in the restrooms. I’m glad I came wearing shorts and a basic t-shirt, and left my church clothes in the car.
I appreciate that the baptism is happening before the main service, away from the gaze of everyone. I didn’t want this moment to be publicized or shared widely—I wanted to keep it intimate and personal. The only person I wish I had told is Pearl. If only I had known last night that she would text me past midnight, I would have asked her to come to church an hour earlier. She’d have loved it.
Hopefully, I’ll have the chance to sit with her during the service and share the news.
After a burly man with intricate tattoos covering his arms takes his turn, I step forward to enter the water next.
The feeling in my heart is indescribable. It’s more than just excitement; there’s a deep sense of anticipation. I can’t quite put into words what I think will happen, but I strongly sense that something significant is about to unfold—and it feels like a good thing, like an answer to my prayers.
I ascend the stairs and step into the baptismal tank. The water rises to my waistline as the pastor firmly holds onto me, guiding me through the process. He instructs me to cross my hands over my chest and hold my nose.
“Have you accepted Jesus as your personal savior?” he asks. When I respond affirmatively, he grasps my arm and declares, “Because of your faith in Jesus and in obedience to His command, I baptize you, Zane Ortiz, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”
With that, he lowers me backward into the water until my whole body is immersed, then immediately raises me up. As I emerge from the water, shaking my head a bit to clear my wet hair from my face. I take in a deep breath, my chest expanding as my lungs fill with air once more.
When I open my eyes, the first person I see in complete bewilderment is Pearl—my Sweet P.
My heart swells in my chest, and I offer a quick prayer of thanksgiving before stepping out of the water. Most people have their families here, and I didn’t even bother to ask Tyler or Carson to attend. Yet Pearl is here early for the service for whatever reason, and I have her as a witness. Actually, two witnesses, because Robyn is standing next to her.
Pearl comes running to me, and before she falls into my arms, I give her a look that says, “I’m wet.” She ignores my warning and squeezes me tightly around my middle. I still can’t believe this is real.
“Zane, are my eyes deceiving me or did you just get baptized?”