Growing up, I was raised in the Reform Episcopal Church. Mom and Dad usually stayed at home on Sunday morning while us kids would go off to Sunday School. I recall being involved in the children's choir at the church and occassionally, the older girls were allowed to help in the nursery.
Our next door neighbors were members of the local Methodist church and I remember spending many Summers at their VBS. It was truly a fun time. In February of 1974, my parents were separated. My thoughts were why would God do this to our family. I know now that it wasn't God. It just happened to be a time when everyone was getting divorced. It seems that all of our friends' parents were getting divorced, too. It was a very difficult time for me. Suddenly, I was the "woman" of the house as my mother was the one who moved out and Daddy was left to raise the five of us.
My Aunt was attending a Pentacostal church and she would try her best to get us into a church. It was certainly different from the Episcopal church. The first time I had gone, it was a Revival. I honestly must say it was the most frightening experience of my life. People were speaking in tongues, parents were shaking the sins out of their children, adults running around like chickens with their heads cut off and I was running out the nearest exit!! I told my Aunt if this is God I want no parts of it. I did not step back into a church for six years.
By this time, It was 1980 and I was eighteen. I'd just met a wonderful man: A preacher's son. In spite of all his problems, he had a great love for the Lord. He wasn't pushy about it like my Aunt was. He had a sweet spirit about him. He came from a family of great preachers: his father and grandfather and his brother was studying to be a preacher. George's interests though were not in preaching, but he did inherit the family genes for lovely singing voices. God's blessing on George was his hands and his ability to do just about anything with them. George and I married in September of 1980 and his parents did not approve. I was not a professing Christian and they really did not know me, but once we were married, they accepted me and loved me anyway.
When I really came to trust in the Lord was in February of 1981, when our first child was born premature. He weighed in at 2 lbs. 6 oz. My first sight of Timothy was in an incubator with a nurse pumping his tiny little chest to keep his heart going. The doctor is standing there telling us that our son had an 80% chance of dying. No discussion of his 20% chance of living. He just dwelled on the dying part. But for some reason, I had a peace about me. I was not worried at all. I felt God's presence and knew that everything was in His control. That was more faith than my Christian in-laws had. My family thought I was not facing reality. They kept preparing me for the worse, but still I was not worried. God knew what he was doing. He was bringing a young teenage mother to himself.
After two months in the hospital, Timothy came home. He was doing great and was getting bigger everyday. I came to trust God more and more everyday, too. I committed my life to God in June of 1985 and was baptized that October. I love the Lord with all of my heart. I'm so greatful to him for sending his precious Son to die for such a rotten sinner as myself. I can't imagine living without the Lord. My trust and faith are in Him and He gives me such comfort and joy. Even in the worse of times, God carries me through.
