My parents brought me into the world shortly after the “sexual revolution.” And they were very much a part of the culture, drinking lots of alcohol and popping bennies — the amphetamines of the day. In that epoch, it wasn’t unpopular for pregnant women to drink alcohol, so I was dosed on wine from the womb.
But something happened after my fourth birthday. My parents decided to get “religion.” So they had us kids baptized in the Lutheran church. Someone at that time must have told me about Jesus, because I remember kneeling by my bed and asking Him to come into my heart.
A year later, we painted the house, packed up our belongings, and headed out of the big city of Simi Valley to small town, USA.
There we joined a little white Methodist church with a steeple bell that rang each Sunday to announce the service. When I came of age, I pulled the rope and sounded the gong myself: a great memory.
Other fond memories of that time still bring a smile to my face: great friends; fellowship; food; Sunday school; Kids of the Kingdom; vacation Bible school; ice cream socials; the invasion of box-elder bugs; and more. But something else happened in that church, something that almost destroyed me: I was raped. Continue reading “How God Turned This Wretch into a Treasure: part one”
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