I was seven years old when I first acknowledged I was a sinner and in need of a Savior. The pastor's wife had taken me for a drive to talk to me privately since I was about to undergo a major risky heart operation for a congenital heart defect. She shared how Jesus died for my sins and how much He loved me. In my little girl's mind I still remember how much I wanted forgiveness and to receive Him into my heart. And so I prayed ...
I survived the surgery and my family praised and thanked God for answers to their prayers. Life continued and I was thankful that I had a ticket to heaven for when I died.
Since I'd been sidelined for the first seven years of my life, I made up for lost time. I was determined to run faster, play harder and enjoy the life I felt I'd missed. My family changed churches and my siblings and I were sent to a variety of Sunday Schools over the years. I'd pray and memorize Bible verses from time to time but there was no consistency. My grandparents were a wonderful example and whenever they had the opportunity would take me to Vacation Bible School during the summers at their church. I remember seeing my grandfather sitting in his chair with his large Bible each morning and evening as he studied and prayed.
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