Over the next few weeks, I feel led to write about how I found the Lord, what happened afterwards and what is happening to me now.
It will be a descriptive journey of where my life once was and how God has taken me in His hands and gently molded me. It is a story about two wives, four children, seven stepchildren, 37 grandchildren (I think) and one great grandchild.
This will be as long and drawn out, as the Lord will allow it to be. The goodness and mercy that God showed me is available to you too. If you do not have Him already, come taste the Lord and see how well He can make you.
Singing has always been apart of my life. These days it is out when I am walking. When my feet are moving and my arms start to sway, it sets a rhythm and I began to sing or hum. Often I do not remember the words so I sing whatever comes to my mind. Often it is a good thing that my wife is deaf and only the Lord can hear me as it is to Him I sing.
Singing on the swing was what I liked to do back then. My mother took me to the Archdeacon at the little Anglican Church our family attended. Singing in the choir most Sundays was exciting until my mother stopped coming to listen to me sing.
I can never remember grace said in our house, nor were there family Bible readings. There was, however, a strong sense of double standards. What I heard and sang about at church never happened at our house. The only exception would have been when my Grandma came to stay.
I decided to follow my parents' example and not go anymore. I can still remember the sound of the front door being slammed shut behind me that Sunday morning. My sister and I sat on the front steps and cried to come back in but the door stayed shut. I decided that it was God’s fault and that the Christians would pay.
The more I made their lives miserable, the more my Sunday School teachers and other people at church loved me. I changed churches, but it was the same. When my Sunday School teacher died it slowed me down for a while, but it was not long before I set up with my crusade again.
My friend broke into the church and stole the crucifix and candlesticks. Imagine his surprise when finding they were brass and not gold. I was disappointed when he returned them, but looking back, I am glad he did.
Breaking into churches began to appeal to me. In the mind of a 10-year-old, a fast food place would have more money than a church. Back then, there were only fish and chip shops. After a spat of robbing them, we decided to hit another church.
Coming outside we saw the priest’s car with the keys in it. It was a wonderful joy ride around the countryside, which paid the dividend of two years supervision under a child welfare case worker. She didn't stand for any nonsense and often threatened me with the police.
The funny thing about all this was years later as a Christian I prayed and asked God to provide my wife and I with a car. He did, the same model as the priest's car, but I am getting ahead of myself.
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