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A ten-year-old's calling...

When I was ten, my world ripped into two. My parents divorced. The world as I knew it changed. Ever notice that even when things are not great, as long as they are comfortable and familiar, that is where we choose to camp out? Deep down, I probably knew the divorce was the best choice for our family, but at the time, I would have given my last breath to keep my parents together.

Our new life began when my mom, my two older sisters and I moved into a duplex apartment in Chicago right above my aunt and uncle. My relatives were both very involved in their church and chose to invite us to learn more about Jesus. Each Sunday, the smell of bacon would fill the air, my uncle would call us down to their home, and we would all enjoy a big breakfast then head off to Sunday school and church. I began looking forward to Sundays more than any other day of the week. It became my new normal.

My passion must have oozed from me because soon I was asked to be involved in the church services. I started as an acolyte, and then the big day came when I was allowed to perform an interpretive dance while my uncle sang “The Lord’s Prayer.” This was the highlight of my existence! As I was dancing, I was filled with an incredible warmth and peace. I knew at that moment that I was in the presence of God. It was tough for me to verbalize in my 4th grade mindset but I knew something bigger than me was happening. As I now go in reverse and trace the path of my faith journey, the end of that thread always begins on that particular day when I was dressed in white twirling around in the front of the church.

Things changed that day. Did my life suddenly become a fairy tale of happiness? Not a chance, but the world that felt ripped into two was now whole again. God sewed it back together with his perfect stitching and from that day forward he has tugged at that thread pulling me down the path that I was called to follow.

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