Six months before Pearl Harbor was bombed, I was born to the Woodring family in the Pennsylvania borough of Catasauqua. I lived there on Race Street until I graduated from high school and headed into the military around the time of the Cuban Missile Crisis in 1959. After I was discharged in 1963, I worked a job for several years before taking over my father-in-law’s grocery store and meat market in Emmaus in 1973.
If you had known me a few years ago, when I was a wild, drunk, popular entertainer in various bars, and then knew me now, you would insist you had met two different men. That is the difference that Christ can make in one’s life. My story demonstrates the great mercy and love of God to reach into the depths of hell to save a wretch as undeserving as I. Christ had to break my hard heart with the gospel. My name is Dale Stengele, and this is my story.
For over twenty years, I lived in denial. I claimed to be a Christian for most of my life, but my desire to do good would never last long. I would be stirred to obey the Bible, but after a time the zeal would go away. I would be back to doing the things which brought me great shame and heartache. My name is Becky Simmons, and this is my story.
I was born February 9, 1934, to parents of two different faiths. My father was an alcoholic and not a church-goer. Mother, on the other hand, did have some religious background, but did not have us children baptized when we were young. She thought it would be better if we chose our own religion when we were old enough to make that choice.
My name is Elaine Kidd, and this is my story. I grew up on a farm and led a pretty sheltered life out in the country with very few neighbors. I was overweight and the world kept screaming at me that I had to lose weight. Thin was all that was acceptable. Needless to say I tried every fad diet that came down the road — with very little success. Tried as I might I just could not shed the weight. I almost came to the point of accepting the fact that I would never be thin.
My name is Don Bellesfield, and this is my story. When I look back at my childhood, I guess I didn’t grow up much differently than most kids. The only difference I remember was that my parents separated when I was very young. Even so, I wasn’t without things to do, and I had the things most kids had.