I grew up going to a Reformed Baptist church in New Jersey. Every summer, I went to a Christian camp, and had many Christian family members and friends. So I always heard the truth and thought I was OK with God.
My name is Michael Brooks, and this is my story. I was baptized as an infant in the Episcopal Church. My mother and my aunt served on the Altar Guild. They were both key in the coffee hour following services each Sunday. My uncle Roy sang in the choir and was the church sextant. So, as a boy, I thought I was well connected, and due to my family’s contributions to the church, we were good people, and of course, heaven-bound due to our good works.
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.
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