Fearing Death Led Me to SalvationMy name is Madelyn Rivera, and this is my story.I was raised as a Catholic … Read More
Peace and acceptance is something our society always seems to be looking for and I was no exception. I grew up in a home where alcohol and fighting were common; consequently, it was a place where I did not want to be. By the time I was in my teens and early twenties, I found myself absorbed in living “life to the fullest” and searching for someone to love and accept me.
When I was very young, until I was seven years old, my parents took me to church. After that, I would occasionally go with some neighbors. When I was about 18 or 19 years of age, I was starting to wonder what religion was all about. At the same time, my girlfriend was urging me to get to know God. This drove me back to the church that I had grown up in. I attended several Sundays to hear what the pastor had to say.
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.
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.
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