I oddly remembered back to when I was seven year old as I was driving into work this morning. I don’t know exactly what triggered the memory. He brings me back to this place from time to time, randomly. He wants to talk to seven year old me.
It was at seven years old that I knew God existed. I had just started going to Sunday School, something that was very new to me. It wasn’t the pictures of Jesus on the wall that convinced me He was real, it wasn’t the Bible stories read by the teacher, it was something much deeper.
Inside my house there was always a ticking bomb about to go off, you carefully stepped as not to let off a landmine full of rage, expletives screamed, household items flying through the air with an intended victim. My Mom was the glue that held our family…
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