I was born into a hard home. My mother drank and left husbands for the next boyfriend she met in a bar. We moved constantly. These new men would beat her, and she kept chasing the next one who might love her—all while dragging me along as a young girl.
When I was four, a neighbour invited us to an Easter Sunday service. That day at church, I was given a chocolate Easter egg and a colouring picture of Jesus’ face. I kept that picture, and when I’d hide in the closet to escape the violence, I would talk to it—not realizing I was actually praying.
God stayed with me throughout a harsh life with an atheist mother. She was angry that God never loved her and wouldn’t allow anything Christian in our home. But I would quietly sneak out of bed and turn on the TV to watch Billy Graham’s messages of hope and love. Even at a young age, I was drawn into God's love.
At 14, I started going to church on my own and was baptized. I've spent my life seeking God, raising my children to love the Lord, and building a happy home with a wonderful husband.
My mother is now 83—a hardened atheist filled with hate. She’s had the chance to accept Christ, but has openly said she’s fine going to hell. Still, I believe the prayers of my grandmothers, who were both Christians, helped lead me to salvation.
My father once encountered Jesus in a white light—others saw the light around him too—but he still struggles, searching for faith and not finding God.
I’m thankful every day that Christ came to me so young. He saved me, guided me, and held me through a hard life.
Mercy upon mercy.
K
Regina, SK
