I believe I was born a believer, but it took the better part of my life for me to realize this as a fact. It’s only in looking back, as I have in writing this book, that I can see God’s hand in my life from the day I first poked my head into this world.
Chapter Forty – I’m A Believer
The old, white, clapboard church sat on an angle of land in Pottageville, Ontario. I was four years old when its tolling bell beckoned me. Pottageville is a small hamlet between Schomberg to the west, and Kettleby to the east, along the Aurora Road, north-west of Toronto. My grandma’s small, tar paper house was set back from the road with lots of yard space for my sister, Mary, and me to play. Every Sunday I hung over the barnwood fence, gazing longingly as people streamed up the road towards the church, and disappeared through the wide open door. As I watched, I wondered what went on in there. I begged my grandmother to let me go to church, and one hot, summer morning she dressed me in a pretty white, cotton dress with tiny pink buttons down the front. Pink ankle socks and white shoes completed my outfit. Grandma pulled my long hair tautly into a thick braid that bounced on my back as I skipped happily along the country road. I was greeted at the church door by a pretty lady. “Are you by yourself?” she asked……. “Everything is possible for him who believes.” (Mark 9:23) Tomorrow: An excerpt from Hal Bennett’s book, Writing From the Heart; one of the many inspirations that led to the writing of My Precious Life.