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• ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

  When I was six, my family moved. We left our crowded little apartment, and went to a bigger, but small house. The house was filled with bugs, and cracks decorated the ceilings and the walls. But it was worth it. See, since we were so far away from my grandmother's church (I was born and raised in a Pentecostal church), we couldn't go there. And it's not like I liked it much, anways. They were loud, they talked in Spanish, and rarely ever did the youth do anything. But, it so happened that our neighbor's so happened to be Pentecostal as well, and they had a young niece three years older than I. It took a while, but we soon became best friends (and we still are, by the way). One day, they said they had to go somewhere, and when I asked, they said, "church." So I invited myself over, and had a blast with all the other little kids (keep in mind I was only six). I kept going there, and soon, I was a regular. Then, me and Erika--the little girl--started a ministry--or the basis of one. Then we evolved into sticks, and now, we're doing sign language (there are a lot more people now in the ministry). The people of that church are like family to me. And Debbie (my neighbor) said we answered her prayers, but is was more like she answered ours. I don't know what I'd do without our sign ministry. It may not seem like much to you, but I thank God for that little church on Mohawk avenue, and the great story behind it.

  Added May 13, 2017 by A Google User