I remember when I was twenty-four, I went through a life-changing experience, and Christ’s resurrection was at the center of it all. As a child I had heard many times the story of the Savior and how He rose from the dead. I had walked the aisle at ten, being swiftly baptized into that Baptist church. But later as a teen I left the church after my parents’ divorce. I surmised then that something was terribly amiss; there was no love and peace in Big D. In my tortured teenage angst, I figured that the message the church was teaching was not strong enough to hold my parents together, so I moved on.
Yet, everyone at the church had said that I was “born again,” but booze and cigarettes and Playboy magazines became my cheap little gods. I realized later that I had never risen with Him from the state…
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