My parents used to drag us to church every Sunday. It was just part of our weekly routine. But I still remember the first time I actually believed in God.

There was a time when I was younger where my dad’s ex-mistress would drive by our house and start shooting at it trying to harm us. I know that’s kind of strange to say. But that’s what it was.

My parent’s bathroom was on the backside of the house and my sisters and I would run there to be safe instead of being in our bedrooms which were facing the street. We sat there and told jokes, my older sister would tell us how she makes cookies, you know just random conversations trying to keep our minds off of what was happening.

My older sister would also comfort us and tell us “You know, God is going to keep us safe.”  And we would pray together. We would start singing and harmonizing. Sitting on the tile in the bathroom (with its great acoustics) we would start singing our favorite song, “This little light of mine.”

This little light of mine 

I’m going to let it shine

Oh this little light of mine

I’m going to let it shine

This little light of mine

I’m going to let it shine 

Let it shine, all the time, let it shine

When we sat there on the floor of the bathroom, laughing and singing and comforting each other, I knew we were going to be ok. I still remember it, the color of the tile, the louvered windows, the feeling of His presence, it’s all still clear to me. God was there with us.

One night, after we had gone back to bed, we heard that the woman had been arrested. Finally. After several days of shooting. My sister and I, in our shared room looked at each other and said “See I told you! He is real! I knew it. I knew it!” Almost as if we were talking about Santa Claus.

That was my first real moment of going “Ok, this relationship with God – I am in this for the long haul.”