In a way... my religious journey could be traced all the way back 18 years ago when I was first baptised into my faith. But for the sake of rambling and for saving time, I think it would be best to stick with the last 4 years. However, I will quickly share those first 14 years.
I hated the idea of going to church, as most young children of that age most likely do. They would much rather be sleeping in on Sunday mornings, or watching TV with a big bowl of Fruit Loops sitting on their laps. That was me. I was that kid who would fight with their mother about staying home. And to make my church experience so much better... my mother didn't even go up to church with me.
For the past ten years my mother has been volunteering in the nursery at our church. That is where I would beg to go every Sunday, down to the nursery with her to help take care of the babies. I would skip out on church, on Sunday school, and I would never go to receive communion. I would hide down in the nursery with my mother. But she insisted for me to be confirmed into the church.
And that is where it all began...