God is the hero of my story. In fact, I don’t really consider it to be my story. I’m the one who got in trouble, who walked in dangerous places. God is the One who got me out. And He began His rescue on a dusty small-town street years before I knew I was headed for trouble. Even before I was born, He laid the groundwork for my salvation, when He formed me in my mother’s womb. At the time, she and her older brother were the only born-again Christians in her family and she was serious enough to send my brother and me to Sunday school even when she was too sick to go to church. It was in Sunday school that I learned that God actually spoke to people called prophets, and that gave me the audacity to ask God if He were real and to expect an answer. He didn’t disappoint me. “Yes,” He said in that famous, still, small voice.
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