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In the Beginning…

Now that I have given you the low-down of my health history of this disease I am battling, let me go back and tell you more about me and my life…

I was raised in Pennsylvania, north of Philadelphia; in a little rural town in Bucks County called Hilltown. I have 3 siblings, 2 brothers and 1 sister; but I am the baby. Probably, an “accident” as I was 6 years behind my youngest, older sister.

Our home was not a “religious” home; I probably had a closer relationship to the Charlie Chips can than I did with God when I was a little girl. However, we always said grace before eating and went to church on Sundays. I do remember one particular Sunday that I didn’t want to go to church and put up a little fight, and my dad spanked me (the only time I remember that happening) and told me to go get dressed for church.

When I got a little older, about 13 I’d say, we used to go camping quite a bit in the summer time and we went to a campfire revival meeting where when the speaker asked if anyone wanted to accept Jesus in their hearts they were to raise their hand. With my eyes closed (all were supposed to do this), I raised my hand and really meant it. My mom later tells me, she knew (did she peek?) it was me that raised my hand when the man said “Hallelujah, young lady”. Unfortunately, there was no follow up to my beginnings of this small step of faith. My parents were not into this “born-again” thing I wanted to try, so it kind of fell through the cracks of my life.

Later in years, when I was about 18 I got involved with a group of kids that were going to church and one boy in particular attracted my attention. It’s not the noblest reason to attend church but it got me there. Unfortunately again, with this kind of attitude, one doesn’t get out of something what one should. So, my world continued on “sowing my wild oats”.