Growing up in church was a gift.

Church was all I knew.

When I was in elementary school, my uncle started a church in his home.

1985…seems just like yesterday.

Sitting around the kitchen table having Sunday school and learning Bible stories.

Baptisms in the swimming pool.

There was so much excitement.

Fresh fire.

There was a great love for God and people.

The church grew quickly.

Land was bought in the most least likely place.

The lost neighbor across the street even tried to protest…he did not want a church built across the street from his home.

But there was no stopping the movement of God.

God was at work.

The land was bought.

A trailer was built to be a sanctuary where we would worship for a season.

It was in that trailer I walked down the aisle, tears down my face, wanting the free gift of salvation that was being preached.

It didn’t take long before the youth and children were sitting out on the front porch because of the overflow.

The word had spread.

The lost were being saved and added weekly.

The most unlikely people.

The outcast…the addicts, alcoholics, liars, cheaters…God was at work in the hearts of man.

Repentance was spreading like a wildfire.

The neighbor across the street even got saved. He ended up building the next sanctuary.

After him and his wife passed, their home became the church’s mission home.

There was such an anointing in that season of the church.

God wants to do it again.

There was purpose in God leading me back to the kitchen table to seek Him.

There’s an anointing to be had...and there are people to be reached.