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Growing up my mother was an instrumental figure of our spiritual upbringing. She often read us Bible stories and being the oldest would quiz me on how I would apply a given lesson to my everyday life. I saw this more of play time because I loved being told stories. Our mother taught us songs and how to pray. She often gave us an opportunity to pray before food and before/after sleep. These acts on my end were done with oblivion toward who Christ really was.

The day I got saved was not foreseen. I was 11 going on 12 years when the Lord brought me under the conviction of my sin during a Sunday school class. Auntie Maseka as we fondly called her taught us how God saw everything that we did and what we stored in how hearts. She added, how we were all born sinners and he gave us his Son Jesus Christ to die for our sins so that we may live failure to which we may go to hell. I had heard this story before – through my mother’s teaching- but there was just something different about it this time. I recall praying with auntie and inviting Jesus into my heart, “to stay with me” I said. I shared with my mother about what happened and she was happy.

My early Christian years were filled with a hunger for Jesus. I recall going behind our house for my quiet time, where I would sing and read from my Bible. Little by little I began to understand more about my faith and Jesus. With insecurities that came with teenage life, I often found refuge in God’s word. As I grew older I developed a read and sought God in books and his word. Applying knowledge about my faith has often led to an experiential learning about God’s grace to my life which is often a reminder on how I did not attain it through acts of any special kind.