I was in church before I was born. Mom tells the story that while I was being “knit together” in her womb, as the Bible describes, she was printing the weekly worship bulletins at the little Southern Baptist church down the street. I like to joke that her inhaling the fumes from the mimeograph machine explains my moods and other flaws.
Sometimes that’s good for a laugh, sometimes not. What’s no joke and is very real in a good way is how Mom’s personal faith and devotion to her chosen faith family are going strong these many years later, and that’s the part of the story that has rubbed off on me.
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