I was 12 and it was mandatory. My confirmation in the Presbyterian Church. Our Pastor made us memorize all the books of the Bible, in order. That was all I remember about my Confirmation studies. We went to classes for weeks. Maybe it was months. I can’t remember.

My only memory of my Confirmation day will last with me forever.

They made us sit in the front pew, to the left of the aisle. Other 12-13 year olds sat next to me. It was a sunny Sunday afternoon when the Pastor said a prayer and we sat in silence as we listened to the 33 loud and vibrant tolls of our Church bell. The tolls were supposed to represent each year that Jesus walked the earth. 33.

I closed my eyes in silent prayer as the bell rang loud. The darkness inside my eyelids wasn’t that dark due to the sun flooding into the stained-glass windows. It was then when I felt it.

A cool, strong wind filled my lungs. It made me gasp out loud. It was like a breeze rushing across the pew. But no door, or window had opened. Darkness, like a cloud cover, filled the space in front of me. As soon as I breathed out the air that had forced its way into my lungs, the lightness reappeared, and my body felt warm, as if the sun was touching my skin for the first time. I opened my eyes and looked at my classmates to try to gain understanding as to what had happened. But no one’s eyes gave away anything.

My eyes watered with emotions. I had no idea where the emotions came from.

Looking back, I now know that it was the breath of God entering my heart, soul and lungs. And undoubtedly, it was my Grandmother sitting in a different pew that day, that had sent prayers to Him about me.

I had no idea (as a 12-year-old) the journey that lay before me in life. College, military service, marriage, war, deaths, births and now peace, were in my path that God gave me.

This is a blog dedicated to the story of how God stayed with me, in spite of myself. And looking back, I know I owe much of it to my Grandmothers prayers.