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I can still remember being nine-years-old and attending the small, white church on Highway 97 north of Weed, California. New to church, I was impressed with the caring people, fun Sunday School lessons, and new friends. These people were different than others I knew. They smiled, and they were full of joy. Yet as my teen years neared the last thing I wanted was to be around
Published on February 11, 2012 04:30