I remember the day that I asked Jesus to come into my heart. I was walking back from mass on a Wednesday afternoon (I went to the local catholic school) and I must have been around 6 or so. I prayed with all my might, clutching my little worn bible to my chest, opened my heart, and . . . nothing. I remember my distinct feeling of disappointment that nothing "magical" had happened: no miracles, no rush of feeling, no mystical voices or light. And that was the beginning of the end for me. I would ask half-heartedly if I could get baptised and be confirmed, and my mother strictly forbade it. Just wait until you know for sure, she would tell me, wait until you understand a little more about what you are asking.
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