Can It Really Be So Long?

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I began going to church when I was five. I went to VBS at the invitation of Arta Jackson, a widowed neighbor lady. I loved it and I loved my teacher. I continued to go with Mrs. Jackson, every Sunday. Sometime later my Sunday school teacher came to our house to meet my mom. Soon Mom, my sister and brother started going to services, too. Mom was baptized when I was in third grade. When I was in the sixth grade, 12 years old, I decided I needed to be baptized for the remission of my sins. When I told Mom of decision, she told me I had to tell Dad as well. I was afraid to tell him, because he was not a Christian, and was not very supportive of my mom in her faith. But when I did tell Dad I was surprised at his response. He told me I needed to be very sure that’s what I wanted to do, but that if I became a Christian I should be the best Christian I knew how to be. Maybe I should not have been so surprised, because that was his philosophy about everything. At any rate, I remember Mom then calling the preacher to come talk to me about what I needed to know, to assure that I was indeed ready to make the step. Hank Tankersley brought Oral Farris, an elder in the congregation, with him. My mom put us her bedroom so we would have some privacy. The men sat on the foot of the bed. I was sitting on the floor with my back against Mom’s dresser. They asked me questions, and found that I was serious and that I knew about Jesus and His sacrifice for my sins. The following Sunday night, Hank Tankersley baptized me into Jesus for the forgiveness of my sins. It was November, 1960!