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So, we went to church. And it was good. We met lots of interesting people, and felt to be part of it all. And the children grew. And grew.

So when our oldest Connie got to about 13, it seemed very natural she should do confirmation classes: It was a really nice group of kids, with lots of enthusiasm, and when the big day came, we invited lots of friends, and a good time was had by all!

Fast forward a couple of years and it was our son Phil’s turn, and it was pretty much the same thing again. Different priest, but all good with no complaints. We were all very happy with the situation.

However, around the same time, I remember we were doing a sponsored walk for the church, and I was chatting to our vicar, Andy:  obviously, he had noticed I’d never gone up to receive communion at service, and we were chatting. And so I said that I’d never been christened or baptized or anything like that, and nothing… it was said in passing conversation, and nothing more was said on the subject.

Nevertheless, a month or so later Andy told me that he was arranging confirmation classes for a group of adults, and was hoping I’d come, and would I be interested. In all honesty, I hadn’t really given it a lot of thought, but I said yes, and that I’d love to. Perhaps it was a good moment for something!


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