Once upon a time, I etched on these pages a story of how I survived the clutches of a wild gang of children who had me confined in a basement. I lived to tell the tale of my captors’ exploits and how their barbaric curiosity and unbounded energy led to a gospel presentation and an afternoon nap. Today, nearly two years later and by God’s mercy, my heart still beats.

Some of you know intimately the joy of teaching children’s church, known quaintly as “Kidztown”. Yet many of you can only imagine what happens downstairs during the weekly sermon by the rumblings heard from below. Are the children learning to line dance? Are they acting out Matthew 8:32?