Growing up in a Pentacostal Church, I’ve heard my fair share of “Fire and Brimstone” messages.
As a little girl, I remember shaking in my ruffled dress, at the thought of being eternally banned to that horrid place called hell- without any water or relief. Church messages usually sent me home to take an inventory of my most recent acts. Mmmm, I did lie to sister about trying on her dress; and the way I talked to mama- that was bad. Continue reading