I had a supernatural experience with Jesus Christ in 1979 which radically altered my whole life.
Though my family had been Catholics in Cuba, it was simply in name, because we hardly ever went to church. I remember as a four-year old kid during Good Fridays in Havana, that radio stations would only play somber and quite messages commemorating the Christ whom had been crucified for the sins of the world. I still recollect sitting in my father’s car as the announcer spoke austerely about Jesus, and I peered into the graying sky of dusk just knowing that there had to be a God.
I never prayed growing up as a teen. We lived in St. Croix, US Virgin Islands in the late sixties. There I had to do a Catholic confirmation. I went to a priest who was sitting behind a dark grail and had to confess all my…
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