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When I was in my early 20’s I moved to Toronto.

For years I had been working towards becoming a minister in a non-denominational church. I had received acceptance into the school that would last 2 years and see me ordained as a minister upon completion of the training.

I had packed all my boxes and my current job contract was going to be finished in a couple of weeks when I received a letter from the school stating that they had decided to defer my acceptance for one year.

There had been a few young, single, women that had recently gone-through the training, found it all too much once they had been ordained, and crashed and burned within a few years of graduating. They were nervous the same thing would happen to me.

And so, I found myself sitting there, staring at the wall, wondering what I was going to do next.

I pulled-out my journal and pen, prepared to write my frustration, fear, anger, doubt and confusion when a pamphlet fell-out and fluttered to the floor.

The pamphlet talked about a rough area in Toronto where ‘real Christians’ were supposed to be. “Give a year-get a Life” it judged that what I was currently doing was not good enough. “The Word became flesh and blood and moved into the neighbourhood” – words from John 1:14 called to me promising the opportunity to become the living, breathing, word of God in a community that desperately needed it.

Within an hour I was dialing the 416 number, butterflies exploding within my stomach and my head spinning with nerves.

I spoke to a guy who sounded very cool and expressed interest in having me come and join the team. I was told that I would have a place to live and that they would help me find a job when I arrived. By the time the conversation was done, it was pretty much decided. I would be moving to Toronto.

With $500 in my bank account and a world of dreams in my heart, I headed for the city.

I was extremely young and naïve and it became painfully obvious within my first few days there that I was in way over my head.

I remember sitting in a meeting with the guy I had spoken with on the phone, the local minister of the organisation and the office administrator, barely being able to understand anything they were saying. They seemed to speak their own language, using words and expressions I had never heard before.

I sat there observing like a National Geographic photographer crouched in the grass, watching a pride of lions creeping upon a herd of gazelles.

I could barely get my head wrapped around it all.

Here I was. Young, inexperienced, uneducated, unprepared and ready to save the world.

The Word become flesh.

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