I'M 13 YEARS OLD. It's early Sunday morning. Queens, New York. I'm half-asleep when I hear it. I sit up, look around. Think maybe my aunt is calling me.(l lived with her at the time.) But she's asleep, and the house is dead quiet. I have no idea where the voice is coming from. But it's clear: Go to Sunday School. I scratch my head. Yawn. Nobody in my family goes to church or even thinks about it.
My parents had divorced when I was three, and I lived with different relatives over the years—including my mom now and then. My dad was across the country with a new family. Not much ever felt stable. By the time I was nine, though, I was a professional child actor in television and theater. How I got there is another story, but it was evidence of God's love, of His guiding my life even when I wasn't aware of it. Still, emotionally, my life was something of a roller coaster.
So I sat there in bed. Didn't hear the voice again, but I couldn't shake the idea, "Go to Sunday School." The only problem was, I didn't know where to go. Then, slowly, I remembered that once when my dad was visiting me he mentioned a church he'd gone to in Manhattan years back—a Christian Science church. I remembered more or less where he'd said it was. So I got dressed and hopped the subway into the city.
