My mom would be proud of me this morning. After exactly seven
years, eleven months and twenty three days, I have finally come to church. But
not necessarily for the right reasons I must admit. I was deeply intrigued by
the story of Aghabayim, my friend from Armenia, and decided to follow her to
St. Basil’s Church in downtown Toronto, where she sings every Sunday starting at
10:30am.
Because her family moved to Ukraine while still under the communist rule, she had to be raised as an atheist in a conservative Muslim household. However, now that she is thirty years old, Aghabayim sings at the choir in this modest Catholic church. It was through her love for music that she has been able to learn and adopt the Christian doctrine and spread the word about Jesus. Her fabulous story of religious conversion and her glorious, divine, heavenly, otherwordly hip-to-waist ratio were powerful enough reasons for me to wake up at eight thirty in the morning and pay a visit to the house of the Lord this bitterly cold day of January.
Because her family moved to Ukraine while still under the communist rule, she had to be raised as an atheist in a conservative Muslim household. However, now that she is thirty years old, Aghabayim sings at the choir in this modest Catholic church. It was through her love for music that she has been able to learn and adopt the Christian doctrine and spread the word about Jesus. Her fabulous story of religious conversion and her glorious, divine, heavenly, otherwordly hip-to-waist ratio were powerful enough reasons for me to wake up at eight thirty in the morning and pay a visit to the house of the Lord this bitterly cold day of January.
God definitely works in mysterious ways. Hallelujah!
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