Two years ago a new church was built in our neighborhood in Mongolia. It was big news in our town, and people visited the church out of curiosity. I went to, just to see what it was about. I had no religion. I did not even know whether there was a God.
The simple wooden church felt like a peaceful refuge, and the music, prayers, and sermons fed me. I decided to return.
I realized that my life was full of bad things, and I needed some peace. My husband is an alcoholic, and when he drank too much, he beat me. I worked in a factory, cared for my three sons, and kept house for my family. Church became a place of refuge for me. The pastor’s sermons were practical and related to my life and experience. Once I started attending, I did not want to stop.
At first my husband objected to my church attendance. But I persisted and took my sons with me. I taught them to pray. One day my youngest son picked a tiny potato in our garden. He asked me to cook it for him. Then he put it on a plate and prayed, thanking God for that one small potato. It touched my heart.
Then I learned that I was pregnant. The baby was breech and I needed to have a caesarian section. While I awaited surgery, I prayed, and the prayers brought me peace. I healed much more quickly that the doctor thought possible. I think that is because I entrusted my life to God.
Because of this experience, I realized how relevant God is in our lives. When my son was two months old, I returned to church and asked to be baptized.
My husbands attitude toward God continues to change. We invite him to join us when we pray. He is praying more and drinking less. I have learned that prayer really works. If this little church had not been built in our neighborhood, I might never had experienced God’s love in such a personal and powerful way.