I realized recently the first time I prayed, not at the insistence of my parents, but for myself, was at age 7 or 8 when I was kidnapped and molested. The man was trying to smother me. I was pretty sure my parents didn't know where I was (those were the early 60s, when kids were allowed to roam free), and I knew no one was going to come help me. I could see a slit of light under the pillow; I kept my eyes on that and said in my mind, "God, help me." I think the man was real surprised. He thought I was dead but I came back to consciousness with a huge gasp for air.
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