My sister and I were in the ministry together, learning how to use our gifts, to be still, and let God take control of our lives.

She lived with me in the housing projects, and since I did not notify them she was living with me, they decided to kick me out.

One day there was no food in the house, and I had no money. My son, Chris had a couple of dollars and so I asked to borrow what he had. He said no, and I went into hysterics, frantic because I did not know how I was going to feed everybody. I had my mother, sister and children to feed.

The Lord had been dealing with my temper, after having asked him to take control of it.

I remember hitting him a few times, and then I struck the table leg with my foot to stop myself from kicking him. I had no memory of what really happened until after events were set in motion.

After I had calmed down, my mother said she had $20, and gave it to me for food. My leg had swelled up from my temper tantrum and continued to get worse throughout the day. For some reason I had convinced myself that I had kicked my son. This belief stayed with me during the incidents that occurred later.

I had a car back then, a yellow and green LTD Ford. My sister and I called it the prayer car because everywhere we went we were always praying in it. My swollen leg made it impossible to drive, and we needed food.

So I came up with this brilliant plan. I would tell Michele who did not know how to drive, that she was going to drive. I relayed my plan to her and she agreed.

“You’ll do fine as long as you do exactly what I tell you.’ I smiled reassuringly at her.

“Oh good! I finally get to drive. I can’t wait,” she grinned and smiled back at me.

I silently re-assured myself this would work, as I gazed at her jubilant face. There shouldn’t be a problem, it’s easy, and we don’t have to go too far.

So we got in the car and I showed her how to start it. I told her to take her right foot and press it on the brake, pull the gearshift down until it rests in the reverse position.