My earliest memories of Sunday school involve walking (in very uncomfortable shoes) into an old, dimly lit gymnasium and turning down a white-painted corridor. There, I entered a white-painted classroom. There were no windows and a hodgepodge of furniture. The most memorable thing about my Sunday school room was a small, white plastic bank shaped like a church that sat on a table by the door. Here, everyone dropped in their nickel offerings as they entered class each week. Today, that same…
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