By Mike Signorelli
I grew up in a rough trailer park in Northwest Indiana, the eldest of a single mother’s five kids. Life was hard, but my mom was a spiritual powerhouse and made sure we were in church. We attended a small Spanish Pentecostal church in our community, and even though we weren’t Hispanic and didn’t understand what was happening at times, we felt the move of the Spirit, which transcended any language barrier.
I carried the heavy mantle of being the man of the house after a string of abusive men came and went. As soon as I was able to work, I held every kind of job you could think of with the pressure of helping to keep the family afloat.
At age 15, the trauma of my short life was too much to take, and I cried out to God, saying, “If Your Holy Spirit is real, I want you!” I fell to my knees and wept in my room, pouring out my heart to God in prayer. Suddenly, I found myself speaking in tongues, overcome with the power of the Holy Spirit. This personal and private encounter marked me and set in motion a remarkable journey.
A few days later, a woman I had never met approached me on the street. She took one look at me and said, “I know you! I saw you in a dream. You came to my church and preached, and revival broke out!”
She invited me to preach at her church. I reluctantly accepted, even though I was the last person you would ever ask to preach because I was so shy and introverted. I remember my hand shaking in the school lunchroom as I drank my chocolate milk. But I pushed through, and the moment I began to preach, the anointing came upon me. That same woman brought her 4-year-old daughter to me for prayer. The little girl had a decrepit hand, and I laid hands on her. Suddenly, her hand stretched forth, and she was completely healed!
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