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from your heart and think of the lost souls who will be watching."

We piled out of the van and into the studio. The TV presenter thought we were great and we pulled off a well-rehearsed performance. Of course, no one watching us would have had a clue what had gone on just an hour before behind the red curtains in the van.

When visitors came to the camp to stay with us, everyone dressed up a little more conservatively and I soon learned there were subjects we didn't talk about with "outsiders"—such as sex and our prophet Mo—and Mo Letters and Family publications such as the Davidito Letters would be tucked away from sight.

"Sweetheart, my parents, your grandpa and grandma, are coming to visit us from England," Dad said one morning, after receiving a letter from them.

"But we call Mo Grandpa," I said. "Is this another Grandpa?" "Yes, his name is Glen, and he's my Dad."

"Oh. I might get confused if I call him Grandpa too," I said. After a moment I had figured out how to solve the problem. "Maybe I'll call him Granddad, that way I won't get confused. Did I meet them before?" I asked.

"Yes, they met you when you were a baby when we were in London," Dad replied. "I've been wanting to witness to them. My father hasn't been saved yet, he's been stubborn, but maybe he'll pray this time."

Dad always talked about saving souls. He sincerely believed that without Jesus in their hearts, they were doomed to hell. Dad didn't want his parents to suffer such a fate in the afterlife.
When I met them, I noticed the difference in their appearance and manner immediately—how reserved they were, and the way Penny, Dad's stepmother, dressed was different from Family women. Her hair was cropped short and permed and she wore a long-sleeved blouse and trousers. Penny gave me a kiss on the cheek, but there were no hugs, though they seemed happy to see me.

"My, you've grown since we last saw you when you were just a baby," Penny said.
The evening they arrived Antonio prepared a delicious pasta dish and we sat together on one of the tables under the trees. Faithy Berg had come for a visit, and introduced herself to them and spoke glowingly of the radio show. Windy and Peter and Rachel played guitar and sang songs from the show. Dad sat beaming with pride, like he was a little boy again, at being able to show his parents what he had achieved.

The next day we accompanied them on a tour of the town, but what I remember most from their visit was the stories Granddad told of when he was a young man. He told stories about his escapades in Palestine during the war as a British army officer. "One time I woke up in the morning to find my bed had been stolen right out from under me," he chuckled.
My grandparents' visit and hearing Dad talk about his real mother made me feel special. I was excited that I had another family, my own flesh and blood that was separate from the Family. After Granddad Glen and Grandma Penny left, I wrote letters and sent them drawings and gifts of little things I had made, telling them that I hoped that I would get to see them again.

Perhaps all these family stories struck a chord with Dad. He wanted to know more about his mother and he received permission from Mo to make a trip to Poland to find his mother's relatives. He was able to track down a surviving relative in Krakow and came back with stories and pictures of my grandmother, Krystina. She looked so young and beautiful in her wedding photo with brown eyes and fine dark hair. Dad told me proudly that I got my singing voice from her. The sad ending to her story was that she got a degenerative illness like mad cow disease and died within months when she was just twenty-four years old. Dad was a little boy of three and a half and had no memory of her, but he idolized her just like I did my mum.

I knew then that Dad and I had a deep link—and understood why he never forced me to have a relationship with my stepmother Serena. I still talked about wanting to visit my mum