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 church has an entire building devoted to children’s ministry.