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I was sitting in the front row. The light gleaming through the stain glassed windows, casting a bluish-purple reflection on my face. Why I am sitting here? I am not sure. I had never been here before, my car directed me here. Almost, as if it was being driven by someone else.
When I walked in, everyone was friendly. People greeted me, a few tried to shake hands or even hug me. This is definitely not the sort of welcome I am used to. What prompted me to sit in the front row? I am not sure.
Tears streamed down my face during the prayer. I am not sure why. The preacher seemed friendly enough. Surely, he was not speaking to me. The message? Of course it could have pertained to me, or, I thought, to the fifty other people behind me.
“Thank you Father,” the preacher continued. I glanced up. I know I am not supposed to open my eyes, or look around. I couldn’t help it. I had to make sure I was not the only one here. Or, I prayed my silent prayer, that I was the only one here. I didn’t want people to see me. Not like this. So venerable, so...afraid. What was I afraid of? Why am I sitting in the front row?
My head obediently dropped itself between my knees, as if it knew the proper posture. Words from the preacher reverberated through my ears penetrating my heart. Surely, this prayer is not for me. My thoughts battling each other with a force beyond my control.
Embarrassed, you ask? “Absolutely!” I say. Until I realize. I have just been accepted by the King of Kings, and the Lord of Lords.
Embarrassed?
Not in the least bit. I stand triumphant, in the front row, tears still streaming from my eyes. I stand victorious, by the strength of the One who saves me.
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