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Previous Challenge Entry (Level 1 – Beginner)
Topic: Outgoing (05/05/11)

TITLE: Easter Sunday
By V. Joy Ocasio
05/12/11


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Memories flooded Amy on this special day. And it was all because of one. Ok, maybe two. Or maybe one through two. Whatever it was this day held meaning for Amy. Easter Sunday had changed her life forever.

Seven years earlier...

Why? What was the point?
It was all Amy could do to make it though each day. Why even try? Why not end it now? Life held no meaning for her. She was alone in this world. Her mother had died form cancer when she was twelve. She had never known her father. She had lived with a foster family until she was sixteen. Then she dropped out of school and moved into the city. In the last four years she had gone from boyfriend to boyfriend, one drug to another. Alcohol did little to soothe her. She eventually became a prostitute. And now she was pregnant. A pregnant prostitute. Who had heard of such a thing? Probably everyone.
She had gotten on the bus this morning with the intent of going straight to the abortion clinic. Once she had taken care of her little problem, she would be able to continue with her work. Her life.
But somehow she had ended up at a church. She knew the moment she walked in that she didnít belong. It was a beautiful classic looking church. High ceilings, long aisle outlined with pews, which led up to an altar, with a giant cross in the back round.
Amy ignored the disgruntled looks from the happy church-goers and took a seat in the very back. Ten to fifteen children stood up front with the choir. They were singing a sweet song about Jesus being their very best friend. A sad smile worked its way to her face and a tear trickled down her cheek. The children looked so happy. So full of life. And she was about to take a life. Soon the tears were full blown sobs. People kept looking back at her. Some looked at her with curiosity, and others looked at her with disdain for interrupting the Easter service. Mothers pulled their children closer as they told them not to stare.
The Pastor made his way to the front and began to speak. However, Amy didnít hear much of the sermon. She was too busy arguing within herself. Am I really going to do this? I donít really have a choice.
The service finally ended. As everyone made their way down the aisle towards the door, Amy kept her head down. She stiffened when someone sat down next to her. She tried to avoid eye contact for a few minutes then looked up. It was a young woman about her age. She smiled and Amy felt herself smile back.
ďHi! My nameís Alyssa. Would you like to get some lunch with me?Ē She had this expectant look on her face. As if she knew Amy didnít have anywhere else to go.
ďUh,Ē Amy stuttered, ďI donít have any money.Ē
ďThatís ok.Ē
Amy blinked. ďUh, alright, Iíll go.Ē Amy mumbled.
Instead of going to an abortion clinic, Amy had gone to Burger King. Instead of walking down a path that would only lead to death and dead ends, she had found life. Instead of taking a life, she had found two-her life and her daughterís life.
Alyssa offered Amy a spot on her couch. And the two became fast friends. Amy got a job working as a maid. Amy learned about God and His love from Alyssa. Though she doubted it, she couldnít deny the witness she saw in Alyssa. How she had taken her in, and how she had been a loyal friend to a penniless, pregnant prostitute. When Amyís daughter was born Amy knew that Godís love had worked in Alyssa to be outgoing to a total stranger, and then in Amy choice to keep her baby. With Godís outgoing love, anything was possible.
Now seven years later Amy sat in the same church she new she would never belong in. She watched her daughter sing up front about Jesusí love. And in her heart she knew it was true.


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Member Comments
Member Date
Dee Yoder 05/12/11
Very touching story!
Ennis Smith 05/12/11
Nicely done. This was a powerful testimonial on the awesome power and grace of our Lord.
Bonnie Bowden 05/15/11
Very poignant story.

It would have been even more easily readable, if you had put two lines between each paragraph.