Pastor Rocky has always believed in putting his knees where his mouth is, so to speak. Prayer vigil teams signed on for one hour at a time, but he made a habit of putting in two shifts in a row. I've always had a hard time praying, mostly because my prayers seem to be more "gimme" and "can I?" than an actual conversation with God. Which, when I really take time to think about it, is kind of lame. Considering the miracle of my whole life, the crazy saves we pulled off, the battles with otherness we have won, my multiple brushes with death, and the fact I'm at least partially on my feet, when I should have spent a greatly shortened life paralyzed and probably on a respirator, you'd think I'd be a lot closer to God, right?
Thank God we had
Pastor Rocky to give us the best example possible.
So we headed down the hall to the back doors of the sanctuary, and slipped in to try to find Pastor Rocky, so we could snag him as soon as the chime sounded to end this prayer vigil shift. The door creaked, sounding like a haunted house soundtrack. I was glad I was sitting down. It put me lower, about three-quarters hidden by the last pew in the row. Poor Daniel didn't have that protection.
Only one head raised up, and the tall, thickening body it belonged to got up almost before I saw Pastor Rocky's face. He had a long walk from the front pew, and he tipped his head slightly to the right and stared at us as he came down the right-hand aisle to the back of the sanctuary to meet us. He licked his lips, and for a moment looked like he might say something. Then he shrugged, gestured for us to follow him, and led us out of the sanctuary.
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