This church was in a small quaint building. When I entered in, the music team was already singing. I sat on the fourth row with the brown wooded pew. The wall behind the podium was also in that rich brown wood. Above the podium was a stained glass window. In it was the painting of Jesus in bright colorful clothing. His hands were extended out, as if telling me how welcome I was for Him. I kept glancing at this stained-glass window on and off while the service was in motion.

When the sermon began, I was drawn to the genuineness of the Pastor preaching. At times listening to the words of Scripture, I sensed a kind of joy that Elizabeth may have felt when she meets Mary with Jesus in her womb. One of the happy Christmas stories in the Gospel. He was preaching on one of Paul’s letters to the early church. I had read and reread those verses just recently in the New Testament of the Bible. I recalled how they had come alive to me like the warmth of a campfire in a cold night.

The service ended. I stood up where I was seated, and began looking around hoping to see the couple who had invited me to their church. Most of the people were leaving slowly the church. Some others still remained inside, in twos or threes talking. After lingering a few more shy minutes, I walked out of my pew slowly towards the middle aisle. Three women still seated on their pew, were talking in low voices. One of them looked at me and smiled; I smiled back.

I took timid steps towards the back of the church. As I approached the main door that exits to the street, a pastor and his wife welcomed me in a genuine friendly exchange of conversing. Then saying bye-byes to each other, I went out with a satisfied heart.

The above is a new edition of my story, and a new title. My first version was written fast and untidy.

I corrected my grammatical errors, and made my story a shorter version of it. All together, more poignant,