I attended your church last Sunday morning. You wouldn’t remember me, but I was there and I was hunting for something. I think I almost found it. I think I would have found it if you hadn’t been in such a hurry.
The special music was beautiful, and even you in the congregation sang hymns about a loving Lord. These made my heart beat faster. I felt a tight choking sensation in my throat as your pastor described the condition of a lost person.
“I am lost. He is talking about me,” I said to myself. “From the way he speaks, being saved must be very important.”
“All these people are so concerned,” I thought. “They want me to be saved, too.”
At the close of the sermon your pastor looked at me and told me once again about the joy, but his words were drowned in a buzzing beside me. Looking in front of me I saw you frown at your watch as if time were running out. You were too anxious to get back home. You didn’t really care that I was lost. You only wanted to get away. I wanted to get away, too. I wanted to run, but was afraid. I waited until the service was over and walked out among you … alone … lost!
I may be 11 years old, or 80 years old, but I am sure I represent many who attend your church.
--Schell, pastor
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