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He waited a lifetime to turn that last page.

Years spent yearning for the crisp and clean chapter to appear.

The first time prayer forged within.

He instinctively fell down to his knees.

What do you do when you want a clean slate?

What do you do when the familiar wrong no longer feels right?

He arose, went out to his car, and drove down the road.

The cross on top of the building soon came into sight.

He took a deep breath before he walked in.

He rubbed his tattooed arms as insecurity coursed through him.

I should’ve worn long sleeves. I should’ve cut my hair.

This isn’t the way I wanted be. I hope they see.

He looked up from his tattered and worn shoes.

Some looked the other way. Some stared. One person cared.

One sincere smile and one warm greeting.

Guided to a pew he sat waiting alone and scared.

Lord, how can these people help me be who you’re pulling me to be?

I want to feel welcome, I want to feel known. I want to be a part of your people.

The sermon began and the words spoke right to his hurting heart.

But then it was time to get up to leave.

Some looked the other way. Some stared. One cared.

One goodbye and one hope to see you next week.

One.

Only one?

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