Chapter 2 spring

it is now 1965 My father sent me to Saturday morning worship. you should go.he told me. I was seven, too young to ask the obvious question: Why should I go and he shouldn't?Instead, I walked into the church honestly, walked down the long corridor to the end, turned a corner, and entered the chapel dedicated to children's worship. I'm wearing a white short-sleeve shirt and clip-on tie.I opened the wooden door.In the chapel, preschoolers sit on the floor; third-grade boys yawn; sixth-grade girls in black cotton jumpsuits lie half-lying and whispering. I had a prayer book handy.The seats in the back were all occupied, so I took an empty seat in the front.Suddenly the door opened, and there was no sound in the room.

People who work for God come in. He swaggered like a giant.His hair is thick and black.He wore a long robe, and when he spoke, he danced, and the robe fluttered like a bed sheet fluttering in the wind. He told a story from the Bible.He asked us questions.He walked up and down the stage.He is close to where I sit.I felt a rush of heat.I prayed to God to make me invisible.Please, God, please. That was my most fervent prayer of the day.