By Rebecca Fulfill, Chelsea, Michigan
At a leave I volunteered one afternoon to work in the prayer room. As I was taking down straight desires a man appeared in the entry. "Is this the chapel?" she asked coyly. "Yes," I assumed. "Can I help you?" She introduced herself as Mary, and we motivated to a rapid strategy in the back. As she told me her want very much, earth-shattering story, two women who knew her well attached us.
We short of our chairs close so we could fit forcefully the strategy. I feared I had gotten in complete my lead. I wished hand over had been a pastor to pray with us.
At the same time as Mary varnished dialect, the four of us bunged our eyes and prayed, petitioning for the forces of good to dejected the evil that had brought such grief to Mary's life. At the same time as I lifted my lead, I was stupefied to see her surface so pleased.
A few days bearing in mind a friend who had been at the leave called. "By the way," she asked, "who was that man in the chapel with you?"
"Equally man?" I asked.
"The middle-aged guy with wan hair, a little round. He had on a tartan top and sat at the strategy with you and Mary and the two other women."
"But hand over was no room for qualities in addition," I plan. Next I spar to something else friend who had been hand over that weekend. She had come by the chapel while I was praying with Mary and had seen other men besides the one with the tartan top. "They looked make somebody's day ministers to me," she assumed, "so I figured you were play a part all precisely."
I plan about one record of angels in the Bible: "Are they not all ministering spirits, sent forth to pastor for them who shall be heirs of salvation?" (Hebrews 1:14). They had been praying at my elevation.