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I can smell her from two pews back. The stench of alcohol and cigarettes permeates the air, causing me to pop another breath mint into my mouth. As the strong peppermint overtakes my senses, I take a good look at the visitor. Hardly above 25 in age, she is poorly dressed in ripped jeans and a faded singlet. Hungover, most likely. She has come to the right place, hopefully she will learn a thing or two.
Smoothing my skirt, I glance back at my program just as the service starts. Since I was a little girl, I have been to this church every Sunday. I used to put on my best dress and shiniest shoes, and walk to St Marys with my family. Now I am 37 years old, and happily married with two gorgeous little girls. My faith and my family are stronger than ever.
In contrast, the girl looks like something from the homeless shelter down the street. What would her mother think? Then again, her mother probably isn't the best sort either. As the clock ticks on, my mind wanders. Before I know it, the service is finished. I am left with a busy mind and an empty piece of paper. I wonder what the sermon was about?
Oh well, time for a coffee! My husband is going to talk to Pastor Mark, and wishing to avoid any embarrassing comment on the sermon I didn't hear, I sidle past to talk to Diane and Jo. Although I try to avoid looking, I cannot help but peer over the visitors shoulder. There on her welcome sheet, I notice a small note, in spidery black handwriting. Suddenly, I'm curious. Moving up the aisle, I squint a little to make out the words 'Jesus loves me'.
Overcome, I sit back down with a thump. The girl turns around to see what the noise is, her eyes wide and frightened. Staring back at her, I take a moment to clear my head. Finally I know what to do. Introducing myself, I offer her a coffee. "Sure" she says, her eyebrows arched in surprise. I smile. I know I'm in the right place, and I think that this girl could teach me a thing or two.
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