Hell’s terror, my sinful complicity (whatever that was) and the saving love of God. All told with flimsy Bible figures on dingy, flannel covered cardboard.
Fear or maybe hope churned in my gut. I raised my hand, was taken aside. I leaned in to listen as the kindly old lady’s warm breath puffed on my face. I made a choice, the right one, to ask Jesus in my heart, followed her lead repeating “the prayer.”
“How do you feel?” She asked. “Different? Better? Can you tell God is near?”
“Nope.” I answered. “Feels about the same as all the other times.”