Sunday Morning

The cement floor was cold against my knees. I could hear the shuffle of people making their way through the aisles and out of the room. There was the echoing of a voice asking another, "is she okay?." The question bounced through the nearly deserted room, under chairs to where I was.

There was something incredibly humbling about letting go in that moment. I was broken and without words: I didn't know what to ask, I didn't know what to say. I prayed "Lord, I want to be authentic."