Pressure

Turnstiles led us into caged alignments as we filed into the dome. Those on crutches moved to the head of lines while the wheelchair-bound were ushered in by smiling, plain-clothed workers. There was no security and if any hostility had broached the sidewalk curb of the dome it was graciously and willingly checked at the door. Singers highlighted by Amy Grant sang songs laden with the same message; that there is hope in the world. It was a soft sell. It was a simple platform that assumed none of the grandeur that an 1850’s tent revival may have deserved. After Graham had spoken for an hour, throngs of people seeking salvation were led onto the field. They walked in three lines, twenty abreast, from sections of the dome. Then I noticed the same thing was happening on our side. Three lines, in perfect formation, were born from the sections in which I sat. I stood awestruck as those in wheelchairs wheeled themselves slowly, arduously negotiating the Astroturf of the Metrodome. Graham’s arms reached out to figuratively touch each and every member who sought His salvation by accepting the word. He reached out to every student or blue-collar worker who found that their life was going nowhere fast and had surrendered it to Jesus like I had facilely done many months before.

I did not go down on that field and I was not expected to go. Some Christians, whether they are born once or twice, are more sincere than others. Some genuinely do not have an ulterior motive in befriending you. After a suitable and convincing sojourn of truth the pilgrims filed peacefully back to their sections in the same manner as they had come. Nothing had changed and the magic that I had really been hoping to see never happened. There was some more singing; real, uplifting gospel, revival type singing with the crowd clapping as their standing ovations morphed into dancing. I was smiling and dancing with them all.

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As the pressure of the dome blew us out the doors opposite the turnstiles through which we’d passed I looked back to see if I had missed any magic. Then I saw those on crutches and in wheelchairs being blow out; the latter spinning to a stop on the sidewalk in front of the Dome. They were the same; nothing magically faded like when Forest Gump ran and he gradually lost his braces through Hollywood special effects. The smiles were brighter though and those pilgrims were filled with hope, positivity and a constructive attitude about their disability. That was magic to me.

　

Fine Line Writing

MB Moshe's Writing Services:

I humbly offer my services as a writer of historically-based fiction, general fiction, and creative nonfiction.  Based on my resume (See side column), I feel qualified to bring a positive touch to your writing.  Fees are negotiable.  However .12 per word is a ball park guide.  I offer:

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