She interrupted everything. Slowly but deliberately, she approached the platform as we all stared in wonder. Apparently she had no idea she was disrupting a very prestigious gathering of clergy. There must have been 500 of us, all ministers, sitting silently in our lovely clothes at the posh Grand Hotel, enjoying a conference on how to be more efficient in the ministry. Suddenly this woman had emerged and walked right down the center aisle. Now she cautiously extended her hand to our speaker, releasing a worn piece of paper from her grasp. "Here's my name. Please, please pray for me," she humbly pleaded.
I was recently scared — really, really scared. I saw something that so frightened me it threw me back and stopped me cold in my tracks. What I saw was ugly, threatening and dangerous. It was large, intimidating and daunting. What was it? Spots! I saw spots. I have seen spots that freaked me out before — age spots...well just one, but it was there, and its presence was horrifying. I have seen other spots too: sore spots, weak spots and soft spots. But none of these shook me like the spots I saw recently: blind spots. Blind spots don't show up very often. They hide, camouflaged nicely in their environment. But on this day, the blind spot was there, right out in the open — a visible sighting. I should probably mention that the blind spot I observed wasn't my own — the reason I was able to see it.