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Looking back, I now see it was not the exit door which I thought it was at the time. It turned out to be the entrance to the life and love I so desperately needed.I had no idea where I was going, nobody seemed to care. This was a Friday afternoon. I took the train to the next city, disembarking, I wandered around, now in an unfamiliar area. I passed by a building where singing came from.It was joyous singing, claiming the gospel. I stopped and listened, cold and hungry. With nothing else to do I stepped inside. Unnoticed, I sat at the rear of a small gathering of worshippers. At least I was warmer inside.The meeting went on for just over an hour. As it concluded, I shifted uneasily. People socialised with each other, everyone seemed happy and so alive. As I got up to leave a friendly, middle-aged lady stopped me. She introduced herself as Pastor John's wife, Sharon and we shook hands.She was nice, very gently asking if I had enjoyed the service. Not knowing what to say, tears started. She had to get away. She had to find help. Sarah pressed her weight against the stage door and stumbled out of the back of the auditorium and into the teacher's parking zone.Coach Faye was there to catch her as she started to faint.?Sarah! Oh, Sarah!? Faye gathered the naked body of the young woman in her arms and cradled her. ?What happened to you?" Sarah wrapped her arms around herself as she leaned against Faye. The coach patted at the distraught woman’s face, wiping the tears from her eyes as Sarah cried silently in the dark, asphalt-covered lot. Sarah nuzzled against the warmth of Faye’s jacket and croaked softly, ?I want to go home. Please. I just want to go home??***Two months later, Sarah stood on the very stage where she had almost died.The auditorium was packed with people who had come to hear her speak about what she had learned during her time as a demonstration model in the public education system. She had become a celebrity after publishing her treatise on crime.
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