“That’s what money is for.”
“She thinks she’s a star now.”
“Imagine embarrassing the pastor like that.”
Some defended her timidly, but most criticized her openly. The wealthiest woman heard the whispers as she walked toward her car. Each step felt heavy. Each whisper wounded her.
But deep down, despite the shame and confusion, she was still convinced that she had done the right thing.
That was the part she couldn’t explain.
When she got home that evening, she locked herself in her room and sat silently on the edge of her bed. The events of the ceremony kept replaying in her mind.
Why would God prevent her from receiving prayers? Or was she making a terrible mistake?
She buried her face in her hands, searching deep within herself for answers, but no explanation came. Only the same words echoed over and over again in her mind.
The following Sunday, Mrs. Grace returned to church, tormented by an inner conflict. Throughout the journey, she kept asking herself the same question.
Did I overreact last week?
The shame of this event still haunted her everywhere. Some members barely acknowledged her. Others looked at her suspiciously, as if she had committed a terrible act against the pastor.
Despite all this pressure, she still couldn’t get rid of the warning that kept echoing within her.
The service began normally. Then came the time for testimonies. A man rushed towards the altar, the microphone clutched in his hands. His voice trembled as he spoke.
“Last Sunday, Dad said a death arrow was flying around us. That same week, I had a terrible accident on the highway.”
The church immediately fell silent.
The man continued: “The bus rolled several times. People died instantly, but by some miracle, I survived without a single fracture.”
Murmurs of astonishment rippled through the auditorium. Tears streamed from the man’s eyes.
“I know it was my father’s laying on of hands that saved my life.”
The entire church erupted in joy. Shouts of delight rang out. Some began speaking in tongues. Others applauded with emotion.
