Article by Carl Mastriciana
Cheryl sat in my office and tearfully told me her strange story. Just the day before, her pastor had taken her by the hands as he counseled her. The dimly lit room had been hushed. He unfolded her tightly-closed fists and gently pressed her palms against his desk. Then he barely touched his own fingertips against hers.
“Now close your eyes,” he quietly instructed. “Picture yourself as a tiny child. Do you remember being two years old?”
“Yes”. . . Cheryl’s voice broke.
“That’s right. You’re hurt and confused. Your father has just left you alone after an abusive incident.” Cheryl began to sob.
“You’re all by yourself. Frightened. You’re wearing only your diapers and a little shirt. There is a knock on the door. You go to the door and open it. Suddenly the room is flooded with dazzling light. It’s Jesus!”
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