He knew that. And he knew my eyes were on them. But salvation was more important.

I went with him to church on Sunday. I recalled my childhood Sunday School days as we carried on. I don't recall repeating the Friday scene that Sunday morning. But the folks would not give up until they knew that Jesus was residing inside me. They fed me that afternoon and encouraged me to seek the Lord. At one stage I felt the heat, the pressure, and almost chickened out. I hate people telling me what to do, but these folks meant well. By the way, they'd just given me the best mouth-watering lunch I'd had for months.

The sisters were persistent but lovingly so. I could see it in their eyes. To please them, I went down on my knees again as they gathered around me in one of the sisters' home. Big women around me. I felt hot. They asked me to see Jesus on the cross, to behold Him bleeding for me. I wasn't going see anything. I was hot, so I said, yeah I saw Him. They wailed and leaped for joy. I was saved, they proclaimed. With smiles, they urged me to testify during the evening service. I thought they were quite naïve. Why couldn't they tell that I was lying? That I did not see any Jesus?

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