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Because our former small-town Church was not a wealthy one,
our pastor was dependent on parishioners for upkeep and
maintenance of the church.

Once he asked my husband, Sam, to wire lights.
The only way to reach the wiring was to enter the attic
above the altar and crawl over the ceiling by balancing on
the rafters.

Concerned for my husband's safety, I waited in a pew.

Unbeknownst to me, some folk were congregating in
the vestibule. They paid little attention to me, probably
assuming I was praying.

Worried about my husband, I looked up toward the ceiling and
yelled, "Sam, Sam, are you up there? Did you make it okay?"

There was quite an outburst from the vestibule when Sam's
hearty voice echoed down, "Yes, I made it up here just
fine!"

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