Dear Team,

I found out on Twitter the morning after, not unlike the rest of the world. My heart broke; but unlike the rest of the world, I wept for lost souls.

Work emails flooded my browser while social media notifications filled the cracked screen on my phone.

What am I doing?” I asked myself as my mind raced through each career and family goal I had mapped out the night before.

What would the achievement of these marks mean when matched with eternity? How could I experience the majesty of Almighty and keep His message to myself?

I prayed, repented and then I went.

I grabbed a good book, The Good Book, and hopped into the passenger seat for the 4-hour drive to Las Vegas.

As we reached closer to the city, my husband shared a vision he had in prayer of a woman wearing a black dress standing outside of a hotel. His picture gave clarity to the paralyzing fear that suffocated my being. Someone needed freedom in that city.

The drive was familiar. Billboards of luxurious hotels, captivating nightlife, and the world’s greatest shows filled the desert sky. We fixed our eyes on the road until one sign demanded my husband’s attention. Childhood memories illuminated through his bright eyes.

They have a White Castle!”

We found our first stop and ate delicious hamburger sliders. We crumbled up dirty napkins and greased paper bags and stood to leave when our daughter caught the attention of an employee, Geri.

We shared the love of Christ as tears filled her beautiful blue eyes. Hugs and kisses sufficed the goodbye of new family members; it seemed as though more than just our stomachs were full after that meal.

We headed out, unsure of where to go next, but confident we’d know when we arrived.

After prayer filled our car on the campus of UNLV, my husband experienced an immediate migraine accompanied by severe nausea. We pulled over into a nearby hotel parking lot and decided it best to stay the night. His sickness ceased.

The gentleman who checked us in called for his manager, a tall woman wearing a silver cross to grace her black dress.

The next morning I shared Psalm 91, a prayer of protection for God’s children. Joy ripped through the fear that plagued this woman’s posture.

She was free.

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