Continuation of Chapter 9
First Congregational Church.
Rev. Laura Vail Fregin
The church is quiet as I stand at the altar, my voice calm but commanding, my words clear and grounded. On the altar behind i, eight candles burn steadily, their flames small but bright—a symbol of the light I'm about to speak on.
I looks out at the congregation, my eyes meeting theirs, not with the distant gaze of someone delivering a lecture, but with the warmth of someone sharing something deeply personal.
"You see these lights here," I begin, my voice steady. "They aren't just for decoration. They represent something far greater—something that impacts every aspect of our lives. Light isn't just what helps us see; it's what guides us. It's the truth that leads us through the dark moments of our lives, the wisdom that illuminates our paths when everything else seems uncertain."
I pause, allowing my words to sink in. The congregation listens, leaning in slightly, captivated by my sincerity.
"Light is understanding," I continue, my tone firm yet gentle. "It's the revelation that comes from the Word of God. It's the insight that breaks through confusion, bringing clarity and peace. The Bible tells us in Psalm 119:105, 'Your word is a lamp for my feet, a light on my path.' It's not just poetry—it's practical. It's saying that without this light, we stumble. But with it, we see clearly."
I pace slightly, my hand gesturing towards the Scriptures I have laid out before me. "In Isaiah, it says, 'If they do not speak according to this word, they have no light of dawn.' It's a warning that without this light—this understanding—we can lose our way. But with it, we find direction, even in the darkest times."
I stop, looking directly at the congregation. "Light affects how we live," she says simply. "It's not just about existing; it's about thriving. The quality of your life, the length of your days, they're all influenced by the light you allow in. Every new revelation from God's Word brings life—real life that sustains you, lifts you up when you're down, and pushes you forward when you feel stuck."
My voice softens, yet it carries the weight of conviction. "In John 1:4-5, it says, 'In Him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.' This light isn't just something we talk about on Sundays. It's what we need every single day. It's what pulls us out of the shadows of despair and lifts us into the light of hope."
I take a breath, my gaze moving across the room. "Light has the power to change everything. It's what gives you the strength to rise, to shine, and to keep going even when things are tough. Isaiah 60:1 says, 'Arise, shine, for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord rises upon you.' This isn't just encouragement; it's a call to action. It's saying that when you embrace this light, you can rise above anything."
I step back, my final words hanging in the air. "Let this light be more than just a symbol. Let it be the force that guides you, the strength that sustains you, and the hope that lifts you. Embrace it, and watch how it transforms your life."
Hollywood Bowl.
JOHN BROWN
The evening air buzzes with anticipation as we arrive at the Hollywood Bowl. I park the car, and Kevin and I step out, greeted by the distant hum of the crowd. The stadium looms before us, grand and imposing, its seats gradually filling with excited fans.
We head backstage, the energy in the air palpable. The dressing room is a flurry of activity—artists and crew members moving with purpose, each focused on their tasks. I strip off my street clothes and slip into my performance gear: a white T-shirt, a red and blue windrunner jacket, red trousers, and a pair of red Air Jordans. I glance over at Kevin as he changes into his outfit—a black T-shirt, a red and blue varsity jacket, matching red trousers, and his own pair of red Jordans. We exchange a nod, a silent acknowledgment of the moment ahead.
Makeup artists work quickly, applying just enough to keep us camera-ready but still natural. They hand us our microphones, and as we walk towards the stage, the familiar rush of adrenaline begins to build.
As we step onto the stage, the crowd erupts in cheers, their excitement like a wave crashing over us. Phones light up, recording every moment as fans raise their hands in welcome. The noise is deafening, but it fuels our spirits. Kevin takes the lead, his voice ringing out confidently through the stadium's sound system.
"Good afternoon, everyone!" he calls out, his enthusiasm infectious. "How are you all doing today?" The crowd roars in response, their energy matching his. Kevin grins, his eyes scanning the sea of faces before him. "We're the Boanerges, and we're here to worship the Lord with our latest song, *Million Little Miracles.* If you know it, sing along with us! Let's worship the living God together!"
I take a deep breath as the opening chords play, the melody familiar and comforting. I close my eyes briefly, feeling the presence of something greater, then start to sing:
"All my life I've been carried by grace
Don't ask me how 'cause I can't explain
It's nothing short of a miracle I'm here.
I've got some blessings that I don't deserve
I've got some scars but that's how you learn
It's nothing short of a miracle I'm here."
My voice resonates through the amphitheater, each word drawing the audience closer. Kevin joins in as we move into the chorus, the crowd already singing along:
"I've got miracles on miracles, a million little miracles, yeah.
Miracles on miracles, count your miracles
One, two, three, four, I can't even count 'em all.
Yeah."
The atmosphere shifts as Kevin picks up the second verse, his voice rich with emotion:
"You held me steady so I wouldn't give up
You opened doors that nobody could shut
I hope I never get over what You've done.
I wanna live with an open heart
I wanna live like I know who You are
I hope I never get over what You've done."
By the time we reach the chorus again, the crowd is fully immersed, singing with a passion that sends shivers down my spine. The stage lights blur slightly as I lose myself in the music, the words flowing effortlessly:
"I've got miracles on miracles, a million little miracles
Miracles on miracles, count your miracles
One, two, three, four, I can't even count 'em all."
Together, Kevin and I launch into the bridge, the audience joining us with fervor:
"I can't even, I can't even count 'em all
I can't even, I can't even count 'em all
I can't even, I can't even count 'em all
One, two, three, four, I can't even count 'em all..."
The energy in the stadium rises to a fever pitch. The Spirit moves through the crowd—people raise their hands, some fall to their knees, others burst into tears. The power of the moment is undeniable. Healings, transformations, and breakthroughs seem to happen right before our eyes as the music swells, lifting the crowd higher with each note.
As the song reaches its peak, Kevin and I belt out the final chorus with everything we've got, the sound of thousands of voices echoing around us:
"I've got miracles on miracles, a million little miracles
Yeah
Miracles on miracles, count your miracles
One, two, three, four, I can't even count 'em all."
We close with an outro, the last notes hanging in the air like a benediction:
"One, two, three, four, I can't even count 'em all
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.
One, two, three, four, I can't even count 'em all
Every day there's a miracle
One, two, three, four, I can't even count 'em all
Last time, right here
One, two, three, four, I can't even count 'em all."
As the music fades, the crowd is in a state of awe. Some fall under the power of the Holy Spirit, others speak in tongues, while many simply raise their phones to capture the moment. We take a step back, bowing our heads in respect, letting the presence of God fill the space.
With a final nod to the audience, Kevin and I exit the stage, the sound of their cheers still ringing in our ears, the impact of what just happened settling deep into our souls.
First Congregational Church
REV. LAURA VAIL FREGIN
My voice is steady as I continue my sermon, my eyes moving across the congregation. "Your life," I say, "is in God's hands. Not in the hands of any witch or curse, but in the hands of the Almighty." I pause, letting the words sink in. "No one can steer your life's journey but Him. Know your rights, and you'll find the strength to face whatever comes your way."
Suddenly, the sharp crack of gunfire echoes from outside, freezing the room in an instant. Fear ripples through the congregation. Some drop to the floor, seeking shelter behind pews, while others, including me, crouch down, staying calm but vigilant.
The church doors burst open, and thirty men storm in, their faces half-hidden by black and white scarves, rifles raised. The leader, a man with a stern expression, barks orders in Arabic, his voice harsh and commanding.
"اجمعوا الجميع الى المذبح!" he yells.
His men move swiftly, kicking and dragging the terrified congregation to their feet, forcing them toward the altar. Cries of fear mix with whispered prayers as the group is herded together, surrounded by the armed men.
The leader strides forward, pulling off his scarf to reveal a weathered face hardened by years of conflict. He switches to English, his voice cold and threatening. "Are you the one preaching about salvation? About your God?"
I stand, my eyes steady on his. "Yes, I am. What do you want from us?"
A cruel smile twists his lips. "I've warned you to stop. Close this church. But you refused." His voice lowers, each word dripping with menace. "Now, you'll all die for it—unless you deny your God. The one you call the Messiah."
I don't flinch. "Why should I deny the Son of God, who has cleansed me with His blood? The King of Kings, the Lord of Lords?"
The leader laughs, a harsh, mocking sound that echoes through the church. He turns to his men, speaking in Arabic, their conversation a mystery to those huddled in fear. Then, he raises his voice again, addressing the congregation with scorn. "Deny your God, and you shall be spared!"
The guns are raised, the cold metal barrels aimed at the terrified worshippers. Cries of fear rise, faces turned away, tears streaming down cheeks. I remain defiant, my faith unshaken even as death stares them down.
To be continued...