Twenty-three years ago today on June 13, 1994, I awoke to a nightmare like experience. I will never forget it. I remember the telephone ringing early that Monday morning, and immediately having an uneasiness in my spirit. The next thing I knew I was belted over in a painful pool of unconsolable tears on my cold, tiled kitchen floor. For some, their gut wrenching sorrow is released solely through tears that are only seen and never heard; but on this day, my wailing cries of lament were anything but silent, and they immediately prompted my husband to cry out for help too. Amidst the foggy veil over my mind, the only thing I remember my husband saying to our Pastor on the other end of the phone was, “I need your help.”
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