l", I stalled figuring it was on of those "I-should-know-the-answer" questions. "No, I guess I don't", I managed to stammer. "At the end of the road is the Door", explained Pastor Coleman. "And the Door is not just an ordinary door made of wood or steel. No, it is Jesus himself who is the Door", he revealed. Hey, wait a minute, I thought Jesus was the captain, so, how can he be the door too. I wanted to ask but I dared not question such a person of authority. So, I kept my confusion to myself as Pastor Coleman went on to explain how to get the "Door" to open. This was the mysterious part. It seems we have this "repeat after me" dialog and then the door just swings open as if we were saying the magic words "Open Sesame".
             Sunday morning arrived; the church was packed with people clad in their best apparel. Stern faces filled the pews and I was convinced that all of them knew of the task that was set before me. The sermon finally ended and, as the music began to play, I nervously stepped out into the aisle and obediently started making my way to the front, which seemed like ten miles away. I could feel every eye in the church plastered on my trembling body as I finally reached the altar. Pastor Coleman's face displayed a comforting smile as he took my trembling hand and bade me not to be afraid. I then repeated the "magic words" just like we had rehearsed only days before.
             After the congregation had voted to accept my decision, I was directed to stand in the fro
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