Alfred Cyr sits in a 1970's arm chiar, his hair buzzed, not like he used to wear it, long and black, with a black hat. Angela and Michael are on the window couch, Brian in an arm chair beneath the clothing rack, me next to him, Moira next to me, or else sitting with the kids at the table, colouring and crafting. Alfred's son, Chris, and a sweet girl, Salina, visit between the adult and children's world. This is our Sunday Circle at Community Outreach.
Alfred is sharing his story, as only Alfred can. He says his first prayer was a swear. He says he doesn't study the scripture; he says a prayer for understanding and then he reads. He apologizes for not having any papers behind his name, any letters, any degrees, but one by one, all of us, with our bachelor and master degrees, we assure Alfred he can preach for us any time. We know he holds a spiritual doctorate, his thesis beginning in solitary confinement, that prayer swear, as he trusted Jesus words, Jesus who came for the sick, those in need of a doctor.
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