The Ragamuffin Circus E-Book

Dr. Eric Sandras

• Herausgeber: Spines
• Kategorie: Religion und Spiritualität
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

The Ragamuffin Circus is a raw, grace-soaked journey into the messy beauty of real faith on the margins, where addicts, outcasts, and ordinary misfits collide with the relentless love of God. Drawing on his time with Brennan Manning, Eric Sandras shares raw stories and hard-won wisdom that reveal the margins not as places to fear, but as classrooms of grace.

From recovery meetings to homeless cafés and the back alleys of broken lives, this book shows that Christ’s love isn’t confined to polished sanctuaries but breaks in where shame, struggle, and second chances meet. With humor, honesty, and stubborn hope, The Ragamuffin Circus reminds us that redemption is never neat or predictable, it’s laughter and tears, graves turned into life, and God’s relentless mercy that meets us right where we are.

Leseprobe

The Ragamuffin Circus

What the Margins Teach Us About God, Ourselves, and Others

Dr. Eric Sandras

Dr. Eric Sandras

The Ragamuffin Circus

What the Margins Teach Us About God, Ourselves, and Others

All rights reserved

Copyright © 2025 by Dr. Eric Sandras

Cover design by Paul Brueggeman and Gabe Jacobson

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Published by Spines

ISBN 979-8-90001-499-9

Brennan Manning, Dr. Suuqiina and Qaumaniq, and Rick Olmstead:

Imperfect mentors of influence. Full of grace, honor, and love.

Contents

Acknowledgments

Introduction

1. Grace Unleashed

2. Ex Tenebris Lux

3. The Smell of the Gospel

4. Addicted to Grace

5. Happy Hour with Jesus

6. Grace is in the Pouring

7. Grace Meets Hate

8. Warlocks and Witches

9. Shower to the People

10. Flying Upside Down

11. “Won’t You Be My Neighbor?”

12. In the Shadow of the Cross

13. From Graves to Life

14. Flexible Faith

15. Lastly, How It Started

Endorsements

References

Acknowledgments

My life has been marked by stories—raw, redemptive, and filled with grace. The ones woven through these pages were never mine alone. They were shaped in community, carved out by shared struggle and holy risk. For those who’ve walked beside me and chose the path of calling over comfort, thank you.

To Cindy—my wife, my co-pastor, my unwavering friend. We’ve lost everything before, survived heartaches together and still found our love deeper. You remind me every day what mercy and grace looks like in flesh and blood. I may get a lot of the public credit for this ministry, but your behind the scenes sacrifices and leadership are treasured.

To my kids, Dakota and Carter—thank you for walking this road with such perseverance and depth. You’ve sacrificed more than most people will ever know, not just to support your parents' calling, but to live out your own. Your belief that all people are worthy of God’s love and acceptance fills my heart with a kind of gratitude that words can’t quite carry.

To Greg and Michelle Trujillo, Jason B., Chris and Mary, Greg and Abby, Bob and Tammy, Doc Holladay, the Next Level Leaders, Pastors Derek and Tessa, Rob, Kimberly, Joni and Damon, Bobby and Serena, Yoli, JD, and Curtis, and the faithful, enduring staff and leaders of The Sanctuary Church—your courage, grit, and stubborn faith have helped build more than a ministry. You’ve helped bring light to a movement.

My deepest gratitude to Seth and Rachel Enos. Together we dared to ask whether friendship could survive the demands of ministry—and we found out it could. Not only survive, but deepen. I’ll be grateful for that sacred “yes” for the rest of my life.

You’ve each made this journey possible. And you’ve reminded me that the real story isn’t about a platform—it’s about people. It's always been about Christ’s love for people.

Introduction

Brennan Manning Saved my Marriage.

Yeah, I know. That might sound dramatic. But I stand by it.

It’s strange how the Spirit sometimes chooses the unlikeliest of messengers. In my case, it was an aging, weather-beaten, divorced, Franciscan priest and self-described drunk who carried the medicine I didn’t even know I needed. Brennan Manning. A man who looked like both grace and struggle, whose voice cracked with sincerity, and whose eyes held that kind of soul-level depth that only comes from both being broken and being found.

Back then, I was a mullet-wearing, pierced, tatted-up young pastor with something to prove. I was hustling hard for Jesus—on the surface. My ministry trajectory was already a few degrees off the center of the cross. Ego dressed up like calling. Gifting potentially outpacing character. I could quote the red letters of the Gospels, but I was being baited by the blue checks and cool shoes of Christian celebrity.

Brennan saw through all of it.

I’ve said for years: “A bridge of love must be built strong enough to bear the weight of confrontation.” That’s what Brennan did for me. Before he ever spoke a hard truth into my life, he built that bridge. He saw me—not the platform version of me, not the guy grinding for the Kingdom while secretly worried he was hollow on the inside. He saw the real me. And he stayed.

I met Brennan by accident, if you believe in that kind of thing. It was 2004. My wife Cindy and I had been leading a church on the Olympic Peninsula—this wild mashup of recovering addicts, Native families, loggers, and artists. The kind of church that smelled like coffee, meth detox, and miracles. Out of that chaos came my first book, Buck Naked Faith, and with it, an invitation into the world of Christian conferences.

I was in Seattle for my denominational conference and my mentor—think Gandalf with a Bible—pulled me aside and said, "Hey, I need you to drive one of the speakers back and forth from his hotel."

"Seriously? I’m trying to network and sell books, not run a holy Uber."

But Gandalf was paying for my registration, so I said yes.

"His name’s Brennan Manning," he said.

I nodded like I knew who that was. I didn’t. Not really.

The first time I heard Brennan speak, though? Boom. It hit like a crossbow bolt to the chest. No fog machines. No hype. Just raw grace. This little man with a flower patch on his pants had words that grabbed my belovedness starved life.

After his session, I checked my breath, straightened my piercings, and went to pick him up. Gandalf introduced me like I was just the guy giving him a ride. No flattering hype.

"Really, G? Throw me a bone here.”

I offered Brennan my number in case he needed anything.

"I don’t have a cell phone," he said. "But I can call you from the hotel."

Sweet. My new spiritual hero is Amish.

Over the next few rides, we made small talk—Seattle weather, coffee, that kind of thing. But one night, after a particularly soul-shaking keynote, Brennan climbed into my car and asked if I had a copy of my book.

Lie. Lie to the holy man. Say no.

"Yeah, I’ve got a copy or two in the trunk." (Translation: I had a whole case back there.)

I handed him one and tried not to think about the opening line: "Sex with a stranger wasn’t supposed to end this way."

Yeah. That was the moment I questioned every choice I’d ever made.

Next morning, I picked him up in awkward silence. Fifteen minutes into the drive, Brennan finally spoke:

"I read a few chapters last night. Meant to read a couple pages, but Abba and I ended up having a long talk. There’s still duplicity in my life too," he said quietly. "God and I stayed up late dealing with it."

Oh no. I broke Brennan Manning.

Wait—what?

This man, this frail looking spiritual juggernaut, read my hot mess of a book and got convicted? Not because of its brilliance, but because of its honesty.

"Let’s talk more after the conference," he said. "Maybe I can teach you a few things. No promises. Here’s my number."

And just like that, I was in. Not as a peer. Not as a project. But as a fellow ragamuffin.

Over the next few years, we stayed loosely connected. He let me into his world a little—the Saints, some Rich Mullins, and what life was like on the road. We crossed paths at conferences and I’d absorb all the wisdom and grace I could over coffee or a meal. I read everything he wrote—twice. I told him about the addicts, the cutters, the homeless vets, the closet doubters, the disenfranchised Native American believers, and the suicide attempters that surrounded my life. He asked me the same question every time:

“And what have they taught you about the love of the Father?”

That was the soul-bending mantra he handed me. Not to go teach, but to go learn—from the broken. From the beautiful mess. From the ones the world passes by.

But here’s the part I’ll never forget.

A few years later, I sat with Brennan at a cafe under the glowing sun of Southern California. I was on staff at a megachurch, had just released my second book, and felt the momentum rising. I was ready to go full-time on the road—speaking, writing, building the brand. It was the beginning of the age of Christian celebrities and I was being invited to the party.

"Hey Brennan," I said. "Cindy and I decided it’s time. I’m stepping out of pastoring and into full-time itinerant ministry.” I basically wanted to be like Brennan, but cooler.

I waited for the slow affirming nod. The proud mentor moment.

Instead, he looked at me with those tired eyes and said something I’ll never forget:

"Eric, don’t do it. You’ve got an incredible wife and two kids who love you. If you take this road now, you might just end up an old, divorced drunk like me. Wait. Raise your kids. Love your wife. Then, when the time is right, travel together. But not yet."

That’s when it hit me: Brennan didn’t care about my platform. He cared about my soul.

I chose to wait. Not perfectly, but faithfully. And 20 years later, I’ve got a marriage still intact, two kids who still love their dad, and a lifetime of ragamuffin stories I wouldn’t trade for any stage.

So yeah—Brennan Manning saved my marriage. And tanked my brand. For both, I’ll be forever grateful.

This book is a collection of what I’ve learned since. Not from stages or book deals, but from the people who’ve sat across tables with tears in their eyes and stories tatted on their sleeves. From addicts and artists, baristas and barflies, single moms and porn loving dads.

From the beautiful mess of God’s grace lived out in real, raw lives.

I hope you’ll join me. Not just to learn about grace, but to bump into it. To bleed with it. To laugh and cry with it. To remember, the words of Brennan:

"That God loves you beyond worthiness and unworthiness, beyond fidelity and infidelity, that he loves you in the morning sun and the evening rain, that he loves you without caution, regret, boundary, limit or breaking point."

Welcome to the Ragamuffin Circus.

Chapter1

Grace Unleashed

"This vulgar grace is indiscriminate compassion. It works without asking anything of us. It's not cheap. It's free, and as such will always be a banana peel for the Orthodox foot and a fairy tale for the grown-up sensibility. Grace is sufficient even though we huff and puff with all our might to try and find something or someone it cannot cover. Grace is enough. He is enough. Jesus is enough.”

Brennan Manning, The Ragamuffin Gospel

Hector showed up at our church not long after getting out of prison. On the streets, they called him “Black Eyes”—not because he fought a lot (though he did), but because he’d had the whites of his eyes tattooed black to look like a demon. Yeah, for real. The guy literally altered his face to scare people.

One Sunday, I was teaching on anger—how it can be a gauge that tells us something’s wrong, but it’s a terrible guide when it comes to what we should do. During prayer time, Hector walked up to Pastor Tyler. No small talk. No filter. Just straight-up asked, “I’ve got anger toward the guy who killed my brother. I’ve been planning to kill him for revenge. Is that the kind of anger I’m supposed to let go of?”

Not your average prayer request at most churches. Pastor Tyler didn’t flinch. Just said gently, “Maybe God is inviting you to consider a different path.”

Not long after, Hector was baptized. It was this beautiful mess of a celebration—his recovery crew, his new church family, all packed into the sanctuary, shouting and clapping like someone just walked out of a tomb. Because in a way, he had.

One week later, the county sheriff’s homicide detective showed up at Hector’s place. The man who’d killed Hector’s brother had just been found—shot three times in the head, hands cut off. Classic gang-style execution.

The detective looked Hector dead in the eyes and asked, “Where were you last Sunday night between six and eight pm?”

Hector didn’t panic. He just said, “I was being baptized.”

He called up a buddy who’d filmed the whole thing, and together they showed the detective the video, timestamp and all. Hector was cleared on the spot.

I tell that story because it’s more than just a wild plot twist—it’s a picture of grace interrupting the cycle. Grace rerouting a life. Grace stepping in right where the story was about to fall off the edge, and saying, “Not this time.”

Hector wanted revenge. Straight up. His brother had been murdered, and all he could think about was payback. But the God of grace has a different take on “Vengeance is Mine”.  And here’s the wild part—while Hector was surrendering his life to Christ, laying down all that anger and bloodlust at the foot of the cross, the man who killed his brother lost his own life. Same moment. That’s not coincidence—that’s divine timing. Now I’m not saying God killed that other gang banger— his own life choices did that. Just like Hector’s life choices saved his.

That day, Hector didn’t just get saved—he got a message straight from the Good King, loud and clear, in a language his soul could understand. God wasn’t just forgiving Hector, He was freeing him. Freeing him from the weight of revenge, from the pull to settle the score. After that, Hector had no reason to look back. Grace had already handled what he couldn’t.

It was personal. Precise. Painfully beautiful. If God’s grace can meet a man like Hector in the middle of his rage and rewrite his story that completely… shouldn’t we be willing to believe the same grace can change ours?

Jesus in the Cold

Steven is one of the latest souls God has brought into my orbit. His contagious, tear-streaked love for Jesus messes with my comfort and challenges any passivity I’ve still got hiding in the corners of my life.

He’s been working through the recovery program at our city’s homeless mission. Once he got the green light to attend church as part of the program, I’d watch this 280-pound Latino man sit in the pew and cry through every single service. Not because he was sad—because he was overwhelmed with gratitude. Every Sunday. Like clockwork.

After a few weeks, I finally mustered the nerve to interrupt his sacred rhythm with God and ask if I could take him to breakfast sometime. He said “Yes” without missing a beat.

As he told me his story over eggs and coffee, the tears I’d been seeing every Sunday started to make a whole lot more sense. “Dr. E,” he said, “all I wanted to do was meth, party, listen to rock and roll, and have sex.” He said it with the blunt honesty of someone who’d lived it. Like those were the Big Four he used to keep the pain at bay.

“But God kept sending messengers to me on the street,” he said. “Did you know God can talk to you through another addict, a homeless person—or even a whore?”

He laughed when he said that, but his eyes were dead serious. “Now I’m saved and I want to serve others. I even have a job. Even my sister believes me now cuz’ she said, ‘You really did get saved—because you got a job!’”

He told me about the time he got kicked out of the program for smuggling in a bottle of vodka. He ended up out on the streets in the cold. “I kept telling Jesus, ‘I’m cold,’” he said. “And Jesus told me, ‘I know it’s cold out here.’ I said it again, and He said it again. Three times. And that’s when it hit me—He wasn’t in heaven somewhere warm getting His feet rubbed by angels. He was with me. In my sin. In my cold.”

Here come the tears again—streaming down Steven’s face, and now mine.

That’s the touch of grace, right there. When it shows up not in sanitized sanctuaries, but in back alleys and breakfast booths and broken-down souls who’ve finally stopped running. Grace doesn’t just rescue—it redeems. It sits with you in the cold and tells you the fire of God hasn’t gone out. Not even close.

Stop “Shoulding” on Yourself

Let me tell you what I’ve come to believe deep down in my bones: God’s story is and has always been about movement. Not just physical movement, but soul movement. Heart movement. From bondage to freedom. From chaos to healing. From wandering to promise. That’s the arc. It’s been that way since Egypt. Since Eden. Since my life in Los Angeles, Las Vegas and here on the dark side of Colorado Springs. Every time your life and mine took a few wrong turns and we wondered if God had moved out of the neighborhood.

Somewhere along the way, though, most of the people I meet—including folks who’ve spent years in church pews—carry this gnawing sense that God’s mostly just disappointed in them. Like He’s holding a cosmic clipboard, making tally marks every time they mess up. You feel it in the sighs people let out when they talk about God. You see it in their body language—this low-grade spiritual shame that hangs on their shoulders like a wet hoodie.

But here’s the thing: Romans 8:1 kicks that lie straight in the teeth. "There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus." None. Nada. Zilch. If you’re walking with Jesus, shame has no legal right to squat in your soul or take up rent in your head.

Still, a lot of us live stuck in the swamp of condemnation. You know what I mean. You hear it in the little whispers: “I should have known better... I shouldn’t have done that... If I were a real Christian, I wouldn’t still be struggling with this.” That’s what I call "shoulding" on yourself. And honestly? It's toxic. It's religious guilt dressed up like conviction, but it's not from Jesus. Jesus doesn’t play shame games.

I’ve been accused more than once of being pastorally soft on sin. Of coddling people, enabling them to stay stuck. And you know what? I get it. Grace makes religious folks nervous. But the truth is, most of the people who walk through the doors of our little church already know they’re struggling. They’re not coming in thinking they’ve got it all together. They’re coming in hoping that the weight they’ve been carrying might get a little lighter. We’re not pretending people aren’t broken. We’re just saying there’s a way out that’s stronger than the way in. That way out? It’s called grace.

Now, I did an entire five-week series on grace. You can find it online if you want the deep dive. But let me give you the punchline: grace isn’t just some soft, fluffy idea about God being nice to us when we don’t deserve it. It’s more than “unmerited favor.” More than the Sunday School acronym “God’s Riches At Christ’s Expense.”

Grace is power. It’s motion. It’s God’s own presence at work in your actual, messy, real-life story. In the margins of my Bible, I’ve scribbled this down next to the word grace: “God’s empowering presence in your life enabling you to be who He’s created you to be and do what He’s called you to do.”

That kind of grace doesn’t just pat you on the back and say, “There, there.” It gets down in the dirt with you and lifts you up. It looks you in the eye and says, “You’re not stuck. You’re not finished. You’re not your worst decision.”

Even Jesus, in His humanity, needed grace—not as unmerited favor, but as divine empowerment. Luke 2:40 says, "The child grew and became strong; he was filled with wisdom, and the grace of God was on him." That’s not theological filler. That’s the real deal. Jesus leaned into the Spirit’s power to grow, to stay aligned with His Father, to become who He was meant to be.

Grace Unleashed, Not Rationed

And then there’s this powerhouse of a verse: Romans 5:20—"Where sin increased, grace increased all the more." You want to talk about scandalous? That’s scandalous. That’s grace on steroids.

Let’s break it down. The word "increase" in the Greek has to do with measurement. Sin grows by inches, by moments, by choices. Nobody wakes up one day and decides, “Today I’ll ruin my life.” It’s subtle. Incremental. Like turning up the volume one click at a time.

Think about anger in a relationship. It starts as irritation, then resentment, then passive-aggression, then maybe full-on rage. Or addiction—it starts with a taste, then a craving, then a habit, then a lifestyle.

Same with porn. "It’s just swimsuit models… just an actor with their shirt off… just one late-night scroll." Flirtation? "Just a joke, just some harmless banter." Debt? "What’s another hundred on top of twelve grand?"

Even time—we say yes to one more thing, one more obligation, until there’s no space left for rest, for family, for God. You can always have time with your kids, loved ones, self— until you can’t. One compromise at a time.

The enemy always plays the long game. He’ll lead you a little further, make you stay a little longer, then stick you with a bill you can’t afford. That’s how sin increases.

But here’s the best news of all: grace doesn’t increase like that. It doesn’t measure itself out teaspoon by teaspoon. Grace unleashed overflows.

Romans 5:20 says grace increases "all the more." That phrase means it doesn’t just match the level of sin—it surpasses it. It drowns it. It floods it. It’s not a drip. It’s a tidal wave.

1 John 3:1 echoes this: "See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!" Lavished. Not rationed. Not conservative. Lavished like when I pour my root beer to fast over ice. Like a busted wine skin at a wedding. Like five loaves feeding thousands. Like Jesus bleeding grace from every wound on the cross.

The darker sin gets, the more radiant grace becomes. Why? Because grace doesn’t just cover sin—it reigns over it. That’s the goal.

Romans 5:21 wraps it up: "So that, just as sin reigned in death, so also grace might reign through righteousness to bring eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord."

That’s the invitation. God isn’t calling you out of sin just to drop you off in spiritual no-man’s-land. He’s calling you from bondage to freedom and on to promise.

And listen, Kingdom freedom doesn’t mean you do whatever the heck you want. Let’s not cheapen it like that. Freedom doesn’t mean you get to flip off the past and run wild into some self-indulgent version of “living your own truth.” That’s not freedom. That’s just another kind of bondage with better PR.

Real freedom—Kingdom freedom—means you’re finally able to stop hustling for worth, to stop dragging around your chains like a badge of honor or a secret shame. It means you’re free to choose what is life-giving. What brings joy that sticks, not just pleasure that fades. It means you’re no longer under the thumb of guilt, fear, or addiction. You’re free to step into beauty, into goodness, into the kind of life Jesus has always had in mind for you—the kind of life that pulses with purpose and breathes resurrection into dead places.

Grace isn’t a pass. It’s a path. It doesn’t let you off the hook; it shows you the way forward. Grace doesn’t excuse the mess, it empowers you to walk out of it—shaky legs, bruised knees, and all. It’s not a spiritual hall pass so you can stay stuck doing whatever numbs you. It’s a divine invitation to become who you really are when all the shame is stripped away and the Spirit breathes new fire in your lungs.

So when people say, “Aren’t you worried that kind of message will make people think they can do whatever they want?” I say, if they’ve really tasted grace—like really tasted it—they won’t want to do whatever they want. They’ll want more of the Jesus who rescued them. They’ll want to live free, not just forgiven.

That’s what grace does. So stop shoulding on yourself. Stop living like The Good Father is mad at you. Start walking like someone whose chains have been broken and whose name is known in heaven. There’s grace for you—not just enough to get by, but enough to carry you all the way home.

Let it flood. Let it reign. Let it rewrite your story.

* * *

Bringing It Home

1. Just a Poke

Hector got his nickname from the streets. What’s a nickname or label (good or bad) someone gave you growing up—and what did it say about how people saw you?

2. Surface Reflection

The chapter says many folks live like God’s disappointed in them. When you imagine God’s face toward you right now—is He smiling, sighing, or silent?

3. Connection

Steven wept every week, not from sadness, but from gratitude. When was the last time grace moved you to tears—or should have, but didn’t?

4. Gut Check

The chapter talks about sin building by inches—one compromise at a time. Where have you been slowly turning up the volume on something you know needs to be silenced?

5. Soul-Level

If grace isn’t just a free pass but a divine shove forward, what’s the one area of your life where you need to stop waiting for permission and start walking in freedom?

Chapter2

Ex Tenebris Lux

"The men and women who are truly filled with light are those who have gazed deeply into the darkness of their own imperfect existence.”

Brennan Manning, The Furious Longing of God

Every recovery meeting, every Sunday morning, and every place we are invited to share our stories, we read this Kingdom sized invitation to all who will hear:

“If you are a saint…sinner…abused…abuser…heartbroken…homeless…suicidal…lost…fearful…adhd…liar…hypocrite…bastard…lover…whore…cutter…tweaked…alone…alcoholic…adopted…abandoned…addicted…felon…leftover…divorced… disillusioned…lgbtq…old…young…cheater…wealthy…wise…poor…despised… infected…rejected… pierced and tatted… or just a misfit— you are welcome here.

Because God loves you as you are and not as you should be.”

At the Sanctuary Church we like to say that church service starts at 7:30am when our Ragamuffin Cafe cooking team arrives to start cracking 40 dozen eggs and frying bacon. The parking lot already has a handful of asphalt sleepers and early risers from under the bridge by the time those volunteers arrive. Other Kingdom to the Margin servants trickle in soon after— some to set up our Shower to the People, haircut stations, or the emergency clothing closet. Some are just there to help wash hands or share a meal with our under-housed neighbors.

So “being the church” starts Sunday mornings at 7:30 for many, while “being the worshipping” church starts at 10am for a celebration of God’s goodness and some preaching. Often times there is as much of a party in the parking lot as there is in the pews. People around this Ragamuffin Circus love to celebrate… and eat… and smoke… and feel seen and loved.

A Sermon in Motion

One particular high-octane summer worship service, one of our street regulars came in to celebrate with the masses. As she stepped through the back entrance of the sanctuary, the two things caught my attention were her summer casual wear and her clear inebriation. She was wearing a two sizes too small green tank-top that barely covered her well endowed feminine figure. And she was dancing… oh my, was she dancing. Reba loves worship and today was no exception. The arm raising, body swaying, get fully into the vibe type of dancing. The singing and dancing in the love of God who is Father, Son, and Spirit fueled by the inhibition of Jack Daniels and not knowing church etiquette type of dancing.

The pastoral side of me was suddenly on alert, merely DEFCON 5… I mean sometimes I think I would actually like a predictable, pleasant, and financially profitable Sunday morning. As I looked around I saw new guests and some parents visiting their kid’s church while in town for the weekend. I saw our worship leader seeing the same potential awkwardness that I could see entering from the back of the sanctuary. We both could see Reba, whose heart we knew, whose story we cared about, and whose restoration we believed in.

I can just let her dance and sing back here. Most everyone is facing forward so its really not worth interrupting her worship for a few more minutes. Just stay back here Reba, please…

So much for my wishes. Reba looked up towards the front where many of her recovery friends where seated and like a broken piece of fine jewelry she was pulled toward the magnetic presence of her friends. Up the aisle she drifted and danced oblivious to the others who were worshipping her Jesus or this pastor who just went to DEFCON 4.