The church I attended as a teen had a gold-colored carpet, cream-colored walls, and a dark-stained wood trim. In the front was a baptistry, inset and framed by walls on either side. All along the front of the sanctuary, even over the baptistry, were decorative dark wood strips, attached to the wall and descending from the ceiling, approximately a foot apart and eighteen inches long.
At one time, I knew just how many of those decorative strips there were. I had counted every one of them. Our pastor in those days was an older man in his final pastorate, and he was not what you would call a dynamic speaker. To keep myself from falling asleep, I would count the strips. Some sermons required as many as three recounts.
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