James and I walked into the small garden behind the church.
Under a faded white umbrella, there was a small table, and an elderly man in a priest's robe was sitting beside it.
I slowly approached him. He was in his fifties, with silver-white hair and a beard. His face was gentle and peaceful, and his eyes sparkled with wisdom. Instantly, I felt a sense of calm. I knew I had finally overcome my fear of encountering a fake priest.
"Are you here to see me, God's children?" he asked, his voice warm.
I nodded.
"Please, sit down," he gestured to the table. "Enjoy this peaceful afternoon and the finest apple pie in the world."
James and I exchanged a glance. It seemed like the priest was expecting us, but that didn't make sense. He'd never met us before.
Was this just the kind of care a pr
