When my nephew Joel was six, his best friend was Al Kopotus. I assumed the boy was Greek. Turns out, he was from the Land of Nod. Al was Joel's imaginary friend.
One Sunday, as my sister sat with the sleepy congregation, Joel suddenly rose from the pew and asked the preacher if he would pray for his friend. Al, Joel told the solemn worshipers, had fallen from a Ferris wheel at the State Fair, and had died.
The congregation shed a collective tear as the preacher led his flock in prayer.
Mortified, my sister bowed her head.
Joel found closure.
