As I got to it I stopped, closed my eyes and cried out to God, asking if in some miraculous way he might shut the shop I was stood in front of. 
It wasn't a sex shop pedalling pornography or a new age boutique that offered tarot card reading. It was a Christian bookshop.
Don't get me wrong, I still love Jesus, but as I stood outside and looked in as I had many times before I could not bear it any longer. 
I remembered my last visit. As I had walked in the gentleman behind the counter hadn't so much as acknowledged me from behind his copy of The Church Times. I scanned the shelves but couldn't find what I was looking for. I hovered hopefully for a minute or so before leaving to a muffled "bye" from behind the paper.
How, I asked myself, is it in any way a good witness to the world? How was this shop in any way reflecting the glory of the creator of the universe or the love of God who became flesh?
Maybe I'm being unfair, but I suspect that it reflects everything that the world already thinks about the church and fears about God. The paintwork was grey, cracked and peeling- a combination of neglect and years of pollution. The shop window displayed books with covers that were almost completely faded and whose pages had been yellowed from the months they had sat unmoved and unprotected from the elements. 
In the window was sticker which had clearly seen better days that asked "is there more to life than this?" I knew the answer and prayed all the more earnestly.


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