I wanted to see Billy Graham. I wanted to hear the good, old-fashioned fire and brimstone preaching that southern Baptist ministers are famous for; I wanted to sing with the 2,700 voice choir; I wanted to see all the people who were going to witness and dedicate their lives to God.

And singing along with the choir was the only part of last Thursday night that reached my expectations. The others far surpassed them.

Media had a place to sit or plug in laptops right on the floor so we were really right on top of the action and far closer to Mr. Graham than 99% of everyone else. There was constant activity with photographers aiming up into the audience behind us, a huge boom camera moving slowly across the floor in front of us, a line of reporters' faces lit by their small computer screens beside us - and us, we had our eyes glued to the central figure of the drama.

The real warmth and emotion of the evening began when Mr. Graham put aside his scripted notes, took the microphone from the lectern and walked to the front edge of the stage. His voice grew deeper as he invited people to come to the floor and make their public witness to God.

Before that he wasn't fire and brimstone as I had wanted, as I had expected. And as quickly as I realized that I knew I wasn't disappointed. Maybe that's not what Billy Graham was like. And maybe, being a journalist and using words daily, I heard the words more clearly without the brimstone. The passion was there, the conviction and utter dedication were there, the mellifluous tones were there. But there was no loudness.

On reflection it was the softness that reached me, that focussed my attention. As people continued flowing from the upper levels and as the rink surface filled up, we in the media found ourselves caught on the fringes of the group. We were caught, despite ourselves, hemmed in, pushed to the wall. We were so close to this thrumming mass of 1,500 people that we couldn't stop ourselves when Mr. Graham asked people to pray out loud with him. I wanted to be part of that connectedness . . . I prayed, too. Out loud.

So, did I witness? I don't know. . . maybe. I know that my heart grew (kind of like the Grinch in Whoville). Maybe it didn't grow two sizes but enough for me to recognize a peacefulness, a serenity in the centre of my being, just where my heart is.

Was it the spirit of God? I don't know.
I just know I felt better.