I hadn't known her very long, but she listened to my heart. The holy moment was thoughtful and came at just the right time.
We met to chat about the new book study for our small group, The Biggest Lie in the History of Christianity. That was our goal anyway.
The group leader I have come to respect and seek for godly counsel admitted that she hadn't read the entire book. And then Jesus sat down with us.
I was just along for the ride. Tom and I were running errands later on so I went with him. Since we're from the same neck of the woods as Tom's barber, and having gone to the same church, she was always good to catch us up on all the latest happenings.
Tom loves going to the barber, even though it's a 50-mile round-trip. He doesn't complain about me going to the nail salon, and I don't about his monthly trips to the barber shop.
I stood there looking at the trash can on the curb, shaking my head. Were they illiterate, or what?
With temps over a hundred degrees, just lugging the large container up the driveway to the house was a chore. Head still shaking, I kept wondering how my deliberate holy moment went wrong.
It was 1019 miles by car to Granddaddy's. Two really long days each way with few stretches of interstate highways, no air-conditioning, much less Sirius. Can we say "purgatory" for the three kids in the back seat?
Don't you love a church potluck dinner? Nobody cooks like the "church ladies"! Long before I ever heard of Golden Corral, my preschool hand was sneaking up to grab a culinary treat from the long stone tables in our tiny churchyard.
For the past few months I've been indulging in getting manicures. My technician, Miss Kim, amazes me. She is so efficient at making my nails look pretty; I love watching her! At the same time, she's answering the phone and cordially greeting customers.
Whether it's in the mall, Quik Trip, or the nail salon, I enjoy watching people. It blew me away to see Jesus at the nail salon just before Christmas.
For the first five years or so, after we moved "up north" holidays weren't exactly fun. No yard full of laughing cousins. No kitchen bubbling over with delicious smells and mama stories.
It was sad and lonesome.
Then a couple at our church invited us to spend Thanksgiving with them. That was the beginning.
To my very young eyes, there seemed to be trees everywhere in south Georgia. Tall, frothy, seemingly pencil-thin pine trees. Much shorter, scaly-trunked palm trees.
When the fam moved to Kansas, Daddy, Buddy (my older brother), and I went rambling in our new biome every chance we got. We seemed to frequently mourn the lack of trees.
Hi, my name is Alice. A Way with Words is about sharing faith,
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