I never saw it coming. Not as a girl growing up on the Kansas plains. Not as a bride relocating to the North. Not as the young mother of a

“Are you in line?” I say, not wanting to budge (a cardinal sin if you’re a kindergartener).  He nods. “Do you write in the Goshen paper?” he says at last.

We’re walking along, The Mister and I, down our country road. Fields lie bare on either hand, having felt the cut of the combine’s blade. Night is falling, and behind

That was quick. For four years, you waited with bated breath as weeks and months crept by. You had birthday, birthday, birthday and, well, birthday, and then it was time.

Turning to the sacred text, there it is, the story of the 1 and the 99. The story of the sheep gone missing and the Shepherd who pursued. The tale

Her daughter’s standing there, all curly-headed. “Mama’s moved,” she says, smiling, too. And then she tells me, this petite girl, and earnest, about her job. She’s working just now in

It’s the season for celebrity sightings. Not that I’ve seen any, mind you, but folks I know have had some excitement. In our small town, we’re not exactly overrun with

After he’s gone and I’ve written a bit, I pack my girlish backpack, grab my BOP (Bright Orange Purse) and dash over to his office. He waves me back to

I should count them all up. I really should. Bartholomew Cubbins did once, and his number was 500. “You think that’s a lot,” I wanted to say the other day

The steam, it rises, curling toward ceiling, twirling past bricks. Hand wrapped ’round its warmth, I whisper prayers into my mug, breathing petitions all quiet to the One Who Hears.