And All God’s People Said, Amen

“Join me in an attitude of prayer,” the preacher said to a room full of farmers and ranchers.
One wife reached for her husband’s hand and ran her finger over his rough knuckles and along a healing cut on the thickest part of his hand. He began digging his barbed wire fence out from beneath the drifts of dirt earlier that spring and was waiting for his second truckload of posts.

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“Lord, we come before your throne with thanks in our hearts for the rain we’ve received and the promise of more on the way…”
Another wife could feel her husband, uncomfortable in a dress shirt and without his favorite hat, strain to peek out the window.

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Faith in Black and White

My mom kept herself busy while in school at Baylor University deciphering the letters my grandmother sent her. Really bad handwriting apparently skips a generation.
Knowing this, I couldn’t help but smile while unpacking the other day when I ran across a scrapbook my mom made me. She titled it In Their Own Hand: My Grandmothers’ Recipes. I flipped through the pages and could hear my grandmothers’ voices, which is not to say that I could read June’s recipe for green rice (I think?…) in her scrawled hand. Green rice? Maybe. 20140630-231928-83968585.jpg

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