I was walking behind them in the direction of the cash registers.
I heard the woman who was close to my age call the other woman, Mom.
The woman who was close to my age had a full shopping cart of clothes.
The woman she called, Mom, had clothes in her cart as well, but it was not as full.

I only had two things in my hand.
Around the holidays, this store will have a red velvet rope.
The rope is used so that a queue is formed.
I was wishing for such a rope except there is no need for queue formation in the summer.

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I love to make soup.
I enjoy making all kinds of soup.
Everyone in my family has their favorite.
My husband likes them all.

After a meal of homemade soup, my husband will always make the same announcement.
Your Mom makes the best soup in the world.
My husband is extremely prejudice.
My son, who is a lawyer, always has a comeback.

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It was the day of the church picnic.
The temperature was to be in the low 90’s.
The picnic was held at a local park, which has a pavilion, a ball field, and a playground.
There is quite a bit of shade at the park and there always seems to be a breeze.

Some of us were part of the committee.
We all had our jobs to do to make sure the day was delightful for everyone.
We had men and boys lift tables and supplies.
The food was ordered ahead of time and only desserts were asked to be brought.

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I have a confession.
Copy machines intimidate me.
It is a silly thing.
The intimidation is very real.

My daughter is an intern this summer.
She is a mercy ministry intern for a non-profit organization.
She is living on the outskirts of the city of Philadelphia with the other interns.
The interns serve in different groups that will minister to the people in the community.

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I really do not remember all the ins and outs of learning to swim.
I remember the rules.
I remember the ropes that marked off the shallow water from the deep end.
I remember the baby pool.

As children got older, the name of that pool was an embarrassment.
No one wanted to go into the baby pool.
The swim club soon renamed it the wading pool.
That was much better.

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It was my special place.
To anyone else, it was just a basement.
To me, it was my hideaway.
It was a place of music and dreaming.

The walls in my special place were paneled like many walls in the 1960s.
I was allowed to decorate this space anyway I wanted.
I covered the paneled walls with posters.
Posters that every pre-teen and teenage girl had on her wall at that time.

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I can still picture her on the table.
She was on the table next to our sofa in the living room.
I remember the philodendron plant that thrived there.
I remember the way the plant cascaded down the side of the table closest to the front door.

It was a figurine of a little girl.
She had pigtails with red bows.
She was wearing green slippers.
She was holding an apron in her hands ready to wrap it around her waist.

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It was a random memory.
I had no idea where it came from when it popped into my head.
The memory brought back a time that was over forty years ago.
The memory took me back to high school.

There were so many things new and scary about going to high school.
It meant leaving the security of the small elementary school that I attended.
It meant being a freshman after being the eight grader that just left a position of seniority.
It meant being in school with seniors.

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Every four weeks I get my hair cut.
More than a haircut per se, I really get a trim.
Even more than a trim, it is a reshaping.
It is making sure the light layers remain as they grow out over the course of a month.

I have been going to the same person for years.
Every woman knows the importance of finding someone they trust to cut their hair.
It is so wonderful to sit down in the chair and not have to worry about the end result.
Sitting there calm and relaxed, conversations just naturally happen.

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It began with a phone call.
My pastor asked me to pray at the end of our church’s Good Friday service.
It was a privilege to be asked.
It was humbling.

I answered, yes.
I was given the passage of Scripture that would be the focus of the service.
I had no idea how the Holy Spirit would lead my prayer.
All I knew was that I was willing to be used in this way.

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