any?”
“It did at first, but I’m still having a hard time sleeping, and—well, I’m kind of going through a rough time right now, so I really could use—”
“I know all about the problem of not sleeping,” she said. “Plus I’ve dealt with a host of other things that affected my health for some time.”
Jim studied the woman a few seconds. Her eyes were a pale blue, and her blond hair, worn short and fringed around her cheeks, looked even healthier than he had remembered. He couldn’t imagine that she’d ever had any kind of health problems.
“I’m a recovered alcoholic,” Holly said. “I’m not proud of my past, but with God’s help and the support of Alcoholics Anonymous, I’ve remained sober for the past ten years.”
Jim’s mouth dropped open. He never would have guessed that this pretty, pleasant woman had ever had a drinking problem. I wonder what got her started? Could she have had a troubled marriage or been dealing with guilt from her past, like me? Could Holly be the recovering alcoholic Jimmy had mentioned not long ago?
“You seem surprised by my confession.” Her lips curved into a smile. “Just because I go to church every Sunday doesn’t mean I’ve lived my life on Easy Street. Accepting Christ as my Savior was the first step to my recovery, but I had to do many other things to help myself, too.”
Jim thought about his own problem with alcohol, but it was nothing he couldn’t control; he wasn’t about to tell someone he barely knew that had awakened on the living room floor this morning because he’d had a few too many beers last night.
Holly pointed to the shelf in front of her. “I’ve got several things here that might help you sleep, but, of course, none of them will be as strong as what a doctor might prescribe.”
“That’s okay. I don’t need any more drugs,” he mumbled.
“What was that?”
“Nothing. Just give me some herbs to help me relax, and I’m sure I’ll be good to go.”
Jimmy loosened his grip on the steering wheel and tried to relax. He’d never made a trip this far alone. For that matter, he and his folks had never driven any farther than to one of the ocean beaches or down to Boise to see his mom’s parents.
“They’ve never really been my grandparents,” he muttered, squinting against the glint of the morning sun on his truck’s window. “And neither were Grandma and Grandpa Scott.” He clicked on the radio, hoping to diffuse his thoughts with some mellow music. The only stations he could pick up either played repetitious country songs or broadcast the local news. Remembering that he’d brought along some of his favorite Christian CDs, he finally popped one into the CD player. “Ah, that’s better.”
Jimmy hummed along with the music for a while, keeping his focus on the road and his thoughts off his unknown future. If he were to find his birth mother, then what? He couldn’t just march up to her and announce, “Hi, my name’s Jimmy Scott, and I’m the son you gave up for adoption twenty years ago.” He’d never been in a situation like thisbefore, and he had no idea what he would say or do if he were to meet either his real mother or father face-to-face.
Jimmy drew in a deep breath and tried to relax. There was no point thinking about any of this until he had something to go on. “I need to trust God to give me the right words—if and when the time comes for me to meet my real parents.”
W hat are you doing home in the middle of the day?” Lydia asked when her husband stepped into the kitchen around three o’clock.
Jacob grinned and hung his straw hat on a wall peg near the door. “My crew’s paintin’ Daniel King’s barn, and since it’s not so far from here, I thought I’d run home and give my fraa a great big hug.” He took a few steps toward her, and Lydia went willingly into his arms.
“I’ve always known you were a fine painter, Jacob Weaver,” she said, closing her eyes and leaning against
“It did at first, but I’m still having a hard time sleeping, and—well, I’m kind of going through a rough time right now, so I really could use—”
“I know all about the problem of not sleeping,” she said. “Plus I’ve dealt with a host of other things that affected my health for some time.”
Jim studied the woman a few seconds. Her eyes were a pale blue, and her blond hair, worn short and fringed around her cheeks, looked even healthier than he had remembered. He couldn’t imagine that she’d ever had any kind of health problems.
“I’m a recovered alcoholic,” Holly said. “I’m not proud of my past, but with God’s help and the support of Alcoholics Anonymous, I’ve remained sober for the past ten years.”
Jim’s mouth dropped open. He never would have guessed that this pretty, pleasant woman had ever had a drinking problem. I wonder what got her started? Could she have had a troubled marriage or been dealing with guilt from her past, like me? Could Holly be the recovering alcoholic Jimmy had mentioned not long ago?
“You seem surprised by my confession.” Her lips curved into a smile. “Just because I go to church every Sunday doesn’t mean I’ve lived my life on Easy Street. Accepting Christ as my Savior was the first step to my recovery, but I had to do many other things to help myself, too.”
Jim thought about his own problem with alcohol, but it was nothing he couldn’t control; he wasn’t about to tell someone he barely knew that had awakened on the living room floor this morning because he’d had a few too many beers last night.
Holly pointed to the shelf in front of her. “I’ve got several things here that might help you sleep, but, of course, none of them will be as strong as what a doctor might prescribe.”
“That’s okay. I don’t need any more drugs,” he mumbled.
“What was that?”
“Nothing. Just give me some herbs to help me relax, and I’m sure I’ll be good to go.”
Jimmy loosened his grip on the steering wheel and tried to relax. He’d never made a trip this far alone. For that matter, he and his folks had never driven any farther than to one of the ocean beaches or down to Boise to see his mom’s parents.
“They’ve never really been my grandparents,” he muttered, squinting against the glint of the morning sun on his truck’s window. “And neither were Grandma and Grandpa Scott.” He clicked on the radio, hoping to diffuse his thoughts with some mellow music. The only stations he could pick up either played repetitious country songs or broadcast the local news. Remembering that he’d brought along some of his favorite Christian CDs, he finally popped one into the CD player. “Ah, that’s better.”
Jimmy hummed along with the music for a while, keeping his focus on the road and his thoughts off his unknown future. If he were to find his birth mother, then what? He couldn’t just march up to her and announce, “Hi, my name’s Jimmy Scott, and I’m the son you gave up for adoption twenty years ago.” He’d never been in a situation like thisbefore, and he had no idea what he would say or do if he were to meet either his real mother or father face-to-face.
Jimmy drew in a deep breath and tried to relax. There was no point thinking about any of this until he had something to go on. “I need to trust God to give me the right words—if and when the time comes for me to meet my real parents.”
W hat are you doing home in the middle of the day?” Lydia asked when her husband stepped into the kitchen around three o’clock.
Jacob grinned and hung his straw hat on a wall peg near the door. “My crew’s paintin’ Daniel King’s barn, and since it’s not so far from here, I thought I’d run home and give my fraa a great big hug.” He took a few steps toward her, and Lydia went willingly into his arms.
“I’ve always known you were a fine painter, Jacob Weaver,” she said, closing her eyes and leaning against
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