coldness that greeted him day in and day out grew worse on Sunday when the church sat nearly empty. What had made him think he could make a difference here? Why did he even care if he did or not?
This town didn't mean anything to him. He'd had to go far, far away from this place to find real success and the greater truth of God's love. What was so important about trying to bring what he'd learned elsewhere home?
Home? Is that what this anemic excuse for a town was to him? His home? Hardly. He snorted and cinched the belt of his thick terry cloth robe more tightly around his middle. He had on a T-shirt and sweatpants. He slept in those out of a sense of decency at having so many women in the house, even though none of them had any reason to come near his rented rooms. Still, he felt compelled to throw his robe on over his sleeping clothes. Having to take that kind of precaution in his own home, first thing Saturday morning before he'd even had a cup of coffee, only darkened his already grumpy mood.
Sam bypassed the living room where he heard the distinct buzz of intense feminine conversation. Barefoot, he padded silently through his private bathroom and out into the hallway that led to the kitchen. He only had to step lively once as he dashed past the doorway into the living room. From the fleeting looks he got from the sisters' faces, he doubted they would have noticed if he had paraded past with a drum strapped to his chest and cymbals clanging on his knees. Still he sighed in relief as he slipped by the door and his feet hit the cold kitchen floor.
Coffee. That would do the trick. A couple of cups of good, stiff brew. Coffee and quiet. Time alone to think and draw on his inner strength. That's all he asked for a few minutes this morning.
“Hi.” The small, sober voice startled the living daylights out of Sam.
“Don't do that,” he said, shutting his eyes and pressing his hand over his thundering heart.
“Sorry.” The apology came out before he'd even finished speaking. The child was that ready to accept the blame for his overreaction though she hadn't been even remotely at fault.
Instantly, Sam felt like a total heel. “No, I'm sorry, sweetie. Your sitting there took me by surprise. My mind was somewhere else.”
“That's okay. Sometimes my mommy says my mind is wandering. I don't think it's such a bad thing, but it scares her sometimes on account of it's a scary world.”
Sam had no idea what to say to that. He rubbed his fingertips back through his hair. “Yes, it can be at that. I always think that praying helps make it less scary, though.”
“Mommy prays for me every day.”
“I'm sure she does.” Only knowing this child less than twenty-four hours, Sam had already added her to his own list.
“And angels.”
He smiled. “Angels?”
“Angels to watch over me, to go before me and to guide me, to lift me up and to shelter me, and to help me find grace and gratitude in all that God has given me.” Willa must have heard those words many times before. So many times she carried them in her heart and in her mind that sometimes might wander but already knew how to focus on what was true and right.
“And angels, for all those things,” Sam murmured.
She pushed her glasses up on the bridge of her nose and gazed expectantly at him.
He had no idea what she wanted. Aside from children's sermons and visits to vacation Bible school, he really didn't have a lot of interaction with children. And almost none with children who were as special as Willa.
He cocked his head to study her. She looked positively lost in the stark sun-brightened kitchen with its floor to ceiling white cupboards and bare countertops. The big table came up to just under her heart-shaped chin. Her red-and-green-checkered robe bunched where the buttons had been fit into the wrong slot. Her feet, swinging back and forth as they dangled a foot above the floor, sported one purple crocheted house shoe and one pink ballet slipper at
This town didn't mean anything to him. He'd had to go far, far away from this place to find real success and the greater truth of God's love. What was so important about trying to bring what he'd learned elsewhere home?
Home? Is that what this anemic excuse for a town was to him? His home? Hardly. He snorted and cinched the belt of his thick terry cloth robe more tightly around his middle. He had on a T-shirt and sweatpants. He slept in those out of a sense of decency at having so many women in the house, even though none of them had any reason to come near his rented rooms. Still, he felt compelled to throw his robe on over his sleeping clothes. Having to take that kind of precaution in his own home, first thing Saturday morning before he'd even had a cup of coffee, only darkened his already grumpy mood.
Sam bypassed the living room where he heard the distinct buzz of intense feminine conversation. Barefoot, he padded silently through his private bathroom and out into the hallway that led to the kitchen. He only had to step lively once as he dashed past the doorway into the living room. From the fleeting looks he got from the sisters' faces, he doubted they would have noticed if he had paraded past with a drum strapped to his chest and cymbals clanging on his knees. Still he sighed in relief as he slipped by the door and his feet hit the cold kitchen floor.
Coffee. That would do the trick. A couple of cups of good, stiff brew. Coffee and quiet. Time alone to think and draw on his inner strength. That's all he asked for a few minutes this morning.
“Hi.” The small, sober voice startled the living daylights out of Sam.
“Don't do that,” he said, shutting his eyes and pressing his hand over his thundering heart.
“Sorry.” The apology came out before he'd even finished speaking. The child was that ready to accept the blame for his overreaction though she hadn't been even remotely at fault.
Instantly, Sam felt like a total heel. “No, I'm sorry, sweetie. Your sitting there took me by surprise. My mind was somewhere else.”
“That's okay. Sometimes my mommy says my mind is wandering. I don't think it's such a bad thing, but it scares her sometimes on account of it's a scary world.”
Sam had no idea what to say to that. He rubbed his fingertips back through his hair. “Yes, it can be at that. I always think that praying helps make it less scary, though.”
“Mommy prays for me every day.”
“I'm sure she does.” Only knowing this child less than twenty-four hours, Sam had already added her to his own list.
“And angels.”
He smiled. “Angels?”
“Angels to watch over me, to go before me and to guide me, to lift me up and to shelter me, and to help me find grace and gratitude in all that God has given me.” Willa must have heard those words many times before. So many times she carried them in her heart and in her mind that sometimes might wander but already knew how to focus on what was true and right.
“And angels, for all those things,” Sam murmured.
She pushed her glasses up on the bridge of her nose and gazed expectantly at him.
He had no idea what she wanted. Aside from children's sermons and visits to vacation Bible school, he really didn't have a lot of interaction with children. And almost none with children who were as special as Willa.
He cocked his head to study her. She looked positively lost in the stark sun-brightened kitchen with its floor to ceiling white cupboards and bare countertops. The big table came up to just under her heart-shaped chin. Her red-and-green-checkered robe bunched where the buttons had been fit into the wrong slot. Her feet, swinging back and forth as they dangled a foot above the floor, sported one purple crocheted house shoe and one pink ballet slipper at
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