Haven’t been sleeping well at my old folk’s boarding house.
However, marching orders haven’t changed. Still try to love my neighbors as much as myself. And a cheerful countenance counts.
No. Not a preacher. But for years I belonged to a small congregation in a large university town. Our small congregation, 300 counting babies and a few graduate students, chose to furnish our own preachers.
You can find some experienced speakers if four of your professors were department chairman, one a provost, and the secretary of the faculty was the foremost authority on the Roman Republic. Plus Henry Boren often read Hebrew or Greek from one of his Bibles.
Because the scheduled speaker the week after my turn was from Oklahoma, I managed to work in a few digs from this Texan.
One Sunday I made some reference to my wife’s great grandfather, a cowboy who drove cattle from Texas to the railroads in Kansas. Speculated “he probably herded those cattle over our Okie’s Grandfather’s farm.”
Next Sunday, Bill Smith responded. “Yes, Maxine’s Great Grandfather probably drove cattle across the Smith’s farm. Most likely he took some of my grandfather’s cows with him as he continued to herd north.”
Photo by Bob Pool at Shutterstock
