Kidnapped by GPS

Her name was Zelda. At least, I imagine her as a Zelda. Her voice sounded like one. She politely told the driver and his passengers what turn to take next, and how long until the next set of direction—even the estimated time of arrival.

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Embarrassing Gas

Today when I left the house on my way to pick up editors from the airport for the Florida Christian Writers Conference, I stopped by to get gas. I was running a little late so hoped the pumps were extra fast. When I jumped out of the car, the wind nearly knocked me over. So, rather than let my hair get whipped into a nest, I decided to flip down that little lock on the pump handle that allows me to leave the nozzle pumping while I go sit in the car. The pump stopped and I jumped out and yanked the nozzle out of the car- you guessed it- without releasing the lock.

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Alternate Endings

And they lived happily ever after.

And they lived semi-happily until they were priced out of the housing market.
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The Old Pink Robe Ain’t What She Used to Be

Years ago my mom bought a pink chenille robe for a hundred dollars. It was a special robe – floor length, pockets and an attached belt – everything she had been searching for in a robe. For ten years she’s worn the robe faithfully. Cuddled up on the couch, down the sidewalk to grab the paper, standing out on the deck to take the dog out, in a suitcase from Georgia to Texas and back several times – that robe has seen a few miles. However, like everything else in life, over time the robe is beginning to look a little worn. Years of washing and wearing have taken a toll on the precious pink garment. The chenille is worn out in places, leaving thin patches of fabric polka-dotting the robe. The color has faded to a pale shade of baby pink. The shawl collar is limp and the coffee and ice cream stains that dribble the front of the robe don’t add anything to its already humble state. 

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Mini-Me

Katy started the summer in no-man’s land. She was too old to stay in the children’s department of our church, but still feeling too young for the student ministries (ATTIC). No longer could she get by with answering “God” to Sunday School discussion questions. When we asked her to think and dig deep, she would say, “but I’m just a little girl.” We helped her realize she was allowed to have a thought in her head. No pat answers.

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