When I was a little girl visiting relatives in rural north Georgia, I couldn’t help but notice that my great aunt Edith (we called her EE) had a working well in her backyard. (She also had an outhouse, but let’s not go there.) My sister Cindy and I would often toss pebbles into the well just ...
Hearing That Still Small Voice
Last week at this time I was planning a presentation to a mom’s group in a warm-hearted town in Indiana, a “fur piece” (as we died-in-the-seersucker Southerners are known to say) from my home in central Florida. I had tweaked and edited and honed my message from my new book Too Blessed to be ...
