Now I ain’t one who goes around yellin’ about miracles or jumpin’ pews. I did try a pew jumpin’ church once when I was a young man. I knew it was not for me when I missed my jump, hit my shin, and face planted into the back of the next bench. As I sat there with my forehead bleedin’ and a lot of well-meanin’ folks prayin’ on me instead of applyin’ a bandage, I realized the Almighty was givin’ me a message. He was lettin’ me know I should sit down, shut up, and listen to what He has to say. It’s a lesson I’ve learned pretty well over the years. Repeatedly.
I reckon the years as a young man taught me I should work hard, try and live the kind of life I claimed to follow in church, and avoid gettin’ in the kind of trouble that would be embarassin’ to my parents if they saw me on the evening news. I did this for a lot of years, and I came out the better for it. At least until one mornin’ when the good Lord decided it was time to stir things up a bit.
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