When I was 12 years old, my family moved from Milwaukee to a small town in Iowa. How small? Well, we didn’t have a McDonald’s or even a single traffic light. On our first day in town, my brother, who was and continues to be a year younger than I, walked four blocks with me to the small grocery store that sat on Main Street. Our mother had sent us down to pick up a few items to feed the team of movers who were diligently unloading our belongings.
While in the store, we were approached by a very kind woman who happened to know exactly who we were. “You must be the new pastor’s sons,” she said. “I work up at the school. Why don’t you let me take you up there and show you around?” My brother and I quickly—and hopefully politely—countered that we had to get back home with the groceries for our mother.
read more…