Come In (Read Me This)

Imagine you are walking through a strange neighborhood when a storm begins to rage.

You look for a safe place, but you don’t know who will take you in and who will run you off. Your life to this point has taught you to believe that all homeowners are greedy and selfish.

So where do you find shelter?

The short answer? You don’t. You don’t knock on doors. You don’t ask for help. You don’t make yourself vulnerable. Instead, wrapping fear around you like a cloak, you endure the storm and curse the people who are safe and warm in their homes. Then someone cracks their door, extends a hand, and invites you to come in.

What do you do now?

I'm from Renton, Washington, originally and except for two years in Rexburg Idaho and four months in Kingston, New York, lived there from 1960 (the year I was born) until 2008, when Mary and I moved to Spokane. Here are a few more ridiculously compelling details about me, in case you're interested: I have five sons, one daughter, 8-10 grand kids (it changes periodically) and a miniature poodle named Copper; I am a born-again believer in Jesus Christ; I love cookies; I have read more than two thousands books - novels, texts, tomes, manuscripts, what have you - in the last three decades; I love cooking; I love eating; I love eating other people's cooking; I spent more than two decades driving truck but now work as a Certified Nurse's Aid - it's often messier than driving, but more satisfying at the end of the day.