What a great night!  I always enjoy sharing some church humor and inspiration, but tonight was especially special.  It also served as a reunion with people with whom I had worshipped for thirteen years.  My husband Steve pastored FBC Attalla from 1982 -1995. I spoke on Taste and See, the Lord is Good.  The men made this night extra special because they decorated, served, and cleaned up.  What men!

What an exciting event was the New England Ladies' Conference!  It was amazing that such a cultural and racial diverse group could come together and understand the humor and inspiration of this Southern gal.  I was definitely prayed up because I knew it would be totally up to God if I could show his glory to this group.  I have never felt His presence so real while I was speaking.
   The theme was Taste and see that the Lord is good, so on Friday night I spoke on "Taste"; on Saturday, on "See"; and them on Sunday, on "The Lord is Good."  The worship was so real and good.  I learned there is more than one way to worship, and with this diverse assembly, each person worshipped in her own way.
   I also learned that great hospitatlity is not limited to the South.  I have never been so graciously welcomed and received, and praise God, those women bought books.

This summer has been filled with changes.  First, after celebrating our fiftieth wedding anniversary June 19th, Steve and I began our second half-century together.  Thankfully, as I have become, shall we say, less youthful, God has blessed by dimming Steve’s vision.  He thinks I look better now than when he married me.  Please don’t tell him any different.

Secondly, after my dad has lived independently and/or semi-independently for his ninety-eight years, time has come when he needs twenty-four hour supervision.  He now resides in an assisted living facility.  He says he’s happy there, and truly seems to be – until the staff asks him to do something.  The stubborn mule syndrome seems to surface then.

But to cap the stack, I seem to have become a porn star.  Now let me explain that one.  I have two great horses.  Some might call them plugs, but I’ve cherished them because they are so good with my grandchildren.  All of them have fed them bread, watermelon, cantaloupe, apples, or whatever over the fence.  I’ve taught the children how to hold the food in their hands in a position to avoid the horses biting them accidentally.  From the time they could sit astride the horses, they have.  Very gently, knowing they were carrying a precious load, the horses would follow me circling the yard, and the children would think they were in complete control because they held the reins.

With that said, I will tell you, I’ve always respected the strength and size of these equines.  I do now even more.  My brother-in-law and his wife brought out their visiting granddaughters for a swim and for them to see the horses.  I gave them hotdog buns to feed Smoky and Sisco.  Kathryn, the oldest sister, came in to report Elizabeth, the younger, was exciting the horses with her squealing.  I thought nothing of it because, as I said, they are gentle animals.  But to be on the safe side, we adults moved outside to supervise.

I had dressed earlier in the day for another event in a shimmery light orange shell and lime green pants.  As I do so often, I walked over to the fence with the girls to pet Smoky and Sisco.  In my normal natural motion, I reached up with my right hand to pet Sisco’s head.  Well, that’s when disaster, or should I say, ‘disboobster’ struck.  Before I knew what had happened, Sisco reached over the fence, grabbed my left breast with his teeth, picked my ample body off the ground, shook me, and threw me backwards. He must have seen the orange and thought it was a cantaloupe.  Pain!  That was all I could sense at the moment.  My thought was, “Boy, ‘them ain’t’ cantaloupes.”