Entertainment was hard to come by on our dairy farm. Our black and white TV got only two fuzzy channels . . . if the wind wasn’t blowing, which almost never happened on the Kansas prairie. Out of necessity, we learned to amuse ourselves. While my siblings constructed secret hideouts in the bales of hay stacked in the old barn, I jabbed a stick in the cracks of the railroad-tie loading dock and pretended I stood behind a microphone. Barnyard animals and even a few stray opossums applauded my story-telling skills. As my budding imagination searched for expanded avenues of expression, I tried my yarns on the family, and before long they declared me capable of selling wind in a bag, should the unlikely need ever arise on the windswept plains.

But the best laid plans of mice and country girls, are not always those of the Lord. When He called me from the makeshift stage, I never dreamed the stint would include marrying a good-looking preacher, raising two of the best kids in the world, and spending the next twenty-five years up to my elbows in church work.

So what’s a stage-deprived wife and mother to do?

Now, this is where the Lord’s sense of humor, takes a dramatic turn (which suits me, when I think about it.) God has called me to take another stab at story-telling. But this time the story is His and the lost world is my stage.

If the words I pen change your life, then I will bask in the applause of heaven.