This past Monday after I called my husband Gordon at work in Atlanta telling him that my flight had been delayed indefinitely at MidwayAirport in Chicago, I got to wondering about modern marriages.Here we were miles apart and who knew when we’d ever have a chance for quality time together.I wondered what it takes to stay close to your spouse these days when there’s so much else to do during the day and you spend so much time apart.
Monday was a very bad day to be flying into Atlanta.Maybe you heard about the torrential rain we had that caused major flooding on a scale we haven’t seen in decades, if ever.Hartsfield-Jackson airport in Atlanta was completely closed down, meaning a whole planeload of us strangers were waylaid for hours at the gate at Midway wondering when we’d ever get home.
Sitting there I had a long time to observe the strangers around me.One young couple didn’t realize that the way they were snuggled up next to each otherproclaimed, “We can’t get enough of each other.”The young man had his arm around the dark-haired girl’s shoulders.He pulled her close to him.He rested his cheek on her hair.She rested her head on his shoulder.He smiled.She looked up and smiled back.They didn’t seem to mind the delay because they were together.
Then I studied another couple with a ten year old girl sitting between them.This couple was equally totally unaware that their body language was saying, “We’re not sure what we have in common any more.”The man was absorbed in reading a book.The woman was staring at an I-phone screen.Occasionally the woman got up to wander off somewhere.The man didn’t look up or notice.The woman didn’t lean over to tell him where she was going.They seemed like two planets in very different orbits.Neither smiled.They seemed disengaged from each other.Distant.Did that eventually happen to all married couples?
We finally boarded the plane at sunset.As the plane gained altitude a man one row up on the aisle held a crossword puzzle up in his small individual spotlight.Suddenly a simple memory of my own parent’s marriage flooded over me.Crossword puzzles.My parents weren’t really much alike in any way.Dad was from a Midwestern city, Mom was a rural farm girl from South Carolina.Mom had an artistic bent and could sketch with delicate sympathy the tiniest wildflower.Dad worked as a budget analyst for the government and actually liked it.
My parents were two totally different people who could have been on individual orbits if it hadn’t been for the crossword puzzle in the daily paper.Every night after dinner Dad would fold the paper until the crossword puzzle was a small square.Mom found a pencil. Then they would sit down on the sofa together and put on reading glasses and begin putting their heads together.“What’s a four letter word for great lake?”“How about Erie?”Mom would write it down and they’d continue to collaborate on clues.After they’d spent half an hour or an hour together on the sofa, the puzzle would be mostly completed, but of course, looking back, I now see that wasn’t the point.
I read somewhere that solving crossword puzzles is a good way to keep your brain sharp as you age.But on Monday night I uncovered another benefit of crossword puzzles, or at least small shared things like them, for keeping husbands and wives close in a marriage.Those puzzles created a little hallowed spot of time for my parents to be together every day, working together on something small that didn’t have to do with household chores or raising children and didn't have a deadline.
When I finally arrived home that night, I found out that Gordon had recorded Dancing with the Stars.So we sat down and watched it together, commenting to each other on the dances.(Even though neither of us can actually dance ourselves!)
So what’s a four letter word that’s the secret to closeness in a marriage?T-I-M-E. Even just a little bit. Every day.
P.S.: Our home wasn't affected by the floods, but many throughout Atlanta were. Please pray for these families.
Recently in the Super Walmart parking lot I discovered how powerfully we can communicate without saying a single word .It was an 85 degree afternoon and I had just purchased a week’s worth of groceries.I unloaded the bags into the trunk of my Toyota sedan – the cherry vanilla ice cream Gordon is crazy about, the healthy red pepper humus for me.It was over $80.00 worth of groceries.I got into the car ready to hurry home before the cold food got too hot. I turned the ignition.Absolutely nothing happened.Not even a little cough in the engine.
Dead battery maybe?I know next to nothing about cars.I was miles from home and Gordon works way off in downtown Atlanta so I couldn’t call him to come to my rescue.
Since I didn’t want the cherry vanilla ice cream to go soupy in the trunk I was going to have to ask a stranger for help.There weren’t many people in the parking lot.Besides, I hate asking for help.Then I had an idea.
Gordon makes sure all of our cars have a set of jumper cables in the trunk.I opened the trunk and rummaged under the groceries.I unzipped the cables from the pouch like I actually knew how to use them, then went around to the hood.It took me a few tries to figure out how to undo the latch.That’s all I did – popped open the hood and stood there with jumper cables in my hand making a wordless statement of need.Anybody could take one look at me and realize that you can’t use jumper cables without the help of another driver.
Sure enough, the moment I had the scene set up a man and his wife came up out of nowhere and offered to help.They pulled their Jeep around next to my car.The man went clamp, clamp to my car and then clamp, clamp to his car and I turned the key and my engine went rrrrrr.I told the couple they were angels.Then I waved and drove off, Gordon’s cherry vanilla ice cream still nicely frozen.
As I drove home I marveled at the fact that it’s possible to communicate so powerfully, precisely and with perfect success without forming a single word.Often we experience this wordless yet powerful communication in prayer as well.There are many times during prayer when we simply show God what we mean.Maybe we raise our hands up to Him when we need something.Maybe tears come to our eyes when we’re overwhelmed with gratitude.Maybe we simply sit silently in an empty sanctuary and feel His presence and enjoy being still and silent there with God.Next time when words fail you during prayer, just show Him how you feel.And strangely enough, without saying a single word, we’re able to understand each other perfectly.
The walls that spoke to me last weekend were in narrow stairway in the 1930’s cottage at the home of my son Chris in an urban Atlanta neighborhood.My job was to pull down the 1960’s wallpaper.It had a small flower print in oranges and yellows.Not exactly a single guy look.The paper had been up there so long and the old paste was so dry it practically fell down in relief.
Unfortunately, on the very first piece the walls told me something I certainly didn’t care to hear.There was 1930’s wallpaper hidden under the 1960’s wallpaper!This wallpaper was even worse than the first.No telling what color it started out, but now it looked like soot with small faint blocks of early American motifs on it. It made the narrow dark stairway look like a haunted house.
Then, in the tiny hallway at the top of the stairs the walls really started talking to me when I ripped down the 1960’s wallpaper and instead of finding the 1930’s paper I found painted sheetrock.As I peeled off the paper, written words began to appear, neatly written in pencil.The more I pulled, the more words appeared.My excitement grew thinking I was about to uncover some fascinating clue into the history of the little cottage or into the lives of the long forgotten occupants.What personal words of wisdom had they hidden away here for posterity?
The words unveiled themselves in a neat column down three feet of the wall.It was a very long poem!My heart raced, hoping it was an original poem written by an unknown aspiring poet who lived in obscurity in the garret of the cottage.It was entitled “A Cat Named Sloopy.”At the very bottom it said, “Rod McKuen,” a poet who gained popularity in the ‘60s.I pulled more paper and found the opening lines of Annabel Lee by Edgar Allan Poe, my heart sinking as I realized that I wasn’t discovering the works of an unknown poet but perhaps the graffiti-like “decorating” of a 1960’s flower child.Or maybe a few favorite poems copied onto the wall by a starry eyed college student from nearby EmoryUniversity who fancied cats and tragic love stories.
As interesting as it was to uncover the poems, as we drove home I felt an empty disappointment.I longed to know something personal about the wall writer.Who was she?I realized that knowing and being known personally is a universal longing of the human heart.There is something compelling, satisfying and healing when another lets you into a small part of their true selves, when you trust each other enough to share your innermost you.Multiply this by 100 to re-experience the joy we feel the very first time we receive what we sense in our hearts to be a personal word or sign from God that shows how He intimately knows us and cares completely.What a gift that we continue to live out this personal intimacy with God every day through prayer!
If I ever decide to write a message to future homeowners under wallpaper, maybe that’s what I’ll say.I’ll tell them my personal story of how God found me and how I found Him and how we talked every day.I imagine that the walls will really be glad to finally know what to say after being silent all those years.There are some things worth shouting from the rooftop.
Last night something little and important got lost - outside in the dark.We had finished up our first Prayer Igniters Board meeting at my house and I bid goodbye to one of our board members Paul.As I was saying goodbye to the last member, Mary Jane, on the front steps Paul came back saying, “I lost my truck key.”We went back with him to the dining room table and looked around where he’d been seated.No key.
He explained that he had all of his other keys, but this one had been on a special holder attached to the ring and it had broken off.We all three went slowly down the sidewalk with our eyes glued to the white concrete.Unfortunately there was a big dark gap in front of the garage between the illumination of the front porch lights and the flood lights on the driveway where Paul’s truck was parked.Surely it was there.Our search turned up nothing.
Paul went back to rummage around his truck.I went to get my little high intensity pen light I use on my morning prayer walks when it’s dark.I told Mary Jane, “Here’s a tip if you ever lose a diamond.Turn out all of the lights and use a flashlight and you’ll catch the diamond’s sparkle.” I’ve lost - and found - a diamond before.That’s how I know. I went on, “Thankfully this key is much larger than a diamond and it’s definitely somewhere between the dining room and Paul’s truck.”
Mary Jane and I started back at the front porch, scouring the sidewalk with the light.“Shine the light over in the grass on this side,” Mary Jane said, “He had it in his right hand as he left.Maybe it fell into the grass and that explains why he didn’t hear it drop.”
As Mary Jane and I did a slow and thorough search of the sidewalk and right-side grass, I started quoting scripture out loud, something like a little prayer for God’s help for our search.“I will give to you the keys of the Kingdom.What you bind on earth will be bound in heaven…”I never can quote chapter and verse for you, but somehow appropriate scriptures bubble up and I can later figure out where they came from with a concordance.The Scripture felt soothing.
It was a great verse, but we didn’t find the key.We looked around the driveway near the truck some more and I asked Paul if his wife had a duplicate key back homeI said, “It will be easier to find the key in the morning when it’s light.”Mary Jane offered to give Paul a lift home.Paul called his wife on his cell phone.I stood there idly playing the beam of the flashlight under Paul’s truck.“There it is!” I said, pointing the beam of the of light under the truck and slightly behind the tire.We all saw it.To prove a point I turned off the flashlight.Our shadows cast by the floodlight under the truck made an inky black shadow that rendered the key completely invisible.Paul bent under the truck and got the key.We all said good night, case solved.
I don’t know about you, but whenever I lose something vital like car keys or an important document, I usually go into a tizzy and it nearly ruins my day. But I got to thinking just the opposite last night.I got to thinking that we’re at our best when we’re searching for something we’ve lost.
Maybe instead of getting unglued, I could start counting up the blessings of the search: teamwork, attention to detail, determination, applying logic and reasoning skills, thinking of alternatives of how to get things done even if the item isn’t found right away, even seeking a little divine help. And then there’s the whole issue of light -finding a way to illumine unlikely areas, thinking outside the box and under the truck.
The ability to search is a glorious gift from God.If nothing ever got lost we’d never need to go on the hunt.God wants us to love a good search, especially our search for meaning in life that brings us back to Him time and time again. After all, the Bible says, “He who seeks will find…” (Matt. 7:7) And that’s really good news any day of the week.
I recently met a young man named Adrian Garrett who has a college degree and has taught special education and is now teaching technology.He directs a gospel choir, teaches Sunday school and occasionally preaches.All of these are incredible accomplishments considering the fact that this young black man began life in an institute for the profoundly mentally and physically handicapped because of an array of birth defects that rendered his legs into abbreviated stumps.Today as an adult he stands 3’ 4’’ tall.
Adrian tells me that the doctors don’t really have a name for the conglomeration of 13 problems he was born with – a fairly normally proportioned torso, arms, head and neck and then his unusual legs, missing major bones and working parts.He only has one kidney and was born with a cleft palate that made it hard for him to feed as an infant and later hard to speak when he was a toddler.And so Adrian existed for 2 years in a steel crib in a room with other children with profound physical and mental handicaps in a world of extremely limited possibilities.
Then God started putting people in Adrian’s path.It began with a substitute teacher named Anne Stanhope who realized that Adrian was a bright child when he did a puzzle.Later, encouraged by his progress, Adrian’s mother took him home to lead a more normal life.After that God sent a procession of people put into Adrian’s path – teachers, doctors, Sunday school teachers, relatives, choir directors, college professors, the school superintendent who took a chance on hiring Adrian for his first teaching job.
That afternoon when I met Adrian things had come back full circle to the original person in Adrian’s path, Anne Stanhope, who invited me over to meet Adrian when he was visitingfrom New Jersey for a few short hoursin our area of Georgia.I carved out a short time in my busy schedule to sit on Anne’s screened back porch as I asked Adrian, “What do you tell people about your life?”
Without a moment’s hesitation he replied, “God has been good.He has put people in my path for a reason.I have been blessed.”
As I drove home, I realized that God had introduced Adrian into my overscheduled path that day for a very good reason.I’m in charge of two very big projects that are way too big for me to handle by myself. Unfortunately, I have a tendency to let a valuable resource in God’s kingdom go to waste: the people in my path.That’s because I’m something of a loner.I hate to ask people to help me do things.It’s easier to do it myself, even if it wears me out and leaves me with a “poor me” attitude. Adrian opened my eyes to the possibility that the “people in my path” might be there for a reason.God might have even placed them there to help me.Me, accept help?With a little wisdom from an incredible young man named Adrian, I’m going to try.
On Saturday night I was again an unseen witness to a marriage.Surprisingly, I’ve witnessed a number of weddings to which I haven’t been invited.No, I’m not a professional wedding crasher.It’s just that the beach at Hilton Head SC where we have avacation home is a favorite spot for beachside weddings.There’s nothing more delightful than taking an evening stroll on the beach and happening upon a wedding.The great majority of beach weddings I’ve witnessed are intimate well orchestrated affairs that don’t skimp on any of the traditional details.Bridesmaids with high heels sinking in the sand walking down an impromptu aisle between white folding chairs, a minister in a robe standing with his back against the Atlantic Ocean, a groom in a black tuxedo with a white rose boutaineer, a bride in a long white flowing gowns trailing along in the sand trying to keep the veil on her head in the wind, and the freshness and unpredictability all around of surf and sun and clouds and God’s holy cathedral of the great dome of sky over the shore.
On Saturday night I was at a different beach - Tybee Island, GA.Gordon and I were checking into an old fashioned beach front, family-style motel at the same time as a young couple.The young woman told the lady behind the desk that they were getting married that evening at the light house.From the looks if it, it wasn’t one of those weddings that’s been planned in detail for years because they didn’t even have motel reservations and were inquiring about an ocean view room.And apparently there were no family, friends or well wishers with them, just the two of them, telling their good news to a motel clerk and strangers like me who happened to overhear.
It wasn’t a good evening for beach weddings or light house weddings for that matter.Around 6:00 thundershowers moved through.The surf was high and wild, kicked up by Hurricane Bill far offshore.From the little balcony on our room I could see a narrow slice of the beach down an alleyway between two houses.I wiped the blown rain off the chair on the balcony and sat down to watch the waves.The rain seemed to have tapered off but I wasn’t sure if it had stopped since the metal shutters on the house in front of me were still pinging with drips. There wasn’t a soul in sight on the gray patch of beach.
Then, as if on cue, a young couple stepped in front of the small dune directly in my tunnel vision.The young woman was wearing a short white sleeveless dress, the kind you might wear to church.Nothing fancy.She was holding a small nosegay of white flowers, not more than three blossoms.The young man was wearing light colored khaki pants and a sports jacket, not a hint of a boutaineer.A photographer dressed in black was the only other soul in view.
I’m not sure if the couple was on their way to their lighthouse wedding or on their way back, but I knew that I was an unseen witness to their wedding day portrait.Suddenly I wondered if anyone had even said a prayer for them on their wedding day and it seemed that God might have invited me out on the dripping balcony to be His eyes upon them to bless them with an unseen prayer.And so, as befitting an unseen, silent witness, I said a silent prayer.I prayed that whatever was past with the young couple was now unimportant and that God would give them a good and wholesome future together.The photographer snapped a photo.And I smiled from afar and on high, just like God who is always the unseen witness at every wedding and during the lifetime of every marriage.
This past weekend a neighbor who’s a real estate agent took us out to see houses in our area because Gordon is nearing retirement age and we might want to make a change.Before we landed in our present home, Gordon’s job had moved us every three years.We’ve owned 9 different homes so far!Maybe that’s why Gordon and I have a hobby of walking through model homes and homes under construction to get ideas even when we aren’t looking to buy.
I’ve told you about us to let you know that we’re veteran house-lookers.Yet I wasn’t prepared for the feelings I had seeing foreclosed homes.We pulled up in front of a nice sized brick home with a front porch.Somebody’s dream house.Yet the house was empty, locked up, weeds were growing in the flower beds.There wasn’t a friendly golden retriever wagging his tail in the fenced back yard and no one but the breeze stirred an empty swing on the wooden gym set under the inviting shade of the oaks.
I imagined the events that perhaps led to the lost home.A downsizing in the company, a lost livelihood.A big mortgage, maybe even bigger than the current market price of the house.The months oftrying to refinance, find a job, make the payments, put gas in the car.Then the reality that, try as they might, they could no longer afford their dream home.There was no alternative but to lock the door and leave forever.
Houses are so much more than bricks and mortar.Four years ago my sister Susan’s dream house burned down to the ground in the middle of the night and I rode the emotional roller coaster with her.I tried to explain to someone, “You don’t expect a house to die.”It’s not helpful when people say, “It’s only material things.”It goes beyond that.Losing a home steals our sense of security.Isaiah says that, “They will build houses and dwell in them; they will plant vineyards and eat their fruit.”(Isaiah 65:21) God means for us to have homes.
I don’t have a “big answer” for any of this except for the certainty that when you suffer a loss, big or small, it’s healthy to mourn.Before you can start healing, you have to let yourself feel the loss.I pray that somewhere, somehow the foreclosed family will find someone with whom to share their grief instead of trying to pretend that their loss never happened.I pray that they will go through the hard, long work of grieving well. But most of all, I pray that God will be with them on this difficult part of their life journey as travelers in a foreign land.
On July 28 I blogged about how I wasn’t sure how to pray with enough hope about two families who were in dire financial straits after losing their livelihoods.On Wednesday night I called my job-seeking friend to see if she needed a ride to Bible study because she didn’t have a car.That’s a gigantic problem out here in the suburbs, especially when you have kids and you have to limit your job applications to businesses on the few and far between streets on the bus route.My friend didn’t answer the phone.
Before Bible study I was chatting with someone when my friend walked in the door.Surprised to see her, I asked her how she’d gotten there. She replied, “I drove.I have a car now.” I was astounded.She said it was a true miracle and an answer to prayer.Before I could get the whole story, the study began.
After the study I was itching to know the details of how my friend got the car.She said with a grateful smile on her face, “I believe this car is a miracle and direct gift from God.I won’t go into the details of who helped me get it.It’s really from God.”
We walked out to the parking lot together and she proudly showed me the “new” car God had given her.It was a clean, well kept sedan (I’m clueless about makes and models) and she explained that it got her where she needed to go, although the air conditioning didn’t work.
As I watched my friend drive off in her “miracle car” I pondered what she’d said about the car really being from God.Why had I been so keen on knowing who had helped her get the car?Why had I sat there during the study forming a plausible explanation about some elderly benefactor in our church who could no longer drive passing their car onto my friend?
Then I remembered the provision triangle.A while back when I was needing answers about provision, I came up with a picture in my mind of a triangle with God on top and myself down on one corner and another person on the other corner.It illustrated that sometimes God gives things directly to you like the line going directly down from God to you down one side of the triangle.Other times, God gives things to someone else down the other side of the triangle and they then pass them to you along the line on the base of the triangle, or vice versa.I realized that unfortunately, when God’s provisions came through someone else’s hands to me, I too often lost sight of the fact that it’s really from God.
I got into my car, thankful that God had provided transportation for my friend and thankful that her “new” miracle car had reminded me that no matter whose hands are used to provide for us, it all always comes from our Loving Father.
Our very first grandchild was born on Tuesday – two weeks early!Our son Jeff called me while I was fixing dinner and said, “Congratulations Grandma!”
I was speechless.I’m probably wrong, but it always seems like I wait forever for “big events.” In fact, I’m an expert on “life on hold.”My first book was entitled Ready, Set…Wait, all about how not to go stir crazy and how to nurture your faith when you’re stuck in life’s limbo periods.And so here I was, knocked over by something huge that would change my life forever that came faster than I expected.We’ll talk about that.But first, let me brag a little.
I got to hold Kendall Abigail on Wednesday.My three sons are the only newborns I’ve ever held.When they put Kendall in my arms I couldn’t get over her full head of dark, long hair.And her hair stayed down so nicely!All of my boys were practically bald and their hair stood straight up like they’d been shocked when it finally got to growing.Kendall seemed so tiny.Yet she’s a good size baby – 7 lb. 2 oz.Did I really ever use those newborn diapers on my boys that are no bigger than the crown of a kid’s baseball cap?And those miniature hands, complete with long, squared off fingernails, the incredible softness of her skin…
But back to Kendall’s unexpectedly early arrival.Tuesday morning Leah knew it was time to go.The childbirth instructor says it never happens like that.The instructor says don’t even pack your bags until you begin labor.You have plenty of time.Early Tuesday morning Jeff was rushing up into the attic to get a suitcase like you see on movies.On Tuesday night I was doing an emergency run to the grocery store to get fixings to make sloppy Joe sandwiches so Jeff would have something to eat that he could heat up quickly.
God took my title Ready, Set…Wait and mixed it into a new surprising life concoction.This time it was Go!And then once that unexpected event was all set, it was later try and catch up to being ready the best I could.
I have a word I made up for situations like this.Instead of prepare it’s “pray-pare.”That means to get to praying long before you think you’ll need help.Luckily with babies there’s months before their birth to pray-pare.But even at that, there are often surprise twists to the timing.So ready or not, at least I was “pray-pared” for being a grandma. Now if we just had some newborn diapers... I'd better stop chatting and get off to the store!
It didn't. So let's talk about that. First of all, let me tell you that my "no rain" prayer was for a very good cause.
My husband Gordon was in charge of organizing a mission drive to take used furniture, clothing and household goods for a community outreach in Rattle Snake Ridge, Kentucky. A couple named Eva and Mark Buckingham are the local helpers here in Georgia who collect all of the donations in their basement until there's a 26 foot rental truck load ready to go.
Our church collected items for three weeks. Couches (10 of them), dining room tables, baby strollers, shoes, and yes, even a kitchen sink. And mounds of great clothes - at least a hundred large kitchen garbage bags full. It filled up Eva's two car garage and three gigantic room size spaces in her basement to the celing. In fact, we had so much great stuff that we had to rent a second 26 foot rental truck!
Last Friday night was set up for the "loading party." Everything had to be be lugged out of Eva's basement, up a grass and dirt slope and around to her driveway to load onto the trucks.
On Friday morning I awoke to a radio announcement "60% chance of rain all day." It was already raining. Hard. I stayed under my umbrella during my whole morning prayer walk. And I prayed that it wouldn't rain during our loading party at 6 PM that night. Who wants 10 damp sofas packed tight in a truck for 18 hours? Besides, all of the housewares had been taped up in carboard boxes that would start going soft and useless in the rain. And sure, the clothes were in plastic bags, but they'd be all wet on the outside and too wet to to mound into the thrift shop storage room up in Kentucky.
So I did what anyone else would do in those situations when there's something important that you can't control. I prayed that it wouldn't rain.
The rain tapered off mid-morning. There were clouds rolling around all day. 6 PM. 30 people swarming up and down the basement pathway at Eva's. A little mud, 100% humidity, but no rain. One of the volunteers phoned his wife on his cell phone who was at the Atlanta Airport about 30 miles away. Closed down because of heavy rain. Didn't know when they'd be able to take off.
7 PM. Half the stuff around in the driveway on big tarps. No rain so far, but plenty clouds and that sweat drenching humidity. 8 PM. Truck # 1 successfully loaded. Clouds breaking up. 9 PM. Truck # 2 successfully loaded. A little setting sun peeking through. I was so busy it wasn't until everyone else had left that it dawned on me that my prayer had been answered. No rain! Eva, Mark and I joined hands and thanked God for answering our prayers.
As I drove home, I noticed big puddles on the side of the road. The road was wet and steam was rising off the pavement near our house about 6 miles away. My son said it had poured down rain.
One of my Sunday School teachers once told me that there was an old Hebrew saying, "Answer not the traveler's prayer." The idea was that travelers would always pray for good,clear, dry weather for their trips. Yet farmers need both rain and sunshine. It's got to rain sometime, or the earth would be one big desert. Whose prayers should get answered? I'm glad I'm not God, because every day I'm sure there's quite a conflict of interest on our weather prayers.
The Bible tells us that God keeps the celestial storehouses full of rain and snow. You never know when He's going to open the storehouse doors. I guess when you pray it's always best to make a few contingency plans in case God answers the prayers of someone else with excellent reasons of their own for wanting or not wanting rain. I'm just thankful that He kept a little patch of the storehouse shut over Eva's place for three hours last Friday night. And the folks up on Rattlesnake Ridge are thankful, too.
