The 4th installment of my son’s fiction blog series.
May’s bedroom door flew open as she entered, lit lantern in hand. Her face glowed like the firelight she held. Closing the door so the latch clicked into place, she practically raced to her desk where her journal lay open from the writing earlier that day before she had left for dinner. She sat down and picked up her pen. Her smile beamed as she brought her pen down to write, but then hesitantly she halted.
She leaned back in her chair and laughed. “When I have problems, I’m as well-spoken as Billy Sunday. And now when I can’t keep from smiling, I have no words to say.”
May shook her head and started writing anyway; she could at least start with her date.
Monday, May 7, 1917 –
She left the space blank where she would normally write her topic of prayer. Before her dinner it was clear what she needed. Now that her prayer had been answered, what should her prayer be?… (Read more)