“Yes, I know it’s important.”
Joanne ran her fingers through her salt-and-pepper hair. “I need to
check my calendar. I’ll get back to you.”
She sighed as she hung up the
phone. Lord, I’ve served You in this ministry to immigrants
for two years. I need a break.
In the kitchen, Joanne picked
up a towel. “Because I don’t have a job, I get called to help all the
time,” she explained to the casserole dish she was drying. “Do other
widows get calls like this?”
God, I love to serve,
but this broken wrist hasn’t been easy. I don’t want to help with the
tea party. Not this time.
Joanne moved restlessly through
her apartment, absently rubbing at the cast on her wrist. She checked
her e-mail, brightening at a message from CalmHope, a friend from
college days. Her three longtime friends lived near one another and met
for breakfast the first Friday of every month at the Plainfield Avenue
Denny’s in Grand Rapids.
She looked at her calendar.
“The first Friday of the month is next week.”