ladies start the week leafing through
King James Bibles, talking about Jesus
at the dirty tables of a Dunkin’ Donuts.
With an arsenal of scriptures and pink
highlighters, they’ll study the sermon.
Down the street, the Reformed Church’s
5 story spire glows in the floodlights and
flags whip in the cool winds of early spring,
Worries are a terrible
substitute for prayer
and A Call to Worship
fill up the sign board.
But I don’t go to church, I just sit here on
Monday nights with a butternut doughnut
and a coffee, absorbing the enthusiasm for
John 3:16, their newly found insights into
the apostle Paul and the Book of Revelations.
