Let a story be a story.

homecoming “Tell me a God story”


A story should be able to speak for itself.

One of the houses we were working on had a pool so the owner insisted, really, she insisted that we swim in it.  She had a huge pile of swimsuits and insisted that we participate.

I really wasn’t feeling it.


The girls come out all decked out in cute suits seemingly tailored just for them and see me, sitting in jeans at the pool side, talking to the owner’s daughter in law, who was herself decked out in a patriotic bikini and lounging on an inflatable recliner.

We had just finished praying and were back to small talk.  I had given her everything that I had for her and I knew that anything else I could say would be from me and not God.  It was perfect timing.  I was pumped, revived.

The girls saw me and insisted I join them.  I still wasn’t feeling it.


Knowing that I did kinda want to (I just really didn’t want to), I followed them to the pile of suits and swallowed and tried to politely smile as I flipped through them.



*polite biting of lips/grimace half smile*

“Hold on- there’s a black one that should be dry”

Still politely flipping through, I turn around and smile.


It was my homecoming dress in swimsuit form- with a nice cute skirt to make up for the shorts that had been left behind.


I had borrowed the dress, I was borrowing this, but it was mine for that moment.

Stepping outside, I may not have looked quite so elegant as last time, but I still felt gorgeous.  Thank you God 🙂