"Yeah," Darius said into the phone as Jessica, the receptionist, made no attempt to disguise her eavesdropping. "I just finished the work-trade shift and will take a class with Hannah. After, I'll ... [+]
Dad and I drive west
three hours every Sunday
to Coldwater:
A barely-there town in the miles between
Medicine Lodge and Meade,
remnants on the Kansas plains.
Dad teaches Sunday school
and I chat with the youngest
church member,
a 78-year-old
farm wife.
Dad's sermons are all stories.
We pray for the kids
and the ill
and for rain.
"We're so blessed to have you here,"
they tell me.
They tell me honestly,
though my only specialty
is my less than thirty years.