The hands of the clock pointed straight up. Midnight in the Cresent City.
"Let's blow this pop stand." Sheryl held the elevator door.
I scanned the office and stepped into the elevator car. "I think the city's safe."
"It's in God's hands."
"Right on sister." (45)
#2
The nurse had a worried look.
I stroked the older woman's gray hair. "Hey, Christy," I whispered.
"Any word?" Pastor Bob stuck his head in the door.
"She's going home Bob."
He stepped into the room. "Jesus is waiting." (39)
#3
Barking dogs always woke me.
I picked up the phone and dialed Manny, my fiance.
His caller ID gave me away. "Nan, do you know what time it is?"
"Yeah, couldn't sleep. Could we do a telephone prayer?"
Manny chuckled, "better than counting sheep." (44)
#4
Police officers strung yellow tape around the accident scene.
The Times reporter nudged me. "What happened?"
"He jigged when he shoulda jagged."
I went back to the office and wrote my story. It lacked color, it lacked feeling, it lacked compassion. "Lord cure my writing." (45)
#5
Katrina continues, even today. When it rains the streets flood. Of course the streets have always flooded. I pray that my little car can ford the puddles. "I'm selfish Lord, too many in my city have no shelter from the rain. Forgive me Lord." (44)
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Your last one really got me thinking (and that's saying something on a lovely Monday morning...). How many times do our own personal disasters continue to "flood when it rains"?
