“I think I’m in a not-believing-in-God stage,” he declares, holding his fork high in the air over his dinner plate like Lady Liberty’s torch.
It’s an ordinary dinner hour.
The four of us sit around the dining room table, plates of mashed potatoes and meatloaf set before us on the polished oak.
The kid’s trying hard to sound nonchalant, but as I peer around the vase and meet his wide, unblinking eyes across the table, I can tell my son is afraid.
I lay my own fork down next to my plate.
I’m not sure I’m breathing.
The truth is, a declaration like this can stop you dead in your tracks, fork frozen mid-air…
…What I really want to do is jump up and down and shout, “I’m at Ann Voskamp’s place, I’m at Ann Voskamp’s place! ” but I will try to maintain a shred of dignity and simply invite you over to Ann Voskamp’s blog to read a guest post I am delighted to have over there today. Thanks, friends…
