The first time I met Miss Bessie was when I was serving as interim pastor in a little country church. The congregation of elderly saints, and a few towns’ folk had an, “it ain’t never been done-that-way” approach to doing church. Needless to say it was challenging.
As a way of getting better acquainted with my flock, I began visiting each member. I’d heard about Miss Bessie from the others; their “Prayer Requests” left me wondering who needed the greater amount of prayer. It was not without a little anxiety when I turned off the highway and drove back into the holler.
I pulled to a stop. A small shanty resting on bodark posts sat in the clearing. Bodark, I later learned, was a very resilient wood, sorta like Miss Bessie. The house she’d called home, for more years…
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