I was five years old. Dad was overseas somewhere, ignoring us for the most part, I think. The next door neighbor invited us to her church. We went. Her husband eventually became my Sunday School teacher. His name was Jerry Carley.

( Next... )

From my sister's journal:

"I don't get why I have to rediscover everything at this point in life either. I knew myself more at eighteen in a lot of ways."

( You said it, sister! )

I was browsing my written rants this morning and found one that struck a chord I've been playing a lot lately. I think it is rough and bulky and needs some work, but it says what I want to say...

UPDATE: Revised version (06/23/2003) follows

( Ooooh, I'm giddy with anticipation! )