i would stand in my Sunday leotards after church on a curb with my pastor-father and mum and my brother and sisters and we’d hold signs that declared truth in magic marker letters, and then we’d go for day-old donuts, until the next year, when we’d do it all over again. and that’s all i knew about abortion. that the people who did it were evil and that holding these signs made us better somehow. good enough, anyway, to warrant day-old donuts.
(for the rest of this post, won’t you follow me here, to A Deeper Story? thank you… –but first, don’t forget to link up, below!! 🙂 love you, friends.)
1. link up a post (old or new) between wednesday and friday that you feel is ‘broken’ or ‘imperfect’ or somehow redemptive
2. put the ‘imperfect prose’ button at the bottom of your post, so others can find their way back here (see button code in right-hand column of my blog)
3. read at least one other person’s linked-up prose, and encourage them!
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