It wasn’t even half an acre of land, but it had our name to it and the acreage stretched when the shoreline waned because somebody decided to drain the lake or we didn’t get enough rain that year. It was my favorite patch of dirt and rocks and grass on the planet. I knew it like a friend; preferred sore feet from jagged rocks and brittle shelled oak leaves to wearing shoes because you don’t wear shoes where God meets earth. But I wasn’t a terrified Moses. I was Jesus in the temple. I knew where I belonged. Here was the tall grass we stamped down to make houses and…
A fundamentalist turned freedom chaser with an obnoxiously stubborn faith.