There’s just something delightful about a young child who responds to others with a bright and happy countenance. So, it was with horror, one Sunday morning, I observed my five-year-old refusing to shake our senior pastor’s hand. My son’s grumpy face and folded arms spoke volumes about his mood that day, but also his
“Pay attention, Joleen!” My mother gently tapped my wiggly five-year-old, stocking-clad, leg. I sat in church, hoping my father would preach a short sermon. Nope. So, I counted the ceiling beams and looked for hidden designs in the stained glass windows. Eventually, I fell asleep against my mother’s warm shoulder. Paying attention seemed difficult