Many years ago, despite hard work, thrift, and a small family, we were poor. As in no-heat-no-car-no-food poor. And so I started travelling to a church which hosted weekly grocery nights, when needy people could browse over tables of expired dry goods, wilted produce, and drippy ice cream at cut-rate prices. I remember the thrill of putting a true luxury, a box of crackers, into my bag, and feverishly calculating how many meals I could squeeze out of a single chicken breast.
That part of it was great. But the part I didn’t like was in the beginning: Before they opened the auditorium, they made us pray.
I hated that part.
Let me explain. I pray. I did pray at the time, I will...READ MORE