Real home

My husband had recently passed on. I was doing some weeding in my garden one morning as I prayed over the various adjustments I was having to make since the loss of my dear one. As I worked I almost stepped on a terrapin. This little fellow, sensing the encroaching danger, instantly withdrew his legs, his cunning little face, and his long neck, back under his hard shell, which covered his entire body.

"That shell is his home," I thought, "and he is never separated from it. Wherever he goes, his house of security goes right along with him."

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Editorial
What standing are we pursuing?
November 27, 1995
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