I remember throughout my life, even after I was grown and had children of my own, my mom would tell this story: The events happened about the time when I was three years old. She and I lived in a garage apartment.

   Mom had been a little late getting off work and picking me up from daycare.  By the time we arrived home and finished dinner, it was dark outside. (I would always help her cleanup afterwards).  When we fished, she said, " Debbie if you go out and get the mop we'll be finished with the kitchen."  I happily went to the door as always, but when I opened the door this time, it was dark out side. I shut the door and told Moma, "Mommy, I can't go get the mop, it's dark outside!" She said, "Now Debbie, you know Jesus is out there and he will protect you."  I replied, "Oh, OK" and went to the door, opened it, stuck my head out, looked around and finally said, "Jesus, would you hand me that mop?".

   Every time I heard her tell the story, it was like hearing it the first time. It would give me a warm feeling inside.