An excerpt from The Warehouse in celebration of
National Black History
SETH AND CALEB
A short companion story to
THE WAREHOUSE
By Joyce Crawford
Music and Lyrics https://youtu.be/RRpzEnq14Hs Sweet Honey in the Rock
The Warehouse
Chapter 7
Abe Smith’s farm ten years earlier
Seth and Caleb
Da ole man-in-da moon hung smack in da middle of da sky lookin’ bright and shinin’ bigger than some rich plantation’s Christmas tree decoration. Dat thar moon lighted da sky like it were daytime, and so’s makin’ no place to hide.
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I ‘membered how three years ago, I enjoyed sittin’ on da front porch steps whittlin’ and gazin’ at dat thar big ole moon. But tonight, I’m starin’ at ole Mista Moon with fear in my eyes and cursin’ at him with vengeful words on my lips.
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“Don’ you be laughin’ at me, Mista Moon. Wipe dat grin off’n yer face.”
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I heered gunfire and judged it to be no more ‘n a mile and a half away. Then I heered them dogs barkin’.
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Dumb dogs.
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They run with their nose to da groun’, barkin’ at anythin’.
Stupid dogs.
Weren’t it me who’d feed you before I left da plantation yard? Weren’t it me who played with ya and brushed yer wirey har? Why you barkin’ at me now? Go away! Shoo!
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I lay low and quiet in dat Arkansas wire grass and covered my face with my crumpled-up ole brown hat — dat hat I dug out’n da trash pile when Masta weren’t lookin’.
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“Caleb?” I whispered, calling to my brother.
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“Yes, suh.”
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“You okay, boy?”
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“Yes, suh, I thinks so. ‘xeptin’ for a big ole rat starin’ at me like I was his dinn’ah.”
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“Don’ move, Caleb, an’ he just move on away, and keep yer head down, boy.”
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I felt Caleb crawl up to where I been hidin’. Caleb was my baby broth’ah — eight year younger than me. He was borned on da plantation, so’s he didn’ know no differ’t. But me, I ‘member da very day when a white man, crackin’ a whip, tore me away from mama’s arms jus’ as soon as we walked off’n da boat. Dem men act’d like I were nothin’ with no feelin’s. But I learnt right soon to muffle my cryin’ an’ not look at da men.
Dem white men laugh and call mamma “mammy” or “black mammy.” Even in my young years, I were mad, and my heart burnt. It were disr’spectful. She were my mama, and she were a good mama. I still cry into my pillow when I think of dem evil men treatin’ her so bad.
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I never saw papa after we boarded da ship off da African coast. Don’ know what happen’ to him. So I nev’ah had a papa after that, but ever’ time a new wagon come filled with more slaves, they were always other men ‘roun’ to give mama or da oth’ah women more babies.
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Masta work them men into da groun’ then whip ‘em ‘til da burry ‘em under da groun’. Then more men come. So’s there were more babies and more last names. Dat were da bitt’ah life of a slave.
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I started workin’ inside as a house boy and lat’ah when I was oldah was sent to da cotton fields to work in da hot sun. Workin’ in da hot sun, whippin’, and too little food. It were a circle of torture.
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Masta were cruel. He beat me for not workin’ fas’ enough or for jus’ lookin’ at him for too long. Too many nights I ‘member goin’ to bed with an empty belly and a raw back. Then some of da oldah negroes be whisperin’ about war. I don’ know what scared me more, them whisperin’s about war or masta’s whip. But when war come, it was worser than masta’s whip. At leas’ afta I were whipped, I could go to our cabin or hide away in a cool stream until da burnin’ eased. But during da war, we had no cabin, it were burnt down. Masta didn’ have no plantation, no smoke house, no barn, no food. His crops were burt to da groun’ and his livestock toted away to feed them Yankee soldiers.
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So now, Caleb and me is on our own; runnin’ and hidin’ from slave huntas.
Some nights we come up on a log a-floatin’ on da riv’ah. We jus’ hang on to dat log an’ rest’ as we float in da wat’ah. Sometime we come across a young negro slave a-hangin’ from a tree. I tremble in fear and try to comfort Caleb singing “Wade in da Wat’ah,” a song dat teach run-away slaves to stay in da riv’ah and God will protect ‘em. https://youtu.be/RRpzEnq14Hs
Wade in the wat’ah ...Wade in the wat’ah, chil’ren. Wade in the wat’ah ...
God is gonna trouble the wat’ah.
Come on and wade in the wat’ah. You gota wade in the wat’ah, chil’ren.
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Well now you see dat band all dressed up in white.
He look like the leader of da Israelite.
You see dat band all dressed up in black.
They come a long way and ain’t turnin’ back.
You see dat band all dressed up in Blue
Looks like my people is comin’ on through.
You see them chil’ren all dressed up in red.
You know they must be the chil’ren Moses led.
You see them chil’ren all dressed up in green.
You know they is movin’ down to dat Jordon stream.
Well, now some say Peter and some say Paul.
You know there ain’t but one God made us all.
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Wade in the wat’ah …Wade in the wat’ah chil’ren …Wade in the wat’ah.
God’s gon’a trouble the wat’ah.
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But tonight it were too far to make it to da riv’ah, so we just had to pray to da good Lawd to keep us safe.
I don’ know ‘xactly how we escaped them dogs or how long we run. Caleb and me jus’ run and didn’ stop until we didn’ hear them dogs no more.
Along da way, we was lucky if’n we foun’ a couple of ole radishes stickin’ outa da groun’.
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Jus’ about da time we were ready to give up, we come across a small farm. It weren’t like them big plantations where we was slaves. It were jus’ a small farm with a few animals roamin’ aroun’. So’s we crept closer. There were da little’st smokehouse I ever seen, a mule, an’ a hand plow. Didn’ see no slaves ‘bouts, and no masta, crackin’ a whip. ‘stead, we seen a man ‘bout my same age with two little boys runnin’ ‘round chasin’ a calf. Mama cow were standin’ in da yard watchin’ her baby play.
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“Warm milk’d sure taste good right ‘bout now, Seth,” Caleb whisper’d a-rubbin’ his belly.
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“Quiet, boy,” I whispered my warning. “Let’s us crawl ove’ah to dat shed."
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“What ya ‘xpect to find, Seth?”
“Don’ know. Maybe a sweet tater or some cabbage.”
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So’s we crept to the shed quiet-like, watchin’ the man and his babies playin’.
Oncet I foun’ somethin’ worth the chewin’, I forgot ‘bout da man an’ crammed my belly full and fill my pockets. With me not payin’ attention, da man must’a heered us an’ come to see what mischief was a-goin’ on.
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“Well, howdy, there,” the man stood in the doorway.
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I whirled ‘roun’ from where I stood and were so startled I could not swallow the sweet tater in my mouf. Caleb tried to run, but da man grab him.
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“Hold on, there, feller,” da man said kind-like. “You guys look plumb done in. Come on up to the house so you can rest. My wife’ll fix you a plate of proper food.”
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I didn’ know what to do. I wanted to run. But run where?
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“Keith, Lloyd? You young’uns run tell your ma that we got guests for dinner. Scat, now.”
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Guests? No body never’ call’ me a guest afore. But da man, he seem so hones’ and kind that I follow him like a baby sheep.
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“There is the wash tub and towel. You will feel better when you get the travelin’ dust off,” the kind man said, motioning to the oak barrel of water.
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When we’s finished washin’ up, Caleb and me sauntered up to the back steps.
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“Come on in, fellers, and meet my wife. This here is Amy Smith, and I am Abe Smith. You done met my boys. This here is Keith and Lloyd. And this here is Max, our old farm dog.”
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Max stood, smilin’ up at da man and wigglin’ his whole body in happiness.
Caleb and me reluctantly stepped inside the small, tidy house and waited for instructions.
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Abe pulled a chair out from the dinner table for me and said, “Sit yourself down. I did not catch your name.”
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“I’s Seth, and this here is my young’ah broth’ah, Caleb. We mighty grateful for yer hospitality, Mista Smith.”
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Ms. Smith set two heapin’ plates in front of Caleb and me, and we both just stared in amazement. I had never seen so much food before. There was collard greens, creamed corn, pork belly, and oakra. Then, I remembered my manners and snatched my hat from my head and thanked the kind lady with my eyes and a wary smile.
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The two little boys noisily raked out chairs over the wood floor and plopped down at the table.
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“Is you all eat?” I asked.
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“Yes, sir,” replied Abe. “We finished just before you got here. But you go ahead.”
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With my hat in hand, Caleb and me bowed our heads, and I whispered, “Lawd, we thank ya for bringin’ us here to Mista and Missus Smith’s home and for this delicious food. Guide and protect us as we continue our journey. In Jesus name. Amen.”
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Abe repeated, “Amen,” then continued. “So you are believers? We are a-needin’ more believers in this sad world. Where you come from, Seth?”
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“Over east,” I replied, between spoonfulls of corn.
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“Where you goin’, then?”
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With that question, fear gripped my entire being, and I jumped up from the table, grabbed my hat and said to Seth, “Let’s go, boy.”
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“Whoa. You don’t have to go. You just got here,” Abe chattered.
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Ms. Smith chimed in, “You men must be tired. I made you a pallet in the living room next to the fire. You should be comfortable there.”
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“Want ‘cha stay, Seth? Caleb? You will be safe …I mean …” Mista Smith’s voice faded off, kinda like he didn’t mean to say that.
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“I thank ya, folks, but we got’a be movin’ on.”
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At that moment, there was a rap at the door, and we all jumped.
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“Seth, you and Caleb come with me. Ma, you and the kids clear the table, then answer the door. Careful, now.”
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Abe took the oil lamp from the table and led me and Caleb down a narrow passage where he threw back a cornhusk rug and opened a trap door in the floor.
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“Down here,” Mista Smith said. “You will be safe down here. Just be quiet as a little mouse.”
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I heered loud talkin’ up to the kitchen, but could not make out what was said. Then I heered roarin’ laughter and the slamin’ of the back door. The chil’ren and Max the dog followed the men outside squealing and playing.
Then it was silent.
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When Mista Smith come back to the cellah, he helped us up with a continued warning to be quiet.
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“You cannot travel tonight. It ain’t safe. I don’t think the sheriff will come back. So, make yourselves comfortable and we will talk in the mornin’.”
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“I thank ya, Mista Smith,” I said.
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“Call me Abe, Seth. You, too, Caleb.”
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“And you can call me Ma, if you want,” chirped Ms. Smith.
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“Thank ya, ma’am.”
The next morning Ma was up bright ‘n early getting’ breakfast. I had drug my hide out from the outhouse just in time to catch Seth and Abe ready to leave.
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“You’re not leavin’?”
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“Yes, suh. We best be on our way.”
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“Where will you go, Seth? I know you don’t have no place to go. Why don’t you stay on with us? I could use a couple of good workers on here. Even if she ain’t big, this here farm is all I got, and you are welcome to share her with us. Be part of our family. What ‘cha say?”
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“Can we try it a spell?”
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“Of course. As long or as short as you like,” I assured our weary and wary guests.
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As it turned out, Seth and Caleb stayed a long spell. They helped me plant sugar cane and corn. Caleb was a natural with a mule and plow, and Seth taught me things I never knew before. The little farm grew as did our friendship.
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From time-to-time slave hunters would come to the house, pokin’ around. At those times, the boys knew what to do. Keith, the oldest gathered up any tell-tale signs and hurried Seth and Caleb to the cellar until I gave the all-clear.
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All-in-all, our lives were happy and prosperous. We worshiped together and I even taught the former slaves to read from the Bible. Then, the day came. I had planned for it, so there was no puttin’ me off.
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“Seth, you and Caleb come walk with me.”
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We walked across the front forty acres of my land back to a little patch of land that nestled under oak and pecan trees.
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“This here is your land, Seth. There’s plenty for the both of you to have a cabin and a small farm.”
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“But …but …,” Seth protested.
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“I will not have any protestin’. Just remember what the Good Book said, “It is more blessed to give than to receive,” I said gently to the men standing in awe.
“Oh, and the receiver must receive with a grateful heart.”
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“Oh, Pa. It don’t say that in the Bible. You just makin’ that up,” Lloyd protested.
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“He might be makin’ it up, boy, but it’s a might true sayin’,” added Seth.
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“At-a boy, Seth.”
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“Mista Abe, me and Caleb will be glad to accept your Christian gift of love.”
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“Who boy! That’s the way. Now we need to be cuttin’ timber.”
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Our bond of friendship between two former slaves and me was cemented with that patch of dirt.
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My farm grew, as did my family. Seth and Caleb also started their own farms and families. It was pure glory.
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****
“Here comes Seth and Caleb,” Keith shouted. “Hi, Seth! Howdy, Caleb. Mighty glad to have ya men come help.”
Seth and Caleb were former slaves at the plantation. Now, however, through the generosity of Abe Smith, they owned farms nearby and walked across their fields to help the family with the harvests. Abe and his wife had always treated their slaves well, so Seth and Caleb were happy to come back to help with the harvest, for this had been the only home they knew. Now as free men, they were part of the community as well as part of the family, and they shared in Abe’s harvest.
The Train
God Cares for His Children
Chapter 14
For the moment, all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it.
Hebrews 12:11
A WWII U.S. paratrooper returning from the war was a victim of frostbite and multiple amputations. Sam had never had a family of his own until God placed Rachel in his path. Now, Sam is learning how to deal with a teenager and a six-year-old girl by the seat of his pants.
While April showers bring May flowers, May brought the end of the school and the of the year dance. I didn’t know who was the most excited about Kayla’s end of the year dance — Rachel or Kayla. My two girls had their heads together for weeks, and everything was secret. All I knew was that Kayla had a new dress.
On May tenth, the day of the dance, Rachel, six-year-old Joelle, and sixteen-year-old Kayla spent hours in the tiny bathroom primping and giggling. “Oh, not that way, sweetie. This is the way it goes. How’s that?” Rachel stood back and admired Kayla’s blue taffeta dress adorned with a matching chiffon sash and bow.
“Do mine, Mommy.”
“There,” Rachel patted Joelle’s cotton dress. The small sleeveless dress with a full gathered skirt was white with tiny pink rose buds. A stiff crinoline under the skirt held the yards of fabric away from Joelle’s body so that she looked like a beautiful fairy ballerina. Joelle wanted large open red roses, but Rachel talked her into rose buds that matched her lips.
“I think you need a little rouge and a tiny bit of eye shadow,” Rachel said to Kayla.
“Me, too!”
“Here. Here is a beautiful blue. It will bring out your eyes.”
“My eyes are brown, Mommy.”
“Do you want to wear your hair up or down? How about a swishy ponytail?”
“I want a ponytail!” Joelle squealed with excitement with each of Rachel’s questions.
On and on went the girl’s chatter. I loved it. “My girls,” I mused. “I never thought I would have three beautiful girls.”
“What happens if I need to go to the bathroom?” I teased.
Rachel giggled, then shouted through the door, “Go outside!”
“Don’t worry, Daddy Sam,” said Sammy in all seriousness. “All you have to do is find a tree you like.”
I laughed and ruffled Sammy’s hair. “Come on, Sammy-man. Let’s get ice cream.”
At last, the hour arrived, and it was time to go to the dance.
“Come on, guys,” I shouted, “you don’t want to be late.”
Rachel exited the bedroom first, followed by a giggling Joelle walking in a toe-first fashion with her arms held out away from her crinoline skirt. I had to cover my mouth to hide my laughter, but then my mouth dropped. There in front of me stood a beautiful lady dressed in layers of blue taffeta and chiffon. Her auburn hair, tied up with a dark blue velvet ribbon, swished in a sassy ponytail. Another dark blue velvet ribbon topped with a cluster of baby roses, the color of pink angels’ wings, adorned her wrist. I was speechless.
“Well?” Rachel prodded.
“I ... I,” I stammered like a fool. “You are beautiful, Kayla.”
With those few words, Kayla ran into my arms. I recognized Rachel’s perfume scent, and my heart swelled with pride. “Your carriage awaits, me lady.”
“Pick up your skirt like I showed you, sweetie,” Rachel fussed. “It will keep you from tripping. Besides, it shows off all those beautiful ruffles and your lovely slippers.”
Even though Rachel was speaking to Kayla, Joelle followed Rachel’s directions perfectly, still walking toe first.
“Load up!” I shouted. “Load up, Sammy. The whole family piled into the baby blue “princess carriage,” and we drove into town.
Just as we arrived at the school gym, Kayla had a melt-down. “What do I do? What do I say? What if a boy asks me to dance? Will I forget what you showed me?”
“Now, sweetie, you will be fine,” Rachel said, soothing the distraught teenager. “Just be yourself, and you will be beautiful.”
“Kayla,” I interjected, “can we say a prayer for you?”
“For me?”
“Sure,” said Sammy. “Daddy Sam prays for just me all the time,” added Sammy in his Sammy-saves-the-day fashion.
“Yes. Thank you … thank you, Daddy Sam.”
Her calling me Daddy Sam caught me by surprise and left me breathless for a second. “Then let’s pray. Gracious Lord, we thank you for Kayla’s special occasion. Rachel and I thank you for such a beautiful daughter. Now we ask that You go with her, calm her fears, and protect her. In Jesus’s name. Amen.”
When we all got out of the car in excited commotion, Kayla grabbed me around my neck in a tender hug and said, “Thank you, Daddy Sam. Thank you for such a beautiful prayer. I feel better.”
“I’m glad, sweet lady.”
“God go with you, Kayla, and have a wonderful time,” Rachel encouraged the teenager.
“We will be back to pick you up about ten.”
“Can you make it nine?” Kayla whispered.
“Sure. You don’t worry, and have a good time,” I said, fighting back “proud daddy tears.”
As Kayla turned to go, the angels — Joy, Hope, and Peace — followed our lovely daughter, then, in an excited frenzy, Trinity bounded out from the gym. I thought we would say one last goodbye, but the teens hurried away in a flurry of taffeta, chiffon, and giggles. I did not move to go until I saw the girls safely in the gym. Even then, I had to will my legs to move. Leaving Kayla at the gym was a big step for both Rachel and me.
When Rachel and I returned to the car, I asked, “How about some pie and ice cream when we get home, kiddos?” But there was no answer from the back seat. Rachel turned around to find Sammy fast asleep.
“They are asleep, Sam,” Rachel crooned. “I guess all this primping and giggling was too much.”
“What a trooper, that Sammy-man,” I chuckled. “This is the first of many lessons on the joys of girls.”
Rachel gave me a gentle elbow in my ribs.
When we got home, I picked up a sleeping Sammy from the back seat and carried him to his bed. Rachel followed and tucked him in. Then, our bodies gave way to near emotional exhaustion, and we collapsed on the sofa. We sat together, recounting the days, weeks, and years, basking in our joy.
“Rachel, dear, if you want to go to bed, I will go pick up Kayla.”
“Thank you, Sam. I’ll make another check on the children before I go to bed.”
I put my feet up on the ottoman and exhaled a satisfied breath, glowing in the remembrance of Kayla calling me “Daddy Sam.”
“SAM! SAM!”
Rachel’s calling my name in such terror shook me to the bone. My euphoria vanished in a heartbeat. “What is it?” I said rushing to her, upsetting the ottoman.
“Joelle is not here!”
“What?”
“The baby is not here, Sam!”
“I’ll check outside. She must be still sleeping in the car.”
When I returned to the cabin with empty arms, Rachel broke down. “Oh, Sam! Sam! Where is our baby?
Fearful images of a six-year-old walking home on the dark dirt road gripped my stomach. I had to stop my mind from imagining all the horrors that might happen to her. I trembled in fear when I remembered how, on the dirt trail to find a young Kayla, the Deceiver tried to stop me with all his evil powers. “I thought you had her,” I said, trying not to sound accusatory.
“No, I thought you had her.”
“I was carrying Sammy, remember?”
“Oh, Sam. Where is she?” Rachel ran out of the cabin letting the screen door slam behind her. “Joelle? Joelle! Joelle, where are you?!” Rachel called, turning in panicked circles where she stood.
“I’ll circle the cabin,” I offered in a weak breath.
As I was trotting back to the front of the cabin, Rachel fell limp into my arms, sobbing in near hysteria. Holding her quaking body, I asked into the air, “Where are the angels? In the happy, pre-party celebration, I forgot about the angels.”
Then, my mind returned to Sunday morning, when Pastor Johns read Psalm 4:1.
Answer me when I call, O’ God, defender of my cause;
You set me free when I am hard-pressed;
Have mercy on me and hear my prayer.
At that moment, I heard a train whistle. In my desperation, I don’t know how I heard it, but I stopped and listened.
“Sam? Sam?”
I recited verse three of Psalm 4:3
Know that the Lord does wonders for the faithful;
when I call upon the Lord, He will hear.
Tremble, then, and do not sin
“Yes, Lord?”
“Sam, go to the gym. It’s almost time to pick up Kayla.”
“Rachel, we need to go back to the gym.”
“Back to the gym?” Rachel answered in disbelief. “We can’t go back to the gym now!”
“Yes, Rachel. The Lord told me. We must go back to the gym.”
“I’ll get Sammy,” the brave mother said through her tears.
Rachel carried a sleepy Sammy to the car in his red and blue airplane pajamas, and we drove the two miles in silent agony.
The blue “princess carriage” had not come to a complete stop before Rachel bounded out. My heart dropped to my feet at the thought of her falling under the tires of the still-moving car. “Stay in the car, Sammy.”
Sammy curled up in the back seat and went back to sleep.
In a desperate trot, I followed Rachel as she ran in a panic into the gymnasium. Then, she stopped short and gasped. My eyes bugged in disbelief, but I was grateful, nonetheless.
There on the gym floor was our six-year-old, Joelle, dancing with one of the senior boys, who stooped over to Joelle’s eye level. Her happy ponytail, tied in a dark blue velvet ribbon, bounced to the beat of the music. Another surprise surrounding our baby was all the angels with their silk organza dresses rustling and their gemstones sparkling with delight.
“What is this?” I blurted.
“Sh-h-h,” Rachel whispered, leaning her weary body into mine.
Kayla
was standing talking with friends. When she saw us, she hurried over and hugged us. “She’s okay,” the teenager said. “Joelle slipped away when Trinity came to greet me. The baby said she wanted to make sure I would eat.”
Just then, out of breath from happy exertion, Jooelle came up to Kayla, grabbed her sister’s hand to pull her to the banquet table. “Kayla, you need to eat someth … ” , Joelle saw us. Blood dropped from her face, then rushed back again, and she blushed at the thought of “being caught in the act.”
“Come, Joelle,” I said taking our daughter by the hand. “Mommy will take care of Kayla.”
Joelle’s hand tensed in mine until I led the trembling girl to the dance floor and twirled her around. Fear and panic faded, and we had a wonderful night together while Sammy slept in the car.
Thank you, Lord, I whispered to myself.
“You are most welcome, My son.”
The next day was Sunday, and I was up early talking to the Lord. “Of course, I can’t let Joelle’s willful act go unpunished, but my heart aches at the thought. What should I do, Lord?”
When I heard Joelle stirring in the bedroom, I called, “Joelle?”
“Yes, sir?” our little daughter answered from the bedroom.
“Baby, will you come here? We need to talk before we go to Sunday School and church.”
With slow, apprehensive steps and slumped shoulders, Joelle shuffled out of her room, still in her thin Sleeping Beauty nighty.
“Did you have a good time last night?” I asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“So, did I, but you know, Joelle, you scared your mother and me to death. You should not have slipped away from us, no matter what your good intentions were.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You know I have to punish you, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” Joelle replied in a contrite whisper and a trembling lower lip.
“Come go with me?”
Joelle had watched many times as Sammy walked out back with me. She knew at those times, her brother was in trouble, but she never knew what his punishment was. This time, it was her turn to go out back, and her anxiety was at its peak. She did not know what to expect.
The angels — Compassion, Faith, and Wisdom — flew quietly around me while Curiosity and Courage stayed by Joelle.
As we walked, I talked to the frightened little girl without knowing exactly what to say. “Joelle, you frightened your mother and me last night,” I repeated. “We didn’t know where you were or what might have happened to you. I know you just wanted to take care of Kayla, but you should have asked permission, don’t you think?”
“Yes, sir,” Joelle replied with downcast and misty eyes.
As we walked along the path behind the cabin, a breeze rustled the leaves in the tree canopy, causing the morning sun to twinkle like diamonds. The songbird’s morning greetings filled the trees, but I didn’t think Joelle heard them. I could almost hear her frightened heartbeat. We walked along in anxious silence for another while, then stopped. “Well, I think that about does it.”
Joelle’s pent-up breath escaped, and her eyes looked as big as saucers. I bent down on one knee, grabbed her in my arms, and said, “I love you baby girl.”
“I love you, too, Daddy Sam.”
We wept in each other’s arms, then, in relief, walked hand-in-hand back to the cabin. “Listen to the songbirds, Daddy Sam. Don’t they sound happy?”
Pastor Johns’s text that morning was from Proverbs 3. Don’t reject the instruction of the Lord, my son; don’t despise his correction. The Lord loves those he corrects, just like a father…
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Joelle snuggled under my arm, and I held her close.