I live in a large house with twenty-something twenty-somethings. It’s all girls in the main house, we keep the boys in the barn/cabin. An incredible married couple, Bill and Katie Swan, have given up living in their own apartment to live with us and pour into us. They amaze me. Four other girls and I live in the apartment next to the garage, I call it the Fairchild’s residence. But this isn’t that story.
One of my first days here a few of us were chatting in the kitchen when we heard the shots. The Southerners around me kept me calm by their apathy to the sound.
I was playing it cool well until someone asked, “Does anyone else get the urge to hit the ground?” Insert nervous laugh here.
“Don’t worry, it’s just our neighbors.” Someone responded. “Our neighbors?” I thought? This I have got to see. Walking out my front door I saw them, standing across the street facing their targets, rifles in hand.
“Welcome to the South.” The girl standing next to me said.
“Thanks Emily. How are they? I mean, why are they?” I stammered.
“It’s their property.” Emily explained.
“Got it.” It partially scares me, partially impresses me. Adventures with Jesus usually lead to places that ignite this feeling in me. He’s going to make changes in me, through me, and all around me. He can do this anywhere, but I believe He’s got me here because it’s not familiar. I’m going to go grab some sweet tea.
