The boy in the magazine with the begging bowl didn’t become an unmarked grave labeled “orphan.” We do not raise orphans; we raise sons and daughters.

Ever noticed the neglected children on the streets; the ones you see and avoid? Their dirty rags are the reason for my song. The back-up singers are children. Consider it the intro to next week’s article, about such a child.

This happened only a month ago and I’ve been unable to write for over a month. I’m still not sure what hit me.

Sabbath; the last day of the week… or is it the first? In any case, Sunday is a day on which there shouldn’t be creepy bedtime stories. Consequently, this story is the happy opposite of creepy and hopefully provides some food for thought.

This story has nothing to do with the classic drama, The King and I. The king I met wasn’t a Maharaja, but the King was with me as I walked across the unploughed field. He couldn’t stop for a chat. Like all Kings, he was busy and on his way to his next “appointment.”

One tends to think a toilet ring is pink. However, this one was beautifully black, highlighted with spectacular designs. No one really appreciates a toilet ring, and if you rated appreciation of this toilet ring on a scale of one to ten, it would not rate at all. But who rates toilet rings?

Have you ever played the water game Marco Polo? I grew up playing it, but I never knew that it was a dangerous game for children; only children would have dared a dunk in that dark murky green water.

I have never doubted it was the voice of God, and God who saved me. But I never knew that God’s voice sounded just like my husband’s voice.

This title of the story is quite literal, only it wasn’t just once, I was definitely upon a scorpion more than once, and, believe me, I don’t like it.

What if your husband woke you in the dead of night by saying, “Shhhhhh… something’s in the room?”