I once heard Condoleezza Rice speak at an event.  She spoke eloquently of her position in the White House, the people she had met around the world, her family and faith. 

At the conclusion she said this:

'I was a little girl from Birmingham, Alabama, daughter of a preacher, whose childhood friend was killed during church with a homemade bomb.  

A girl who was told she couldn’t sit at the Woolworth’s counter to eat a hamburger--but she could grow up to be President of the United States…and ended up being Secretary of State.'

While society told her one thing, her parents told her another. 

If we are limited by what we have been told, maybe we are listening to the wrong voices.

a click and surprise.

It was raining in Chicago.  Pouring actually--buckets and buckets. I put the girls in the van and drove down the street to pick up their brother.  We parked on a side street and, with umbrellas clutched tightly, fought our way through the wind and rain.  By the time we reached the classroom we were soaked.

We gathered Will and headed back to the van, down the walk and left at the side street where I remembered parking the van.  


Two clicks of the remote and the side door slid open.

No one moved.


'Grammy,' said Will, 'this isn't our car.'

I looked at the remote in my hand...'Grammy,' said Sadie, 'this isn't our car.'

And it wasn't.  It opened with the remote, but clearly wasn't their car.

I yanked the door closed like it was on fire, and stepped back.  We started walking.  One block, two and then...there it was.  Just where I'd left it.  I remembered now, crossing that street, skirting those puddles, it all came back.  I double-clicked and the door slid back.  The inside was just as we'd left it and everyone climbed inside.

Will looked at me, then out the window, 'Well, that never happened before,'