Several inches of snow already blanketed the ground and it was still falling heavily when I left – early – for the Wednesday evening fellowship. The forecast called for 8 inches by midnight, and I believed it. But this was Michigan. Flatland. Virtually bereft of hills and S-turns, but plenty of salt trucks. (Did you know that under the sprawling city of Detroit, whose suburban streets I was presently negotiating, you will find an enormous salt mine?)
No one who grew up in Detroit, as I did, fretted about driving in this weather. You drove cautiously. You paid attention. And, most likely, you would get there, and back again, on the flat terrain.
I expected the usual crowd at Jeannie’s spacious house. She lived there with her very cute, precocious 4-year old daughter, Heather. Sixty people could worship and fellowship comfortably in the large basement. I parked my rusty old…
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