Meagan sitting at the kitchen table
July 9, 2010
On a Thursday night, I mentioned to my mother that I missed our friend Meagan and how I hadn't seen her for over a decade. Meagan moved to the deep south in 1996 to be close to her parents while she pursued an education degree so she could support her children. Our visits to the homeland hadn't overlapped in many years.
The next morning at 10:15, the doorbell rang. I answered the door and the woman on the porch couldn't see me through the security screen. She said my mother's name, and I replied that I was her daughter. The moment the words left my mouth, I knew who the visitor was, but I couldn't speak. She asked, "Do you know who I am?" I knew, but I could scarcely take in how my desire had been fulfilled.
Meagan spent the day visiting with us, and I was happy to receive the bounty of God's goodness: that I was there, in that house--even with many of my loves in Cowtown--at the right time.
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