1986 was a year of rust - and prayer. I worked two jobs, three jobs, six days, seven if the Lord looked the other way. Didn’t rest, didn’t dream, just kept on like a broke-down Buick with a cough in its soul. That old '63 LeSabre - Blue as my mood, fading like hope - her grandma gave it, God bless her - and we rode it on fumes, on faith, on three dollars of gas at a time. Three bucks. You hear me? That’s a couple gallons and some change, back when gas still showed mercy. We rolled slow, so the needle stayed up, and the money didn’t run out…
A Two-Piece Manuscript: The Door & the Silence Some doors remain closed until your faith knocks hard enough to hear your own heart . - Oliver B. Greene I. The Door That Kept Me Going I was twenty-one. Broke. Wearing yesterday’s uniform and tomorrow’s fear. College slipped away. My son didn’t. He needed me - so I drove. Thin mornings, Richmond-bound, Chamberlain to the old highway, the Ambassador breathing smoke, gauge flirting with E like it wanted to leave me behind. Sometimes I asked out loud if God even rode with me - if anyone did. The…