Lord, Have Mercy

“I’m going to be late,” I said my voice quivering.

“Is traffic bad?” Sweetheart asked.

“No, I got a speeding ticket,” my voice broke.

"What? Are you okay? Are you still driving?” he asked.

“No, I’m parked. I’m shaking so hard I pulled over to call you.”

“Oh, I’m so glad you did,” he said.” Do you need me to come get you?”

“No, I’m fine. I can’t believe I got a ticket. I don’t remember the last time I got a speeding ticket. It’s been at least 15 years,” I replied with a hint of righteous indignation.

“What happened?”

 "North of Denton on I-35 the speed limit was 75 mph. It slowed to a crawl south of Denton although I never saw an accident or a broken down vehicle. When traffic finally began to pick up near Lewisville the speed limit was 60 mph. The drivers must have gotten impatient cause I had cars passing me like I was sitting still. A Silverado pickup zipped by me; I got cut-off by an SUV; and then a Ford F-150 blew my doors off." I paused to recall all the details.

"I was at the back of the pack when a police cruiser pulled into traffic behind me. I took my foot off the gas, looked down at my speedometer and relaxed. I was going a little over the speed limit, but not much. I watched him in my rear-view mirror. He turned his lights on. I moved to the right lane so he could catch the speeder, but he was after me! I can’t believe he chose to stop the Toyota hybrid. Reeaallly?”  I said dragging the word out sarcastically. “Hybrids don’t exactly have a reputation for racing speeds.”

“Did you try to talk him out of it?”

“I didn’t flash him, if that’s what you mean. Who wants to see my old lady cleavage?” I huffed.

“That’s not what I meant, Lace,” he chuckled.  “But it would have worked for me.”

“Well, I appreciate that you find me attractive, but it wouldn't have been respectful to you or to God for me to behave like a trollop,” I said mollified by the compliment.

“So what did you do?” he asked.

“I choked back the tears, but my hands were shaking when I gave him my registration, I didn’t want to appear manipulative. I explained how long it’s been since I’ve had a ticket. I told the officer I was on my way home from the funeral of a 21-year-old girl who died in a tragic car accident, so I know I was driving carefully. I told him I thought he stopped the wrong car. I told him about the trucks passing me and the SUV cutting me off. I didn’t make the hybrid remark, but I asked him if he could please give me a warning. He told me he was sorry, but he had to give me a ticket. He said I could explain to the Judge. I put my head on the steering wheel for a couple of seconds and then took the ticket. He even thanked me for being so respectful,” my voice rose in frustration as the tears began to flow.

“Honey, calm down. That is all you could do. We’ll figure it out. Come on home, but drive carefully.”

I set my cruise control on 60 mph and stayed in the right-hand lane for the next hour. Sweetheart met me in the garage. He opened the car door and drew me into his arms. Within the safety of his warm embrace, I began to sob.

“Babe, it’s okay.” He kissed the top of my head. “Come on in. Sit down. I’ll get your bags later.”

He sat beside me on the couch and placed his arm around me. Handing me a tissue, he said, “Okay, let’s look at the ticket.”  I handed him the ticket.

“Huh, this is not from the Texas State Highway Department,” his eyebrows furrowed. “It’s from Hickory Creek Municipal Court. I’m surprised they were patrolling I-35.”

“What is the fine?” I asked, certain the fee would be less in a municipal court.

“’For speeds 10 to 20 miles over the speed limit-$200.00.’ What? $200!” he exclaimed.

“I will admit to being 5 miles over the speed limit but not 15. What is the fine for that?” I asked hopefully.

“’For speeds from 1 to 9 miles over the speed limit it is $190’,” he read.

“Are you kidding me? Just $10 more? That’s ridiculous. This fine is not about justice. It’s about revenue for Christmas bonuses! We can’t afford $200 at Christmas time. I have to fight it.

I’m going to the Courthouse with a turkey and offer it for their Christmas party. Obviously that’s what this is about. Then I’m going to throw myself on the mercy of the court reasoning that thirty years of working for attorneys is punishment enough. A judge will understand that!” Outrage replaced tears.

“No, you are not, Lace,” he admonished. “It’s okay to vent to me, but a judge will cite you for contempt and throw you in jail. You are going to stay home and pay the fine. “He hugged me tighter.

I sat up and pulled away undeterred. "What is the date of the hearing?"

“January 22, 2013. You leave for Hungary on January13^th and won’t be back until February 9^th. You can’t be in court." 

I sank back into the couch. “But it is so unfair. It wasn’t me. I wasn’t going fifteen miles over the speed limit.”

"You admit you were 5 miles over the speed limit. It would cost more than $10 for gas to argue your case.”

“I know, but it makes me so mad. I have such good arguments too!” I said petulantly.

“I don’t want you getting yourself in more trouble, Ms. Sassypants,” he said taking the ticket. “We’ll have to wait a few days for it to be posted, but I’ll go online and pay the fine.”

I didn’t want to submit to his authority, but I did. Not just because I am commanded to do so, but because he protects and cherishes me as he was commanded*. We placed the ticket in a drawer to be dealt with after the first of the year.

Once the Christmas tree came down and decorations were stored, I began to prepare for my trip to Hungary. In addition to packing for the month away, I needed to take care of the ticket.

“Sweetheart, did you pay the ticket?”

“I’ve gone online three times to pay it, but your ticket doesn’t show up. I’m sorry, you are going to have to call the Court Clerk during the week and see if you can pay it over the phone."

I called called the Court Clerk the next day and explained my situation. I gave her my name, address, and read off the citation number. I heard the keys clicking as she entered the information. I explained the circumstances around my ticket.

"Yes, ma’am, I intend to pay the fine, but my citation does not come up when I enter the number,” I said.

“Let me try it,” she replied.
“Huh,” she said. “It doesn’t come up for me either. I can pull up the citation before yours and the citation after, but I can’t get yours to come up.”

“Does that mean I don’t have to worry about it?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“That kind of scares me because I am leaving the country for a month.  I don’t want to get home and find a warrant has been issued for failure to appear.”

“Let me go talk to the officer who wrote the citation and see what I can find out. Can you hold for a minute?”

“I’d be happy to.” My pulse quickened with anticipation. The longer I was on hold the more excited I grew. Could it be that he changed his mind? But he said it was already entered into the system so he couldn’t just give me a warning.

Was I going to be granted mercy after all? I didn’t deserve it. I did break the law. But isn't that the very definition of mercy:  compassion or forbearance shown especially to an offender; lenient or compassionate treatment.

“Ma’am?” she said, coming back on the line. “I talked to the officer. He said he voided the citation. You don’t need to pay it.”

“Really? Did he say why?" 

“He just said he voided it for technical reasons before it went to the judge.”

“Oh, thank you so much!”

Wow! Did the officer change his mind because I was respectful? Because I didn’t try to manipulate him with flashes of flesh or tears?  Did God reward my obedience in submitting to my husband in spite of my rebellious nature? Whatever the reason, I thanked God for this gift of mercy.

In my spirit, He gently reminded me of His merciful gift of salvation. He prompted me to celebrate His mercy by being merciful to those who irritate, use, hurt, or offend me. There is plenty of mercy to go around; use some--for yourself** and for others***. You will need it someday. I know have and always will.

*Wives submit to your own husbands as to the Lord, for the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church...husbands are to love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself. Ephesians 5:22-28 HCSB

**The merciful are blessed, for they will be shown mercy.” Matthew 5:7

 ***For judgment is without mercy to the one who hasn’t shown mercy. Mercy triumphs over judgment.” James 2:13

FRESH STRAWBERRY PIE

This fresh strawberry pie is a family favorite. It appears on the table for every Easter dinner, (and lunch...and sometimes breakfast. What? It's fruit!) and other special dinners. About eight years ago our dear friend, evangelist Darren Bruce and his wife, Nirmala, brought Dallas Cowboy, Woody Danzler home for dinner. Darren's smile and booming voice filled the house as he raised his hands and announced, "Oh my, my, my!That's smells so good. Let's just thank Jesus now!" We watched in amazement as he and Woody destroyed BBQ ribs, baked beans, Jailhouse rolls, and a huge piece of strawberry pie. Woody raved about the food and backed up his words by demolishing seconds and thirds. I sent him home with a dozen rolls and half a strawberry pie. The next day I received the supreme compliment. Darren told me Woody stopped at Pappas Brothers Steakhouse for a birthday dinner for one of the other players. When harassed for not ordering anything but a glass of water, Woody bragged on the best meal he'd ever eaten. Thanks, Woody.
I received this recipe as a young bride in Beaver, Oklahoma. Our church was having some kind of dinner, probably a Valentine Banquet. Those who volunteered to bring dessert were asked to make this pie. The recipe came from Willie Harvey. Thanks, Willie.

Gather all your ingredients. I usually use butter for the crust but this time I used a
non-dairy buttery spread for my granddaughter who can't eat dairy.
For my gluten -free friends, I use a gluten-free shortbread cookie crust.
It's not easy making everyone happy, but I try.

You can buy a graham cracker crust, but there is nothing better than a
thick fresh crispy homemade crust.
 So easy too. Just combine crumbs, sugar and butter.

Blend together and press into pie pan. I like to bake mine at 375 for 6 min. for a crispy crust.

While the crust is cooking and cooling make your filling. 
Combine the dry ingredients in a 2 qt. saucepan.

Pour boiling water over dry ingredients and stir until smooth.

Cook over medium heat, stirring often.

Cook until thickened.

Set aside the filling and crust to cool.

I have two tools that make slicing large quantities of strawberries a breeze.

The strawberry huller pops the top off with little waste.

The mushroom/egg slicer zips through a quart of strawberries in less than two minutes.

Place your sliced strawberries on top of the cooled pie crust.

Cover the strawberries with cooled filling. I like to toss the strawberries with the filling so they are
covered on top and bottom. Chill until ready to serve. 
Top with whipped cream or non-dairy whipped topping.

FRESH STRAWBERRY PIE

1 C. boiling water

1 C. sugar (I use less, but this is the way the original recipe was written) 

3 T. cornstarch

3 T. pkg. Strawberry Jello (I like the Wild Strawberry, if you can find it). 

          Stir dry ingredients together.  Pour boiling water over dry ingredients.  Cook until thickened.  Cool and pour over 1 pint fresh; cut-up strawberries arranged in a graham cracker pie crust.  Cover with Cool-Whip or serve with whipped cream.  (Double the recipe if you use a quart of strawberries)

Graham Cracker Crust

 Mix:   1 ¼ C graham cracker crumbs

          ¼ C. sugar

          1/3 c. melted butter

Shape:  Using back of large spoon, press crumb mixture firmly on bottom and up sides of an 8 or 9 inch pie plate.

For a crispier texture, bake shaped crust at 375 for 6 – 8 minutes; cool then fill.

You might as well make two. One won't be enough!

Blind Date--A Gift of Grace

In the days before Match.com and eHarmony, blind dates were arranged by friends or family. Mine was envisioned by a recently hired co-worker, Teri. Over lunch our conversation turned to the sad state of the dating pool. I bemoaned the fact that none my last five dates warranted a relationship.  

“I need to date around,” I sighed.

“I could set you up with a couple of guys I worked with before I got laid off. One is real macho and the other is sweet and sensitive,” she proffered.

“I’ve had macho. I’ll take sweet and sensitive.”

“I’ll give him a call. Maybe we can all go to lunch.”

When Sweet and Sensitive called, we chatted with ease. In fact we were so comfortable we decided not to include Teri on our Friday night date.

Friday, October 29, 1982, was a fun day at work. We all dressed in costume. Everyone brought food. We turned the music up and played all afternoon. If Facebook had been around at the time I’m certain some embarrassing photos would have been posted.

 When the clock struck five, I had one hour to turn from a wicked witch into an appealing first date. I raced to retrieve my 2 year-old daughter from the babysitter. Once home, I threw her a cup of apple juice and turned on cartoons. Zipping down the hall I discarded clothes and a long dark wig. I ripped off the false eyelashes and hooked nose as I jumped into a still cold shower. Shampoo flying, I washed my hair, scrubbed green paint off my face, and the remaining spirit gum from my nose. The hairdryer wasn’t the only thing turned on turbo as I dried my hair and quickly reapplied makeup. At exactly 6:00 pm Baby and I were dressed and peeking out the window when Sweet and Sensitive pulled into the driveway.

“He’s cute,” Baby said.

“Yes, he is.” I replied while hauling out my mental checklist: attractive – check; prompt--check; suit (employed) – check; late model car (not a beat-up truck w/empty cans in the flatbed)—check. So far, so good, I thought as I opened the door.

“Come in. I’m Lacene. This is my daughter.”

 He smiled and shook her hand.

 “Thank you for letting me pick you up right after work,” he said. “I work here in Norman, but live in Oklahoma City. I thought it would be more efficient to pick you up before I go home. I'll take a quick shower and we can go on to dinner. I made reservations at a restaurant close to my apartment. I’ll bring you home before you turn into a pumpkin." He finally took a breath.

I had some concerns about a stop at his apartment, but I liked the idea of a restaurant which required reservations. I had a date with one man who thought Furr’s Cafeteria was the perfect place to celebrate a new job. It was also the last date with him.

“That would be fine,” I said. “Would you like to sit and have a drink first?”

“If you don’t mind, why don’t we go on to Oklahoma City. We’ll have a 45-minute drive to visit.”

“Okay, let me grab my purse.”

He opened the car door for me and placed Baby in the back seat. He made sure the tail of my dress wasn’t hanging out before he shut the door. Good manners—check.

Baby screamed, “Oh, Mommy! My fingers!”

I jumped out of the car and grabbed her from the back seat. He was already at my side.

“What happened?” he asked.

He was so distraught I hated to tell him. “You slammed her fingers in the door.”

“Let’s get some ice on them.”

He took the screaming child from me while I dug for my house keys. I opened the door. He raced to the freezer, grabbed an ice cube and placed it on her fingers. She sat in the crook of his arm contemplating him with teary eyes. She had stopped screaming the moment he took her from me.

He knows how to handle children – check.

After a few minutes of ice and soothing words, Baby let us look at her fingers. They were red, but not bruised or broken. Luckily they were caught in the rubber weather-stripping and not the door itself. We breathed a sigh a relief that this date would not take place in the ER. We took her on to the babysitter’s where he insisted on paying.

Whoa, that wasn’t even on my checklist, I thought. I never had a date offer to pay the babysitter, much less insist on it. I may just marry this guy.

As we drove to his apartment I learned he was recently divorced after seven years of marriage. He had a five-year-old son. His visitation on alternate weekends never seemed enough, so he kept his son as much as possible during the week. His business administration degree came from OU. He went on to get his CPA while working for Arthur Young. The hours were long and hard on his marriage. When he and his wife separated he took a job in the private sector. He was now a financial manager at an oil well instrumentation company in Norman. He had been Teri’s boss before she got laid off.

Ahhh, that explains his efficiency and promptness.  I like it.

I gestured with my hands as we talked, and saw a flash of black. I looked down at my hands. To my horror I realized my nails were still painted black. (In 1982 Goth was not a trend, nor was blue, green or black nail polish. It was just weird!)

“Oh my gosh! I am so embarrassed,” I said. “In my rush to get ready, I forgot to take off the black nail polish from my witch costume.”

“It’s okay,” he winked. “I thought you were just kinky.”

I blushed and contemplated crawling under the seat. What kind of checklist is he keeping?

“Don’t worry about it. You look fine. It doesn’t matter," he said and meant it.Our conversation continued until we reached his apartment.

“Come on in,” he said opening my car door. I followed him to his first floor apartment. He unlocked the door and held it for me. I entered tentatively not knowing what to expect. I dated men in the past who decorated their living rooms with weight benches and barbells and smelled of old gym socks.He stripped off his coat and tie. “I promise I won’t be more than 20 minutes. Make yourself comfortable. Here’s the TV remote.”

I took the remote and set down on the couch. From that vantage point, I could see 400 square feet of tastefully decorated space. Ornamental pillows perched atop a crisply-made bed. A scented candle adorned a tidy kitchen counter. A bar set with two place-mats created the dining space. The tiny living room walls were hung with tasteful artwork. I was impressed. Did he do this? Or was the ex-wife still in the picture?

True to his word, he walked out of the bathroom 20 minutes later. Dressed in a starched white shirt, jeans, cowboy boots, and a Houndstooth blazer slung over his shoulder, he was a vision of masculinity. I followed his well-fitting jeans out the front door and tried not to stumble as I enjoyed the view. No well-worn circle from his chewing tobacco--check.

“Do you like Japanese food?” he asked.

“I love all kinds of Asian food. I was raised in the Philippines and Guam.”

“Good, I’ve made reservations at a Japanese restaurant that cooks your food on a Hibachi grill in front of you.”

“Perfect, that will be fun,” I smiled glad that it wasn’t a stuffy formal restaurant.

“We are a little early. Do you want to have a drink in the bar while we wait for our table?”

“I’d love to.” I said eager for a something to calm my nerves.

Over drinks I learned his mother and aunt had decorated his apartment, but the tidiness was all him. I told him: about my nomadic childhood as a preacher’s kid, and a missionary kid; how I married two weeks after my eighteenth birthday to our much older music and youth director; about the dissolution of our nine-year marriage, and the joy I found in my daughter. I shared how I had been laid-off from my well-paying job as a landman with the oil bust of ‘82. Being an unemployed single parent with no health insurance was a scary proposition. I took the first job I could find even though it meant a pay cut. I met Teri when she came to work after being laid off. 

We were deep in conversation when the hostess interrupted to tell us our table was ready. She led us to a long table in front of the grill. He pulled my chair and seated me. After perusing the menus, we placed our order. A few minutes later, I leaned over and whispered, "I think all that liquid has gone straight through me. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to the ladies’ room.” I stood up and pushed my chair with the back of my legs. The chair stuck. I gave it another little nudge. It fell onto the folding screen behind us. The screen crashed to the floor startling everyone in the restaurant. All eyes were on me as I reached down to pick up my chair.

Sweet and Sensitive leaned over and whispered in my ear,

“If you’re not embarrassed, you ought to be.”

“I am. You horse’s behind!” I said angrily.

As I straightened, I caught his teasing eyes. The embarrassment faded and I laughed with him. After all he did slam Baby's fingers in the door. In a way it felt like we were even. This guy definitely had potential.

Did you see the fingers of God’s grace in my life? I found it much more traumatic to be involuntarily unemployed than to go through a divorce. But if I had not been force to take the administrative assistant job, I wouldn’t have met Teri. If I hadn't met Teri, she wouldn’t have introduced me to what I have called for the last thirty-one years God’s gift of grace to me, my Soul Mate.

Cooking with Amy

     Twenty-three year-old psychology student Amy is getting married in December. She's beautiful, bright, and articulate, but she doesn't know the difference between a tablespoon and a teaspoon. My wedding gift to the groom is to teach her how to cook. We aren't attempting anything complicated, just meals you can throw together after work, but tasty enough to invite another couple over for dinner. Our first Menu:

• Bruschetta with sun-dried tomatoes, mozzarella and fresh basil
• Baked Ravioli with Italian meatballs
• Sauteed zucchini and yellow squash
• Field greens with sliced strawberries, goat cheese and candied pecans, drizzled with Paul Newman's Vinegar & Oil
• Fresh fruit pizza with lemon curd

We gathered all our ingredients.

Layer frozen ravioli in bottom of sprayed 9 x 13" pan.

Place half of the meatballs on top.

Covered with half a jar of pasta sauce.

Top with cheese of your choice, sliced or shredded. I needed
to use up these slices of colby-jack, but any cheese will do.

Repeat the first three layers (leave the cheese off the top).

Cover with foil and bake at 350 for 45 minutes.

While ravioli is baking, saute onions, celery and red peppers.

Slice two yellow squash and two zucchini,

Add squash to pan when onion is translucent. 
Cook for 10 to 15 minutes, stirring occasionally.

For a quick, hot, appetizer, slice
 ciabatta rolls in half lengthwise.

Spread a tablespoon of sun-dried tomato spread on each half.

Top with shredded cheese

I used Sargento's six cheese mix, and 
California sun-dry tomato spread.

Broil for 3-5 minutes until cheese is melted.
Set a timer or stand close by cause time flies when you are broiling.

Our salad was an easy mix of romaine lettuce with sliced
strawberries, crumbled goat cheese and candied pecans.
Use your favorite dressing. I used Paul Newman's
Vinegar and Olive Oil because it has no sugar.

While we were enjoying our appetizer and salad the
timer went off for the ravioli. I took off the foil, topped
it with cheese, and put it back in the oven until we
finished our salads.

After eating squash and ravioli we were too full for dessert.

But I'll share my Fresh Fruit Pizza with Lemon Curd next week. Enjoy!

The Music Saved Her Life

Human Nature

Las Vegas is not my favorite place, but free time with my sweetheart is rare, so when he asked me to accompany him on a business trip, I agreed. My only stipulation was that we see some shows. We picked two, a Motown show and Penn & Teller.

I love Motown music. I love to sing it. I love to dance to it. Sweetheart loves it just as much as I do. We were thrilled to discover our online tickets put us in the front row.
I settled into my seat and began to read about four skinny white boys from Australia named “HumanNature” who sing Motown. Seriously? And Smokey Robinson endorses them? This I’d have to see to believe.

A lovely lady sat in the seat beside me. Her face was radiant with excitement. We exchanged smiles and she asked,

“Hi, I’m Alicia. Have you ever seen this show?”

“I’m, Lace. No, I haven’t, but I love Motown. Have you seen it before?”

“This is my 61^st show,” she beamed. “You are going to love this. It is the best show.”

Alicia

“Really? Sixty-one? As in six one?” I closed my mouth. “Do you live close by?"

“No, I live in Maryland and work in Washington, D.C.,” Her smile broadened as my mouth dropped open again. “I came in early to surprise Andrew. It’s his birthday.”

“Well, did you surprise him?”

“Yes, I did. We had so much fun. I know all the boys and their families. I know all the band members too.”

I couldn’t comprehend anyone being that big a fan so I asked, “What makes you come so often?”

“Oh, it’s a long story,” she shrugged.

“Well, I’ve got time.”

“I spent six weeks in the hospital before I finally got a diagnosis. It was cancer.

When I got home from the hospital I found my husband of seventeen years had packed up and moved out. To this day I have not heard from him.

I have six siblings who are Jehovah’s Witnesses. I stopped going to their meetings. Even when I was in the hospital needing information from them, they would not return my calls.

I went through chemotherapy. I took the medication and made the appearance of trying to get well, but entered into a dark depression that you cannot even imagine.

My children were afraid for me. They said, ‘Mama, get up and go somewhere, anywhere, just do something.’ So I came to Las Vegas. I intended to take a handful of pills and end my life.

I saw an ad for this Motown show. I wanted to hear the songs I grew up with one more time. Human Nature sang the songs just as I remembered them. The whole audience sang and danced. The words spoke to me. Then they pulled me on stage and sang, “My Girl” to me. They held my hands, looked into my eyes and told me I was beautiful.

 After the show I threw out the pills. The doctor took me off chemo and told me to go hear the music. I have been doing that for the last four years. Other than my children, Human Nature is my family.”

“I do understand depression.” I patted her hand. “I struggle with it myself. You gave your family a gift by not committing suicide. My sister took her own life eight years ago. I don’t think my parents will ever get over it, not to mention her children. It was the most horrible thing we have ever lived through.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” she said. “But you are right. They,” she nodded toward the stage, “are my angels.”

“Isn’t God good to use the most unexpected things to reach us? You came to say goodbye, but the music and lyrics spoke hope to your spirit.
I'm sorry, I know you didn’t come for a sermon. I don’t mean to preach.”

“No," she assured me. "It is the affirmation I get every time I come.”

The lights dimmed. “You are in for a treat,” she squeezed my hand, “It’s the best show you have ever seen.”

I watched from a different perspective. Not just to be entertained, but as if I were Alicia in the depths of depression at her very first show. 

The lyrics to “Reach Out I’ll Be There” and “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” encouraged and uplifted me. But when they sang Curtis Mayfield’s, “People Get Ready,” we went to church.

“People get ready, there’s a train a-comin’

You don’t need no baggage, you just get on board

All you need is faith to hear the diesels hummin’

Don’t need no ticket, you just thank the Lord.

People get ready, there’s a train to Jordan

Picking up passengers coast to coast

Faith is the key, open the doors and board them

There’s hope for all among those loved the most

There ain’t no room for the hopeless sinner whom would hurt all mankind

Just to save his own

Have pity on those whose chances grow thinner

For there is no hiding place against the kingdoms throne.”

My hands lifted and tears ran down my face. I thanked God for redemption and second chances.

When they sang “My Girl” to a woman from the audience, my Sweetheart sang it to me.

“I don’t need no money, fortune, or fame.

I’ve got all the riches baby one man can claim.

I guess you’d say

What can make me feel this way?

My girl

Talkin’ ‘bout my girl

I’ve got sunshine on a cloudy day

With my girl.

I’ve even got the month of May

With my girl.”

Lace and Human Nature

Alicia was right. It was the best show I’ve ever seen. Human Nature exhibited tight harmonies, crisp dance moves, and a warm, generous spirit to the audience. Most importantly, God used them to reach out and touch a despondent woman through Motown’s music.

Motown music may not be your thing. I get it, but I pray the music you listen to speaks life into your spirit.