Wildflower Writes

My chips were disappearing rather quickly. It was a Texas Hold 'Em lesson, designed to prepare me to be a "pit boss" at our service club's annual poker tournament . And I am a horrible poker player. It's not that I can't get a grasp of the game, but that I have no "poker face." They even dubbed my reaction to a bad hand the "poker pout."  I am so used to wearing my heart on my sleeve, so to speak, that I found it very difficult to keep an emotionless expression, and be practiced with my actions as to betray nothing.  I'm a decent actress; I could have done better.  I just don't like having to be so, to be so, blah.  Even for a game. Poker is probably not for me.  Not only do I have an expressive face, but my mind has difficulty with strategy based probability-type games (I don't do well with chess or Stratego either).  And that's okay. I spent a good part of my life comparing myself to other people and wishing to b...

Continued from 6/19 post… Wendy opened the bathroom door and brushed past her mother. She found a granola bar in the kitchen and stuffed it in her purse. She even found an old Gideon New Testament she had been given in elementary school. She gave her mom a light kiss on the cheek and headed outside. The air was hot and muggy, even this early in the morning. She decided to walk. She hadn’t been in a church building since Christmas. She was starting to second-guess her brilliant plan to win God’s favor so He would grant her wish. Yet, her sandaled feel kept moving forward down the sidewalk, and the steeple seemed to grow taller and taller. It sure was pretty in the morning light. Suddenly she turned. She could have sworn she heard someone calling her name. It was coming from the parking lot of the church. Someone was waving at her. “Wendy!” he called again, as he began to run toward her. She finally recognized her greeter. It was Jason from the hospital, looking quite ha...