“Never did I think this would be my wardrobe of choice,”  Miranda said as she slipped the clergy robe over her cotton spring dress. She knew the clergy robe would get hot, so she wanted to make sure she did everything she could to remain cool. Heat affected her speech and she didn’t want any problems.

“Wow! Look at you! You look so official,” her dad said. 

“Do I?” Miranda questioned. “I don’t feel official. I just feel like a regular old me.”

Miranda’s family had been faithful members of the United Methodist Church in Shelby for generations. Her family had built and established the local church. Her grandparents, great and great, great grandparents were all members there. Just a stroll through the Shelby United Methodist Church cemetery revealed Miranda’s heritage.

Miranda Cook had not gone straight from high school to seminary school. She had chosen a much more twisted and troubled road. Rebellious and determined to make her own way she had blazed a road of contention and glory for herself. It wasn’t all doom and destruction. “There had been good times, great successes, but there had been an emptiness and longing that she could not be fill no matter how hard she tried.

“I’m just thankful y’all didn’t raise me Baptist!” she said to her dad with a smile on her face.

“Shut your mouth! Her dad said, “You know your Momma was a Baptist till she married me. She will wring your neck!”  Both laughed and they hugged each other.

Miranda’s son Jacob came into the room. “Oh, Momma you look so pretty!”

“Thank you, Jacob.”

“What is your first sermon going to be?” Jacob asks.

“God Full of Mercy and Grace.” Miranda replied.