Megan Thompson was trying to get me to run for Student Council President; it was the duty of the position to recruit and train a replacement. She invited me over to her house after school one day. She only lived a few blocks from our house…but it was miles away in the spirit. I walked into the front door of a house that was flooded with light…and what seemed a super-oxygenated air. I probably stood there dazed, breathing deeply. Her mother was a very kind and gentle woman…she chatted with me and fixed us a snack of some sort. Megan showed me around…There were pictures on the wall of her four siblings…beautiful, purposeful looking young men and women. Megan was the baby…she explained to me how her brothers and sisters were all over the world, working for the church or in some other humane endeavor. Then we went out to the courtyard. A huge bronze was in its center…it was beautiful. “My Dad’s a sculptor,” she offered, “He teaches at the university.” We went out to a shed adjacent to the house. Inside her father was hammering away on something that I could not yet see. He looked up and smiled at me; I liked him. We talked a little and then left him to his work. I visited a bit with Megan in her room and then rode my bike on home. But I would be back and never the same.
In that house, among those kind souls, God began to hammer and mold me.