Seneca

We return from Seneca Convention encouraged, strengthened and refreshed, but also a little worn out from chasing our little circus around. One little clown in particular is at the age of endless activity and found great joy in entertaining the people sitting behind us during meeting, sorting rocks and pushing wagons between meetings, and running amok in the rain on one wet Friday afternoon.

Of all the memories of little Paxton that I'll ever have, the one that I hope to remember the longest isn't a picture taken with a camera but in my mind; of a little boy barely old enough to talk sitting with his picture book held open carefully to just the right page, singing at the top of his lungs a few words of a hymn that only he knows, then quickly closing the book, folding his hands, and bowing his little head briefly in prayer before starting all over again. My heart melted.

During the convention somebody said that it's amazing what can happen in the middle of a huge cornfield. It is indeed.