When it comes to church, our family used to be solid back row dwellers, so much so that if the back row of the sanctuary wasn’t open, we would lurk uncomfortably in the aisle trying to figure out what to do.
Yesterday, I was feeling that if there is such a thing as the anti-Midas touch, where instead of turning to gold, everything you touch blows up in your face, I had it.
How does one mom who already has more than enough to do suddenly end up in the business of making soap for charity? Especially, when she never made a bar of soap in her life before this past October?
