An old hymn came to mind the other day, and as I listened to
the words, I couldn’t help but be transported back in time. There I was in my
grandpa’s church; everyone was there. Grandma was at the piano playing the song
as only she could; Grandpa was standing on the platform singing away as the
song leader waved his hand with the tempo of Fanny Crosby’s “To the Work.” My
aunts and uncles and cousins were there, along with my own family. During the
chorus I can hear the echo of grandp...
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