by Meggan Manlove
One of the things I remember about moving into the parsonage in Soldier, Iowa (where I served as pastor from 2004-2010) was the dirt. I grew up on a hillside in the Black Hills of South Dakota. We never had a lawn to mow. We had Ponderosa Pine needles and pine cones, a gravel path from the garage to the house, and gatherings of grass all covering fine brown soil that would fly away with the slightest breeze. The dirt in Iowa was black. It looked different, felt different, and smelled different. This was not dirt; it was soil, soil perfect for growing corn, soybeans, grass, weeds, vegetables and flowers. Continue reading
A Place at the Table 