He said, 'Go back to the car and get your umbrella.'
I looked up into the dizzying glare of the sun. I glanced toward the distant parking lot, having just returned from a second trip there already. I scanned the ballpark, spotting other parents wrapping their lips around relish dogs, scolding little-boy third basemen for not getting in front of grounders, casually competing via comparing their children's batting averages. No one else had an umbrella. Momentarily I settled on the idea that this was a suggestion rather than a command.
Then in the middle of my balk, I thought of Noah. God did not say, with a dismissive shrug, 'Noah, if you should feel so inclined and it doesn't put you out any, I think, if you want to, you might ought to build an ark.'
Turns out that God was right; read the rest of the column in The McDuffie Mirror.
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