The porch of prayer and plenty

My Grand Daddy was a sharecropper in the south. He worked on Old Man Man’s farm in Franklin Tennessee. He had many secrets, which he taught the whole lot of us. As children we would joy to cop a squat with him on the front porch, while Grand Ma Lillian snapped green beans on the back porch. We are unable to count the number of grandchildren from the union we will quietly celebrate on Saturday. Some how Grand Daddy made each one of us feel as if we were the only grand child on the porch of prayer and plenty.

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