Come Holy Spirit, and enkindle in the hearts of your faithful, the fire. Amen.
I suspect most families have their story about the time one of their children became lost from the rest of their brood. For my family, the year was 1982(ish); the players were my mother, my grandmother, my two sisters, and I; and the scene was the Columbia, Louisiana, Arts & Crafts Festival along Highway 165, just outside of Monroe. Like most festivals of the sort, this Columbia affair dotted the roadside with tents and tables where vendors sold quilts, homemade jellies, and watercolors. Of that day, I remember the uninteresting wares blessedly interrupted by a man selling baseball cards that he had sorted into teams and bound neatly in Saran Wrap. In the odd way a particular memory can flash and linger, I can still vividly recall the baby-blue set of 1982 Fleer Atlanta Braves – with pitcher Al Hrabosky featured as the facing card – sitting atop the pile of Saran’d teams like a beacon in a sea of adolescent boredom…
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