Gossip in Slippers
Gossip never walked into The Shepherds Cafe wearing boots. It wore slippers—quiet, familiar, and comfortable enough to pass as “just talking.”
Gossip never walked into The Shepherds Cafe wearing boots. It wore slippers—quiet, familiar, and comfortable enough to pass as “just talking.”
Elijah said it without sugarcoating: forgiveness is wonderful—but it’s better not to sin in the first place.
Elijah said what many think but won’t admit: “Some people mistake intensity for guidance. A strong feeling isn’t the same thing as a sure word.”
“People think older Christian men outgrow struggle,” Elijah admitted. “But the battlefield doesn’t disappear. It just changes terrain.”
“He moved slower than last week—not just in his knees, but in the way his eyes scanned the room as if he were unsure whether he belonged there anymore.”
“God does not forget. People forget. God doesn’t.”
“Elijah didn’t speak in slogans. “We’re going to pray for local, state, and federal authorities,” he said, “because God uses people, and people need wisdom when the trail is cold and the stakes are high.”
“That word,” she said, tapping once. “That’s the hinge. We’ve been using the language like it’s all the same—tithes, offerings, giving—when the Spirit chose different words for a reason.”
“Let’s pray like we mean it.”
Elijah slid a napkin into the middle of the table and wrote four lines like he was driving nails into wood: protection, justice, courage for leaders, endurance for congregations.
Jeremiah didn’t fear Christopher’s questions. He feared wasting the moment with quick answers that never reached the heart. Tonight wasn’t about winning; it was about opening the Book and letting Scripture do what it always does—separate truth from noise.