04-11-2017, 02:47 PM
Emily
We think God lives on Main Street, and She
must love Amherst better than all the rest of
creation. Last Sunday in church, the sermon
came from the Book of John.
‘I am the bread that comes down from Heaven.
Who eats of this bread will live forever.’
After service our parents took the carriage,
left us to walk, for the fresh air. On Main Street
we passed the Homestead, still talking about how
Jesus could be God, and bread, and what kind,
rye, or Indian grains, or wheat? There before us,
dangling from an upstairs window, hung a basket
full of warm gingerbread. We looked up. A figure
dressed all in white motioned us to take it.
We carried it home. Mother said it was safe to eat,
that was Miss Dickinson, the Judge’s daughter,
who fed us. We think she may be God.
We think God lives on Main Street, and She
must love Amherst better than all the rest of
creation. Last Sunday in church, the sermon
came from the Book of John.
‘I am the bread that comes down from Heaven.
Who eats of this bread will live forever.’
After service our parents took the carriage,
left us to walk, for the fresh air. On Main Street
we passed the Homestead, still talking about how
Jesus could be God, and bread, and what kind,
rye, or Indian grains, or wheat? There before us,
dangling from an upstairs window, hung a basket
full of warm gingerbread. We looked up. A figure
dressed all in white motioned us to take it.
We carried it home. Mother said it was safe to eat,
that was Miss Dickinson, the Judge’s daughter,
who fed us. We think she may be God.