On the way to my writer’s group a friend, who had come along with me, and I passed through a quaint Maine village. She pointed out a charming old home and told me about the dear old woman who lives there. Her name is Mother Adams.

While we were at the group the topic of this home coincidently came up, immediately piquing our interest. We learned that it had been a boarding house in years past as well as home to an underground railroad over a century ago.

As my friend and I drove home we saw Mother Adams rocking on her front porch and stopped in for an impromptu visit. We inquired about her historic home, but she was unaware if it was actually her home or perhaps another. Nevertheless, we still found plenty to chat about on this sunny Indian summer afternoon. This spry old woman, with a twinkle in her eye, shared with us that her heart had stopped several months ago and they had revived her. She figured the Lord wasn’t through with her yet, though she chuckled she is not sure why. Maybe she has a story herself yet to tell. Though her memory fails her some now, perhaps when we visit her again, after next month’s writer’s group, she will share it with us. It was a sweet visit.

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