Fried Chicken After Church :)
Is stuff like this a “God Set Up?”
The scent of fried chicken hit Sarah like a warm hug the moment she stepped out of church. Her stomach rumbled in agreement, a symphony that had been playing softly throughout the sermon. Every Sunday, rain or shine, Miss Agnes parked her beat-up pickup truck across from the church, the aroma of her legendary fried chicken wafting through the open windows.
Today, the feeling was amplified. Sarah had aced her history presentation, finally conquering her stage fright. The nervous knot in her stomach had loosened, replaced by a hollowness that craved Miss Agnes’ golden goodness.
With a grin, Sarah joined the line, a motley crew of churchgoers united by their hunger. There was Mr. Davis, the quiet librarian, his usual stern expression replaced by a childlike anticipation. Beside him stood the Johnson twins, their giggles a counterpoint to the rhythmic sizzle Sarah could almost hear emanating from Miss Agnes’ truck bed.
Finally, it was Sarah’s turn. Miss Agnes, a woman with laugh lines etched around her warm brown eyes, piled a mountain of crispy chicken pieces onto a paper plate. Sarah added a hefty scoop of creamy mashed potatoes and a dollop of tangy coleslaw, the perfect combination :)
As Sarah found a spot on a nearby picnic bench, the first bite sent a wave of pure satisfaction through her. The crust, shattering with a delightful crunch, gave way to juicy, perfectly seasoned chicken. The mashed potatoes were like clouds, and the coleslaw offered a refreshing contrast.
But it wasn’t just the taste.
It was the ritual.
Every bite held the echoes of past Sundays, of shared laughter and stories exchanged with friends and neighbors. It was a reward for a good deed, a celebration of community, and a delicious reminder of the simple things in life.
As Sarah savored the last morsel, a contented sigh escaped her lips. Her stomach was full, her heart lighter. The day’s anxieties seemed to melt away with every greasy finger lick. Sarah knew, with a certainty that warmed her from the inside out, that next Sunday, she’d be back for another helping of Miss Agnes’ fried chicken, and the joy it brought.
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Church.
Chicken.
Family.
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The Presence of the Lord
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He’s waiting for you as well, in the doors of a church near you
