Of Love and Treason

by Jamie Ogle

Iris guessed aloud, “Pistachio and dried cherry. These must be the hand buns.” “Do not overknead it, or they will not be soft, and no one will come back to buy them, and we will go out of business and starve to death.” “You’re a dear little ray of midnight this morning.” Iris smiled since it would irritate him.

“I knew this would happen. How many customers have walked out today?” Iris whirled around. She hadn’t heard Epimandos return. “All of them, obviously.

Our lives are but single threads woven into the tapestry of history—of God’s story. Who can tell what picture our threads will complete?