An Unlikely Choice
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Donna B. Comeaux

Donna is a novelist, freelance, and inspirational writer. She writes for Ruby for Women (http://rubyforwomen.com), a Christian women’s online magazine, and has written for Believer Life and Hopeful

Posted 3/4/17 at 2:22 PM | Donna B. Comeaux

Waiting for the Messiah


WAITING FOR THE MESSIAH

(a fictional short story based on Bible truths and ancient customs)

          "Beulah, I do not understand why Avi does it—sit there day after day weaving away, hardly sleeping."

          "Shh, Ephah, she will hear you. Let her be. Whatever Avi is doing she has her mind fixed on it and there is nothing we can say to change her purpose. Now, come," Beulah said as she tugged on Ephah's arm.

          Ephah pulled away and reached for the long cloth covering Avi's open door. "I think we should go in and sit with her and find out what she is doing, Beulah."

          "No! Ephah, do not."

          "Are you not curious?" FULL POST

Posted 11/27/14 at 12:10 PM | Donna B. Comeaux

A Thanksgiving Tradition

I’m not sure who’s to blame for this disease of perfectionism, but I’m blaming the Donna Reed Show, Leave It To Beaver, and The Nelsons. Watching those 1960 weekly black and white shows at the tender age of nine created in me a mystical belief that everything had to be done in an orderly fashion. (I still suffer from this disease.)

I remember when I played house in the garage. I scrounged for an apron in my mother’s kitchen, or tried to get one from Grandmother so I could look as neat and tidy as June Cleaver. Once I got that prized possession in my little hands, I pulled it tight around my waist and tied it into a perfect bow. In mother’s room, I dug through her dresser drawer for jewelry, or I begged Grandmother for her old earrings, inevitably, picking the round ones to clamp on my ears. They had to be round, because, after all, that’s what June Cleaver wore.

Then I went through the painstaking task of transforming my mother’s garage into a replica of my idea of the Cleaver home located on 485 Grant Avenue in Mayfield (and none of us have a clue as to which state these flawless people lived in). I took all the empty milk cartons and vegetable cans I begged mother to save for me and arranged them neatly on a makeshift cabinet which consisted of planks of wood straddled across boxes. FULL POST