Posting makes this feel less like noodling, so..

[chicating]

Hello,” said a quiet young voice. “This is Margaret and I book people on “900 Christians”. May I speak to Miss Kyla Morris, please.?”

“Um, yes, I’m Ms. Morris. But you want me on “900 Christians? That seems like a mistake.”(Part of me hoped they’d discovered my blog post, made after a month of research, entitled “The Disabled Case Against Divinity” and wanted to argue with me about it.

“Maybe you want Kyla Robbins…we were in a dorm together and she was pretty devout. Or my neighbor in 168. She’s in a scooter…we get each other’s mail a lot.” Even as I tried to work myself up, I knew I didn’t want to make the Case Against Divinity right then, even if I had wanted to be in an article that called me “controversial” or even, on my most-on-point, no lipstick on my teeth, kind of day, a “firebrand”. I had no fire, though. Maybe the second young Margaret I ever met sounded too nice.

“God doesn’t make mistakes,” Margaret said with a calm confidence I envied. “ Come share testimony about your miracle.”

Oh, right, that. Though I couldn’t exactly forget, what with the extra appointments, equipment, and the beginning of thickening around my middle, but in my defense, I’d been called miraculous for shopping on my own, or indeed, appearing in public at all. It made the word itself less exotic.”I’ll, um. Pray on it,”
“Do you want me to get you started?” Margaret offered shyly.

It was a nice thought, but I couldn’t bring myself to say yes.
“Seems like a family matter, Margaret.”

To that end, I still had chicken on my dinner fork when I said “Mom, I’ve been getting offers to appear on television.”
Mom looked as horrified as if someone had asked to record my morning-sickness sessions or my wrestling into my less-stretchy by the instant pregnant pants. Growing up with my grandparents made mom fear attention, nearly as much as I might have longed for some that didn't come with "What happened?" attached.