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My Sister's Place took in addicts, alcoholics, mentally ill, single and divorced women with children, and some who never learned to manage money. House rules were simple:

• Don't lie
  
• Have a good attitude
  
• No drugs or alcohol (although many entered high or drunk)
  
• Phone calls limited to two five-minute calls per day
  
• Find a job and pay five dollars daily for rent
  
• Go to church on Sunday

I didn't demand perfection, but somehow after I arrived, housekeeping dropped off. Chores were forgotten and duties half done. After a month I awoke to discover dirty dishes in the sink, ants crawling over the countertop, beds unmade, and cups covering the coffee table. God, you tricked me—put me in charge of bunch of women who act like spoiled teenagers.

"None of you appreciate me!" I slapped the dirty counter. "Can't you see how hard I'm trying?" My hands shook as I slung the Tupperware cups into the sink. "When are you going to grow up? I don't like being here, in case you didn't notice. If any of you don't want to help out, you know where the door is."

They scattered like rats. All except Gail. I stomped back to the bedrooms and ordered the rest of them to get busy making beds. That night for supper, I fixed turkey again from our collection. Some church had donated twelve.

After supper we went through our usual routine—Family Time, Devotional, and Prayer Circle. I offered no prayers. I didn't even hold hands.

After we finished, I peeled off down the street in my van, screaming out to God. "This is too hard. I can't do it." I found a used fast-food napkin under the seat to wipe my eyes. "I still hate my life," I sobbed. "I'm lonely no matter how many women you stick me with." God seemed far away and silent.

I drove until almost midnight and then U-turned my car back toward home. Stepping out into the dewy air, I stood in the damp, overgrown grass in the front yard and listened to laughter. I realized the ruckus was coming from behind the house. My tennis shoes squished as I trudged toward the voices. Peeking around the corner, I spotted the women. In the darkness their lighted cigarettes dotted the back porch like tiny red beacons. I inhaled, recalling the days when I'd smoked. Way back when.

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