Forty miles from a large Texas city, we hear the same rejection from the workmen each time we call.
"You're too far away... We don't service homes in your town," they all say.
We hang up the phone, angered and convinced -- suburban life comes at a price.
And then, a tornado and hailstorm strikes -- devastating homes and cars one night.
Windows struck, cracked, and shattered.
Roofing and gables torn away.
Trees rooted for years, ripped from the ground, bringing many to tears in our small Texas town.
Families embrace, checking on their neighbors and their friends, and thanking God for his grace.
Until the next day, when our town so afar, miraculously appears much closer on the workmen's radar.
Like vultures, they traverse the streets in four door pickups, scavenging for their next victims-- nothing more than self-made fly by nights. (Thanks for the potholes, guys.)
Somehow, it seems fitting to shun, giving business to the little guys in our town.
It's funny how far the workmen will drive-- hoping to line their pockets in hopes to connive.
“BETTER LUCK NEXT TIME!”
