
When I wonder, as I sometimes do, how it was that I fell in love with reading; when I consider, as I sometimes do, why I have been God-haunted across the six decades of my life; when I contemplate, as I sometimes do, what is the birthplace of my passion for the rhythms of the written word, I think about a welcoming classroom in Northeastern Ohio. There I was taught by Sister Edna Sommers, a Conservative Mennonite woman who decided the classroom was fa…
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