“Isn’t he one of your classmates?”

“Yes, he is. But I don’t know him very well. He’s on the football team and is well liked by everyone. Hope he’s okay.”

Further conversation is forestalled by the emergence of his grandmother from the kitchen bearing a platter filled with eggs and bacon in one hand, and a pan holding a dozen biscuits in the other. James eagerly takes charge of the biscuits and deftly transfers one to his plate as he sets the warm pan on the table. He helps himself to a big portion of his grandmother’s jam. It won 2 ^nd place at the county fair last year; old Widow Jones took 1 ^st place. His grandmother claims that Widow Jones puts too much sweetener in her jams and that is why she wins every year. About to take a bite, he hears her say, “James, let’s say grace first.” She has that look in her eye. Giving her a sheepish grin, he sets the biscuit on his plate, folds his hands and bows his head for prayer.

His grandfather prays. “Dear Lord, please bless this food to our good, watch over us and guide us. And please help James find a job! In Jesus’ name, Amen.”

“Leave the boy alone, John,” his wife chides as she places her napkin in her lap. “He’ll find one when the good Lord is ready.” Turning her attention to James she adds, “Make sure to find one that you will be happy with. There is nothing worse than spending your life at a job that is dull and lifeless. One should come along when the time is right. Now hurry and eat or you will be late for school again.”

Stuffing his mouth full of eggs and bacon, he mumbles, “I better eat on the run, then.” He tucks several biscuits in a napkin and stuffs them in the top of his backpack. Her biscuits, especially when they are warm, are hard to resist. “Thanks for another award winning breakfast,” he says before giving her a peck on the cheek, then heads for the back door.