When I was 16, our family, parents and nine children, moved from Columbus, GA to Andalusia, Al. I was devastated to change schools and homes, but my Dad kept telling me that God had a plan for my life. I doubted it, but I let him think that I believed it.

Despite my doubt, God did have a plan. One evening after school I was playing softball in a kid’s yard down the block. This guy had a huge back yard. There I am standing at the plate with a bat in my hand, ready to knock the cover off the ball. Suddenly, a pulpwood truck drives up on the field, over the pitcher’s mound and points the headlights toward home plate. It stops for a moment, the motor dies, and the guy whose yard it is, hustles from centerfield, over to the truck, yelling and shouting, fists pounding on the door, demanding that the driver move the truck. The door opens, and this tanned “hunk” steps from the truck, looking like Paul Bunyan, paying no attention to his brother. He struts into the house, shirt on his shoulder and that brown curly hair blowing in the wind. It was love at first sight!

I was taken aback, left, and walked silently home to Grandma’s house, without saying goodbye. I walked into the house, where Granddaddy was cooking supper, and Grandma was still working. I never spoke, but went right to the shower. Grandaddy asked if I was sick. I don’t know what I said, but I do know that I was in love with this pulpwood-hauling guy. He later became my husband of 30 years. I know now that Pete Mitchell was God's plan that my Daddy talked about for my life.

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