one about the church

Mercy drove back to college a few weeks ago, back to the Texas Panhandle, through the hill country, through oil and sorghum fields. . . far from home.
She arrived at her house late that night- opening the door she smelled gas fumes and the carbon monoxide detector was beeping an alarm.
So, our daughter called home and I heard her groggy father, "No, I'm not upset, I'm just trying to wake up and figure out how to help you."
". . .then call us back!" he instructed.
After about an hour she did, and John and I were quite awake.
"I called a family from my church; they talked me through turning off all the gas; I'm spending the night at their house.
Ah, Good! I thought.
We heard from Mercy again the next afternoon, "Let me tell you about my life. . .it's my car, but a man from my church runs a mechanic shop. . . a man from my church is a fire fighter-he'll come and check for carbon monoxide.
Ah, Good! I thought.
The next day I asked John if I should call to check on Mercy.
"No, I don't think so," he said. "The church is taking care of our daughter."
(mmm, how do I love and care for the church?)

So, I don't like the orange glare on the glasses nor the shadow on him, but I love the picture-brother and sister, I think they like each other. . .