A FEAST PREPARED

A FEAST PREPARED

“Something smells mighty good.”

“Hope it tastes as good as it smells.”

“You always say that, and it always does. Where’s Pearl?”

Sally Denton came out of the kitchen to welcome her husband Carl home from work. “Hang on to your hat. She told me a while ago she was going over to the church.”

“She finally decided to go to the cemetery I guess.”

“She just said church.” Sally opened the door to the hall closet for Carl to hang up his coat. As always, he draped it over a chair instead.

“I’m sure I’ll be doing something outside after supper. No use prying this coat in and prying it out again.” Carl put Sally’s right hand up to his lips and kissed it, as was his custom. “I always asked you to have patience with your cousin.”

“I don’t recall your asking. I do recall some telling.”

“You know when I tell you to do something, I’m really just asking. Got to keep up my masculine image, you know. Head of the house.”

“I guess that’s why you always refuse to hang up your coat.”

“I hang it up when it’s ready to bed. Smells like pot roast.”

“I guess we’ve had enough bonding for the day.”

“There’s never enough bonding. But we can bond over pot roast, can’t we?”

“Shouldn’t we wait for Pearl?’

“Why don’t we say Grace and then I’ll go to the church to see what’s up with your cousin.”

Knowing how Pearl felt about saying Grace and knowing what she’d been through, Sally and Carl always prayed over their meal well before it was on the table. It was Sally’s turn.

Dear Lord, Thank you for all the blessings you have bestowed on us. Thank

you for any adversity we face. We know adversity brings us down to earth

when we’ve been flying too high. Most of all, Lord, bless those who don’t know

what it’s like to fly. Amen

“That’s definitely not the kind of Grace you’d say in front of Pearl.”

“I’m not sure I could say a Grace that would meet with her approval. Perhaps a Quaker-style Grace. A moment of silence.”

“I hate to sound so selfish after Grace, but I’m hungry.”

“I never would have guessed. Let me get everything ready while you go look for Pearl.”

“I knew I’d need to put that coat back on.”

Carl arrived at the church building. On entering the entrance hall – he called it the entry hall but some called it the narthex, too clinical sounding for him, and some called it the vestibule, too Roman for him – he realized how strange it was to be at the church this time of day. It was quiet. Over the central double doors to the sanctuary hung a cross-stitched plaque prepared by the long-time organist and choir director, Pansy Potter.

Miss Potter, called that even though she was married, served the church from the time her feet could barely touch the organ pedals until a month before her death. What she lacked in native talent, she more than made up for with hard work and dedication. As an encouragement for congregants to enter the sanctuary quietly, she created the plaque with the following words:

Welcome all to this house of worship.

Kindly remove your outer raiments

and greet each other with warmth and love.

Upon entering the sanctuary, be prepared for

to feast on God’s word.

Members of the church were so touched that when the building was remodeled, additions were made to the entrance hall, two large side areas allowed folks to deposit coats, umbrellas, boots and other “outer raiments.” There was also plenty of room for all to “greet each other with warmth and love.”

Carl looked at other plaques that graced the walls of the entry way. Bible verses that meant something special to congregants had been cross-stitched by the men of the church. When this idea had been first suggested, most of the men balked at doing women’s work. The women then suggested a trade off. They could do yard work and basic repairs. This became an annual event.

Carl opened one of the doors to the sanctuary slowly and cautiously. The room was was bathed in late afternoon light. Fine particles of illuminated dust created a touch of mystery. He scanned the pews and noticed Pearl sitting at the back left. Her head was facing forward and her eyes seemed to be closed. An open hymnal rested on her lap. It was the most rested looking he'd ever seen her. Rather than disturb her, he retreated back into the entry way.

After about five minutes, the door from the sanctuary to the entry way opened. Pearl walked out and saw Carl in one of the side areas. She walked over to him.

“Shocked?” she asked.

“In a way.”

“I hadn’t been in that room since Dan’s funeral. You surely remember I refused to come to Dempsey’s funeral.”

Carl didn’t know quite what to say, so he said nothing.

“I have no idea why I decided to come here today. It just felt right. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’ve been a heathen a long time and I’m not about to change my spots. No pre-death confession for this lady.”

“No one’s asking you to do anything you don’t feel compelled to do.”

“Don’t bother. When I came into the church, the entrance hall – I always liked the term ‘vestibule’ for some reason – looked different. I didn’t remember the large side areas.”

“They were added about twelve years ago.”

“I remember all the construction but couldn’t envision the changes nor was I curious about them. I like it.”

“This was done out of love for Miss Potter. You remember her, don’t you?”

“Who could forget her? A lovely lady.”

“What about the sanctuary?”

“It seemed about the same until I really took a look at it. Back when I was a child and came here, it was always filled with people and flowers and all. The sanctuary itself was lost on my nine-year-old eyes. Now, I had it all to myself. Well, according to some, not quite all to myself.”

“I guess you were in here quite a while?”

“I got to witness the day beginning to fade. ‘Abide with me, fast falls the evening tide.’ The windows are so sparkling clear that the ebbing sun pouring through them was touching. Let’s sit if you don’t mind. I know you probably came over to fetch me for supper but, can we?”

“Naturally.” Pearl and Carl sat so they could take in the cross-stitched Bible verses.

“I sat in the back pew so I could have a good view of it all. It was nice not being crammed between adults who would give me nasty looks if I even looked as though I was going to fidget. I took a hymnal from the rack and thumbed through it, searching for some of my favorites. I’m glad you’re using the same hymnal.”

“They’re actually about ten years old, but it’s the same basic hymnal. There’s something about familiarity that is comforting to many people.”

“I could still hear Miss Potter accompanying us – no leading us – in the hymn singing. That tiny dynamo expressed every note and word. My little mind loved the ideas of ‘Blessed assurance,’ ‘Be Thou my vision,’ and ‘A Mighty Fortress.’ I wasn’t too keen on ‘The Old Rugged Cross,’ or ‘I’m saved, saved, saved.’ My favorite was ‘It is well with my soul.’ It was all well and good until that day when the deacons stood at the entrance to keep out black people. That wasn’t ‘well with my soul.’ No warm, loving greetings for them. The gates to the fortress were closed. That began my crawl away from the church. It wasn’t until I was an adult and the ‘storms of life started raging’ and never seemed to stop, that I stopped.”

“You’ve weathered many storms, Pearl.”

“I tried ‘leaning on Jesus’ but kept falling. Where was the safety net? Mom dies when I’m fourteen. Dad goes crazy without her and has to be put away when I’m eighteen. I marry Dan, in the church, at nineteen. He’s killed a week after my twenty-second birthday. Our precious son Dempsey dies at the age of five. I develop arthritis so painful I can barely move my hands. It’s been as if I’ve been experiencing the trials of Job. The problem is, I’d washed myself of the church after Dan. There was no faith to renounce. No God to curse. No turning back. I had to lean on myself.”

“No one denies what you’ve been through.”

“We won’t mention what I did six years ago. It was the only mistake I ever consciously and deliberately made.”

“You survived.”

“You’ve always been able to look past my whining and whimpering. Sometimes self pity is the only emotion you can count on.” Pearl reached for Carl’s hand. “You and Sally and so many others have been so nice to me. I shouldn’t unload on you like this.”

“Well, since you don’t believe in God, we’re the very people you should unload on.”

“I have noticed some black people going into the church. I hope they’ve been well received and don’t feel as though they have to sit in a certain section.”

“Some things take more time than they should. Like those cross-stitched Bible verses hanging in the entry way, things aren’t perfect and never will be on this earth. But things are better. Latrice Brunson is the best Sunday School teacher I’ve ever had. We stopped segregating Sunday School classes by gender about six years ago.”

Pearl stood up and waved for Carl to do the same. “I know you’re ready to get home to Sally and supper. Let’s head out.”

As they walked away from the church, Pearl paused and turned to look at the building. By now, a full moon was illuminating the front, from steps to steeple.

“I really enjoyed thinking about those favorite hymns of my childhood and singing them to myself. Truth be told, I love them more than the Bible. They may be second-hand scripture but I’ve always felt I truly knew the people who wrote those verses and wrote the music. They were experiencing what I wanted to experience. I loved my childhood faith. I never could be promoted to adult faith. I think people would be better off just keeping their early faith. Jesus was right when he said ‘suffer the little children.’ I think I remember Paul saying something about ‘putting away childish things.’ I’m not so sure I agree with that.”

“That’s an interesting observation, Pearl. I sort of agree with you in a way.”

“Not enough to recommend me as a Sunday School teacher, I bet.”

The laughed as they began their walk again.

“You’re always welcome to go back to the church any time, Pearl.”

“Don’t look to see me on Sundays.”

“Any time, I said.”

“I assume you and Sally said Grace already, as is your custom.”

“We can say it again when we get around the table.”

“No. One Grace is sufficient. I gave thanks just before I left the sanctuary. There’d been a feast prepared for me and I was truly thankful. The Lord didn’t have to MAKE me say it, either.”

THE LIFE SAVER

THE LIFE SAVER



“Where the hell did you get that shirt?”








“The thrift store”

“And where the hell did you get the money to buy it?”








“Mr. Nyman paid me to cut his grass.”

“And you spent it on a damn shirt, for yourself?”








“I bought some groceries. That’s where most of the money went.”

“Oh, pardon me.  Damn!  I just dropped screw do in this motor.  Come here. My fat fingers won’t reach it, but I bet your long, skinny, sissy fingers can.”

David reached into a whole in the engine motor his father was trying to repair and was able to pull out the screw.

“Glad those skinny, sissy fingers are good for something. You know, I fixed Nyman’s lawn mower last week. You couldn’t have cut his grass if I hadn’t done that. You know that?”





“Yes, sir.”

“Get in there and help your mother with supper. You can do that, I suppose?”

David went into the house and was washing his hands at the kitchen sink when he heard a moan. He looked out the window and saw his father on the ground in front of the garage.

“Mom, call 911! I think Dad might be having a heart attack.”

David ran outside and began administering CPR on his father.

“What the hell are you doing?  Do you know what the hell you’re doing?”





“Yes, sir. Mom’s just called 911”

David kept doing what he’d been trained to do in a First Aid class.  Within five minutes, a fire truck and ambulance pulled up to the house. A paramedic took over and one of the firemen asked David what had happened.  David’s father was taken to the hospital.

“Mr. Bracey, your wife’s here.”

“Good god. What a mess.”

“Stew, the doctor tells me you’re going to need some surgery.  You had a major heart attack.”








“Maybe I should just pull he plug. We don’t got no insurance. We’ve got no money.”

“Let’s just take things one step at the time.”

“Easy for you to say. And where’s the boy? Afraid to see his old man?”








“David’s at home. I’ll bring him by when you’re more stable.”

“When’ll that be, huh?”

“I”ll be back in a little while.”

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

A few hours later, Dorothy Bracey returned to the hospital.

“And where’s the boy? Still afraid?”








“His name is David. He’s gone to stay with my parents for a while.”

“Those fruitloops?”

“You’re talking about my parents, you know.”

“I wanna see my boy.”

“He’ll stop by tomorrow.”

“Got the bills yet?”





“Stew, don’t think about that. We’ll work things out.”

“The best thing is to pull the plug. I don’t want no surgery.”

“No one wants surgery, Stew. Once it’s done, the doctors say you’ll be better than ever.”

“And deep in debt. We’ll probably have to remortgage the house.”

“Let’s get you well.”

“Let’s stop kidding ourselves.  I’m on disability. Got diabetes and who knows what else. I ain’t been better than ever, ever.”

“Stop with the self pity, Stew.”

“Oh, here it comes. Kick me when I’m down.”

“What goes around, comes around.”





“Just lay it on thick, why don’t you?”

“Get some rest. I’ll come back tomorrow.”

“And bring the boy!”








The next morning, Dorothy returned to the hospital without David.


“Okay, where is he?”








“Why do you want to see him so badly. Did you want to thank him for saving your life?”








“I want to see him, cause a boy needs to see his father when his old man’s sick. He can’t just run scared like some sissy.”

“Stew?”








“Yes?”








“I’m going to leave now. I want you to think about things. That’s all I’m going to say.”








Dorothy stopped by three times a day and spoke with the doctors and nurses. She did not visit her husband. After three days, it was time for Stew to return home. No plans for surgery had been made. Dorothy asked Stew’s friend Michael to pick him up and bring him home.


“Sorry to drag you into this, Mike. I don’t know what I’m going home to. The boy’s with his grandparents and my old lady’s, well ...”

“I don’t want to stick my nose in.”

“So don’t. Just get me home. I’ll deal with it.”

“Do you love Dorothy? Do you even like her?”

“Where the hell did that come from? What business is that of yours? Just get me home.”

“I’m not budging until you tell me how you feel about Dorothy.”

“Did she put you up to this?”

“You know better than that.”

“Get me home, dammit.”

“We’ll sit in this lobby until you tell me.”

“No, I don’t love Dorothy. I don’t even like her. I’m sick of everything.”

“If that’s the case, I’m taking you home with me.”

“Oh, no you don’t. You’ve got a crippled wife. You don’t need another cripple.”

“I’m not taking you to a wife you don’t like, much less love. She doesn’t deserve that.”

“Well, then. Just leave me right here. I’ll get a cab.”

“David!”

“Yes, Dad, it’s me.”

“Where’s your mother. I knew she’d come get me.”

“I came with granddad. He’s waiting in the car.”

“So, you two are going to take me home.”








“No, we can’t do that.”

“It’s my damn house. I paid for it. I get to live there.”

“Fine. Mike, take Dad to the house.”

“Are you sure, David?”








“Yes. Mother and I are staying with Grandma and Granddad.”

“Well, ain’t that peachy. Mike’s taking me to an empty house.”








“It’s not empty, Dad. There’s groceries and all. You’ll manage.”

“Did you get those groceries mowing Nyman’s grass?”








“As a matter of fact, I did.”

“You and your mother are just going to leave me there.”

“It’s your house.”

“It’s all of ours house.”

“Right now, it’s yours.”

“And how much penance do I gotta do?”

“It’s not penance, Dad.”

“What do you call it, then?”

“Getting your life back.”

Stew moved the wheelchair he had been sitting in away from David and Michael. After about ten minutes, he wheeled himself back. His eyes were moist.

“David?”








“Yes?”








“I don’t want to go back to the house.”

“Then you’ll go to Mike’s?”








“No.”

“Then where?”

Stew reached for his son’s hand, rubbed it with his wrinkled ones and just held it between them. 

“I’m ready to go home. Do you know what that means, David?”

“I think so, sir.”

“That shirt looks great on you, son.”

THE ME I SHOULD HAVE BEEN

THE ME I SHOULD HAVE BEEN

We sat on the front porch of John Smith’s house. It was a Saturday morning and I’d stopped by to visit my old friend while I was in town on business. Over fifty years had gone by since we’d last seen each other. Even way back then, we’d not been close friends and the only reason I even thought about him was an announcement I saw in our college alumni magazine. I got in touch with him and he said he’d be “pleased as punch” to see me again.

Here we were. John scrunched himself in a porch swing and I sat in a rocking chair. The weather was cool, with a slight breeze. Good catch-up weather.

“Notice something about this house, Ed?” John asked after we’d settled into comfortable silence – the kind of silence where you feel like you can say nothing and it will still mean something.

“It’s nice. Well built. I like the porch.”

“It’s the only house on the block, really in this whole neighborhood, with a front porch. It was built in the 1960s during a time when front porches were deemed of no use. If you had a porch, it was on the back.”

As he spoke, I looked up and down the street. He was right. A covered front stoop was as much of a porch as one could see.

“I bought this house because it had a front porch. And it had a back porch. I could contemplate nature from the back porch and human nature from the front porch.”

I heard a garage door open on the house next door to John’s. A car emerged and passed on the street right in front of John’s house. He waved, but his neighbor apparently didn’t notice.

“He might have seen me, or he might not have. It really doesn’t matter. I paid my respects.”

“It’s a good custom.”

“To most of my neighbors, I’m just an old man. I might be invisible to them, but they are visible to me. Oh well.”

A boy rode down the street on a bicycle. Again, John waved and the boy did nothing.

“I have to feel that my wave means something, even if it isn’t acknowledged.”

“You’re still the philosopher, aren’t you.” My memories of John in college were slowly rolling back into my consciousness. He was quiet and bookish, I recalled. He was part of the little group I hung out with, but he never seemed to be totally connected to the group. The group did everything together. He did some things, but would skip out on others.

“I was too much the philosopher for my own good, I fear. I should have been more foolish.”

I laughed at a memory. “You got drunk once, I remember.”

John laughed back. “It was a fake drunk. I had maybe a beer and a half, and on a full stomach. But I did act the fool for a few minutes.”

“Maybe you should have been an actor – a brooding Shakespearean type perhaps.

“Too much stage fright,” John countered. “I know it’s the philosopher in me, but I do think about what I should have done with my life.”

I was surprised by that remark. John had never married, to my knowledge, but he had a nice life as a public servant, making judgements on unemployment claims was what he told me. I had been an accountant for a department store, which was not exactly thrilling. It helped support a marriage and children. And I met lots of interesting people along the way. I never regretted a day. John seems to have.’

“I hope your life has been happy.” I realized as soon as those words left my mouth how morbid they must sound.

“Ed, when you go by the name ‘John Smith,’ your identity gets lost. Just like my wave gets lost.” John stretched a leg, then returned it to the swing. I could have gone by my first name, ‘Caleb,’ but I hated that name when I was a boy. It sounded so old. I didn’t like Johnny, either. So I chose my own destiny, name wise.”

“You could have switched at some point.”

“Not really. ‘John’ was it.”

I was curious to see where John was going with this line of talk, so I asked, “Might Caleb Smith turned out differently from John Smith?”

“Perhaps. I might have become the captain of a ship. ‘John Smith’ is too obvious for that.”

“I never knew you were interested in sailing.” I said that, because the college we attended was on the coast and there were lots of opportunities for tsaking to the seas.

“Caleb might have been. John, no.”

A car from down the street passed by. Its driver looked over. John waved and the driver nodded his head.

“One for three,” John said with a grin. “Too dangerous to let loose of the steering wheel to wave back I suppose. We’ll forget he didn’t keep his eyes on the road ahead.”

“Do you regret not getting married?” Once again, I spoke before thinking. I had no business getting that personal.

“Every day of my life. But then, if I’d gotten married I might have regretted it every say of my life as well. I was never even a close relative to Don Juan.”

“Me either, but I got married and had several children. My wife died five years ago. My children have turned out well, so far” Why did I continue saying things I didn’t mean to say?

“I’m sorry to hear about your wife, but glad your children are doing okay. I’m the end of the line for my family, I fear.”

I looked at my watch as unobtrusively as I could. John saw me, however, and swung his legs from the seat of the porch swing and gave the swing a push with them. “I thank you for coming by, Ed. It has meant a lot. I don’t hear anything from people of my early years. As always, I’ve got friends I do things with from time to time, but not real close friends. The fact that you remembered me and have taken this time is truly wonderful.”

“John, It’s been great seeing you. The highlight of my visit here. We need to stay in touch. Let me give you my card.”

“Thanks, John. I don’t have a card, but I’ll put your number in my phone. I don’t do e-mail.”

“Please call me sometime. I mean that. You’re a great guy.”

“I will,” John replied. We shook hands as we stood on the porch in front of the steps. I might have given him a hug, but that seemed too final. I didn’t want to make another blunder.

I got in my car. As I started to pull away, John waved. I stopped the car, put in park, and waved back with a big grin. A few blocks down the street, the adjoining neighborhood was a little rougher looking than John’s neat well-kept one. I couldn’t help but notice a house that had a front porch just like John’s. There was a sign on it that read “Caleb’s Front Porch. A place to sit a spell and talk things over.” Curious, I stopped and asked a passerby about it. The told me that a man named Caleb Smith had created this place where runaways, the homeless, the lonely, anyone could find a friendly face to spend some time with. The house served as a shelter. The sign was shaped like an old three-masted schooner. “Home is the sailor. Home from the sea,.” I thought to myself. The “me he should have been” turned out to be the “me” he truly was.