The old kitchen was ever a spot for refinement. Jack’s wife, Elizabeth, was always one to do renovations. It wasn’t surprising to see fresh spring colors covering the earth tones I remembered from a couple of years past. Mom had obviously stripped the pinewood table yet again, this time lightly staining the top with a natural shade. I tapped my fingernails on the table as my parents silently mulled around the house. Dad took my things up the two flights of stairs to my refinished attic bedroom, and Mom was making up a pot of coffee scented with vanilla.
The scene reminded me of the many nights I sat at this very table – sometimes dark mahogany, or others a green satin finish – doing the school work I had not completed during Mom’s and my home schooling time. I had a horrible habit of biting my nails back then, and the drumming from their tips would have been more dulled than now. My small mother always made coffee in the evening before she sat down to do her devotions. Dad would often join her from his upstairs library to the living room, each reading silently except to share the profound things one another had glanced upon. After my work was finished, I was allowed to get a very milky cup of coffee and join my parents there. We made a cozy threesome, though Mom always longed for more children. Dad would read a Bible story, ask me questions to make sure I understood, and then Mom would lead us in singing a few hymns or praise songs. It never failed that we would end our evenings in prayer, in which I was often asked to lead as I grew older. Even when I entered the public high school at Cloudland High at the age of 13, Mom and Dad waited up for me after the many activities I was involved in to do our evening devotion times.
The night was growing darker as the minutes flew, and it did not seem that my parents were being very chatty. What could I expect? I sprung this homecoming on them rather abruptly. Dad had already sat himself down on the old weathered sofa, next to the soft glow of the lamp on one of the end tables.
“Lizzie, honey, would you mind fixin’ me a cup of coffee?” Dad’s soft voice drifted into the kitchen.
“It’s already made,” she stirred the spoonful of sugar into a steaming coffee mug. “Eve, you want some?”
“Sure, but I’ll get it.” I got up from the table and set to work pouring myself the cup of hot coffee. After I put just the right amount of cream into the cup, I headed for the living room. Snuggling up in one of the overgrown recliners, I waited for my dad to start the conversation. I didn’t have to wait long.
“Well, sis, we’ll be doin’ our devotions now, if you want to participate. I figure we can hold off any special conversations for the morning.” Tomorrow was Sabbath, and I knew that Dad would not be working. It was a relief to hear that he was putting off the inevitable conversation that would surely contain some emotional moments.
“To be honest, Dad, I haven’t done a devotional in a while. Do you mind if I just sit here quietly?” Another step.
“Yup, that would be alright. We’ll just read some, and then end in prayer. That good for you, Lizzie?” Dad faced my mom who just positioned herself on the couch.
“However you feel led, hon.” Mom grinned at her husband, patting her hand on his knee.
“Um, about tomorrow,” I piped up as Dad was leafing through his old Bible, “do you all still go over to the Stephenson’s house for service?”
“Yes, Evey. In fact, a few other families are meeting with us,” Mom replied.
“In fact,” the man of the house stuttered, “we have a couple young people you know coming as well.”
“Who?” I searched through the images of the members my small high school class in my mind, wondering who would be most likely to join my parents’ home church group.
“Well, a senior, Amanda,” Mom paused. I couldn’t tell why she was so hesitant. Amanda was a sweet, quiet girl. What was the big deal?
“And Chris Baker has been attending for a few months,” Dad blurted out. Chris? My Chris? There weren’t any other Chris Bakers my age in the village. I didn’t even know he was back in Roan, nonetheless a follower of Christ. I concentrated on placing the mug onto the coffee table, hoping that my jittery hands would not spill the dark substance onto the rug.
“That’s great,” I heard myself saying.
“Again, you are welcome to come to service with us. It is at another family’s house, Troy and Karen McMillan,” Dad seized the control of the conversation. “They moved to the area about eight months ago, and are a real blessing to fellowship with.”
“Troy and Karen have five little ones, Eve,” Mom chimed in. “All under the age of seven! Such a blessing.”
“Must be.”
“Well, dear ones, lets turn together to read from God’s holy Word.” Dad found the place he had been looking for. “Praise the Lord. He is a good and righteous judge. His love endures forever! Amen!”
The strength and love that my dad always portrayed when speaking of the Lord exuded from him now. He proceeded to have us turn to 1 John 1. I picked up a spare Bible from the bookshelf behind my chair. “ ‘That which was from the beginning, which we have heard, which we have seen with our eyes, which we have looked upon, and our hands have handled of the Word of life,’” the words were familiar to me, though I hadn’t read them in quite a while. My thoughts started to stray, but I forced myself to read along. “ ‘If we say that we have fellowship with him, and walk in darkness, we lie, and do not know the truth; but if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship one with another, and the blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin.’” Wasn’t that the reason I had left? I did not want to lie to my parents and God anymore. I walked in darkness, and not the light. Dad read on, “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness. If we say that we have not sinned, we make him a liar, and his word is not in us.’ And let us not glance over the beginning of chapter two: ‘My little children, these things I write unto you, that ye sin not. And if any man sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous: and he is the propitiation for our sins; and not for ours only, but also for the sins of the whole world.’”
Dad nodded toward Mom, and she began to pray softly. “Heavenly Father, gracious Lord, we come before you tonight in thanksgiving. Thank you for guiding our Eve home again. Please pluck her heart, and help us to face the days ahead. Thank you for your continual blessings on our lives, and we lay those very lives at your feet. Cover this home in your divine protection, by the precious blood of Jesus. It is in His name that I pray. Amen.” Dad reached over and clasped his wife’s hand.
“We’ll be goin’ on upstairs, so don’t stay up too late.” His warm voice seemed to fill the room, beckoning the whole mountain to sleep.
“I won’t.” I watched as they both headed for the stairwell. “Mom, Dad?” They turned back to face me. “Thanks, for letting me stay.”
“We love you, Evey,” was Mom’s reply. Dad just nodded, and then led Elizabeth up the stairs by the hand.
