3 bags gone.
The girls were troopers.
It was their room after all.
They stayed with Sue.
I stayed away.
I balanced the check book. Folded 2 loads of laundry.
Made a cake for death by chocolate.
But forgot to turn the oven on.
Our friends were here from Florida so they brought lunch over.
We sat in the sunshine and ate.
It was so good to see them.
It was so good to be in the sun.
We talked about books on tape. And then of course we talked about music.
Because that was how most of our time was spent together.
Years of Road Crew events.
She mentions Elvis and some of his older music.
I know what I need to do.
I head up the stairs.
I turn into his room.
Is it still his room?
These are things that run through my head.
It probably always will.
We still call the little girls room Debbie's room.
So I find the Elvis cd's. There's also a dvd that had never been opened.
I am happy to send these along. They are just gathering dust in his room.
Someone will enjoy his music.
Oh how he loved Elvis.
Like his Grandfather and Uncle.
He would sing at the top of his lungs.
He voice rich and clear.
He knew every word.
He was like that. He knew all the lyrics to songs.
He liked all kinds of music.
His loss weighs heavy on my soul.
It's a deep ache. It is my companion day and night.
One I need to learn to live with.
Our friends leave.
The farm has been hopping today with visitors.
There is not much time to be still.
The demands of the day race before me.
There are pick ups from the High School and dinner.
Crisis cleaning for small group.
There is another knock on the door.
There stands one I have seen before; but don't know well.
He says I've brought you dinner.
He's a friend of the family.
He too has sat around this farm house table feasting on food and nurture for the soul.
It's probably been 35 years since those days; but to all who enter here, it was yesterday.
The memories of this place are strong.
I long to keep them alive.
A place where all are welcome.
Where Christ sits at the head of the table.
A message of hope for all to hear.
A refuge for the weary.
Consequently, faith comes from hearing the message,
and the message is heard through the word about Christ.
But buried deep beneath
All our broken dreams we have this hope;
Out of these ashes. . .beauty will rise
and we will dance among the ruins
We will see Him with our own eyes. . .
For we know joy is coming in the morning.