Dad

I've always been the practical sort of Christian. God said it, I believe it that settles it. I never went out for the supernatural charismatic extras. We walk by faith not by sight--right? Mary would tell me the spiritual realm is much more real than the physical one. Sometimes I envied her relationship with Jesus. 

"Mary, something unusual is happening around here.  Being married to you for almost 25 years you'd think I'd be used to the supernatural by now... The cabin has been turned into a small palace and we're all living high on the hog while the rest of the world is sinking into--pardon my French Mary--shnit. Here I am talking to myself once again and still unable to curse because of you Mary."

It's not me John... it's the Holy Spirit. He prevents you from sinning.

"Is that you Mary or am I hearing your voice from so many past conversations?"

I don't know John... I'm in your head, not the other way around. I'm dead, remember? How can I talk to you?

Once again Mary was right. Or what I thought about Mary was right. How can she still be right months after she's dead?

Talk to God John--not me.

For some reason I could only speak to the Father on my knees. Especially for serious conversation. My heart ached missing the love of my life. I had escaped to this cabin to grieve in peace and nearly died in the process.

As I found my place on the wooden floor at the end of what was mine and Mary's bed I felt two small grooves. They were from Mary's knees. She'd spent so much time praying the wood had left small indents where her knees would be. This sent me in a blubbering tailspin. I began crying out to God only no coherent words would come. I groaned and wailed as tears flooded the end of my bed. By the time my four daughters entered my room the family quilt was drenched.

Jo ran in and hugged me about the neck. "It's alright daddy. I understand now."

Meg sat on the bed and kissed the top of my head. "Mama's in heaven Dad. We'll all be together one day."

Beth handed me a tray of piping hot chamomile tea and orange scones. Her mother's favorites. "I drew this for you daddy. Drink it. It'll help relax you."

I knew Amy was about to say, "I'd prefer you weren't sad Daddy." I interrupted her before she could.

I took an embroidered hanky from Mary's bedside table and wiped my eyes. "Girls, I'm not crying because I'm sad... I'm weeping because the presence of the Lord filled this place."

Jo's eyes grew wide. "You felt it too dad?"

Beth, Mary and Amy nodded. Mary spoke, "We all did dad. God is so real."

Jo blurted, "So SO real!"

With that affirmation our tears turned into laughter. All five squished on the old brass bed. Meg started singing, "On a hill far away stood an old wooden cross and emblem of suffering and shame..."
We each joined her in singing Mary's favorite song. We sang until we ran out of tunes.

After the sun went down Aunt Catherine and Uncle Jerry stuck their heads inside. Catherine asked, "Bethie, are you gonna draw us some grub or would you like me and Jer to whip up something the old fashioned way?"

Jo jumped up. "No offense Uncle Jay but you have not been blessed by the cooking fairies. Beth, how about some real New York pizza!"

Rory joined us. "With antipasto salad and garlic knots?"

"You got it family! But after that I'm calling a family meeting."

I wondered why mild mannered Beth insisted on calling another family meeting. She had every right but she never said so much as 'boo' at these things. Maybe she was sick of doing all the cooking/drawing. Maybe she knew what I knew. The time for hiding out was over.