Chapter
six - 1977
Dad and I were sitting on top of a picnic table in the
hot sun, resting our feet on the bench, eating ice cream cones. He had brought me to an ice cream shop to
talk. I wasn’t sure whether I should be happy about this, or worried.
After I was released from the hospital, Maum had moved
out one night as dad threw her TV, bicycle and a torrent of toiletries out our
third story apartment window, aiming for her car below. I had to sidestep broken glass, pieces of
twisted metal and a drying pool of hair products smearing the sidewalk as I
began my usual mile walk to school the next morning.
When
summer vacation arrived, I was handed a bagged lunch and instructed to go to
the park down the street until dark, having to stay out of the house for up to
twelve hours each day. I’d sit on the
swings, trying to appear indifferent and aloof as moms and dads spread out
picnics and chased ice cream trucks with their squealing kids. When I became
hungry and bored, I’d visit the Dunkin Donuts dumpster to see if there were any
new munchkins or donuts that had been tossed.
Once home, I quietly crawled into bed so I wouldn’t disturb Dad, and my
daily lack of routine began all over again the next day.
“ I just can’t
take care of you anymore, Liz,” Dad’s announcement brought me back to the
present. He didn’t waste any time letting me know why he had brought me here
alone. “You’re going to go live with Earl and Minerva for a while. Now don’t be too upset - I know you’re going
to have to change schools and make new friends, but I just can’t help it.”
Feigning disappointment, knowing any excitement read on
my face could turn this train in the opposite direction, I furrowed my brow and
mumbled, “It’s ok, Dad. Will I still see
you sometimes?” I was hoping he would
say no, but he told me he’d visit from time to time.
Heading home, I mentally packed my belongings and planned
a quick visit to my friend, Kim’s, house to tell her the good news before I
left. The next morning, my meager things
were loaded up, and I was on my way!
Missus answered the door, and we sat together in the
living room until Mister came up from downstairs, where he had been talking to
a customer. Dad finally said his good-bye’s. I exhaled deeply when I watched his car
disappear out of sight. I was home!
Finally unpacked, I meandered my way downstairs to poke
around in the bookstore, reading Christian comics, playing demo music albums on
the stereo and listening to Mister provide Bible answers to his customers. People drove from many miles away for a chance
to speak with him. He was chatting with
a young couple with three very young children in tow.
“Every single time scripture is memorized and quoted,
those who participate receive a blessing.
Elizabeth, can you come here for a moment?” Mister rested his hand on my
shoulder, drawing me to stand in front of him.
My heart warmed with his gentle, fatherly touch.
“Tell me a verse you know,” he encouraged, gently nodding
his head.
Surprising myself, I began quoting a verse I had heard
him say over and over. “Therefore said he unto them, ‘The harvest truly is
great, but the laborers are few: pray ye therefore the Lord of the harvest,
that he would send forth laborers into his harvest.’ Luke 10:2,” I added the
reference at the end, because Mister usually quoted those, too.
I was mighty impressed with myself for rattling of a
verse I didn’t even know I‘d memorized.
I supposed there were a number of verses I had soaked in over the years
simply because Mister peppered most of his conversations with scripture. He was never sad and serious like some
religious people were on TV. Studying
the Bible was so much a part of who he was, he couldn’t help but express
himself in a passionate, heartfelt way with the comforting and amazing words he
discovered and loved, causing those around him to be blessed, giving thanks to
God for using him to minister to their hearts in this way.
Mister could take an everyday thing like peeking out the
morning window, and instead of offering something like, ‘What nice weather,
today’, he’d raise his face to the sky, eyes sparkling, and pronounce, “The
heavens declare the glory of God and the firmament showeth his handiwork!’ He’d stride away either whistling or singing
out a favorite hymn - “When morning guilds the skies, my heart awaking cries -
may Jesus Christ be praised!”
Standing in front of him now, he looked at me,
pleased. “You see, when we teach a child
scripture, we are ministering to their souls, and when they repeat it back to
us, they are ministering to ours!”
Conversation lingered between the couple and Mister,
eventually leading me to wander off to find more things to do. I went outside and threw a rock or two into
the brook out back, pondering my present situation of peace and joy, wondering
whether it just might last this time.
Somewhere among my ten-year-old musings, a verse came to
mind. This is the day which the Lord has made. We will rejoice and be glad in
it. Psalm 118:34. Mentally thanking
Mister for quoting that so often at breakfast, I jumped up and ran inside to
see what Missus was scaring up for lunch.
After the meal, Mister and Missus asked if I would join
them in the living room.
My stomach turned a few somersaults. “Oh no,” I thought.
“Is the dream really over with so soon?
Please, please, please, God, don’t make me go back to Dad!” I sat down, willing myself not to cry.
“We’re glad you have come back to live with us, Elizabeth,”
Mister began. “You fit right in with our family and our grandkids across the
street. We’ve loved you since the moment
we met you, and are so thankful the Lord brought you to us. We want you to know you are like our very own
child - you couldn’t mean any more to us if you had been born to us, so from
now on, we want you to feel free to call us ‘Grammy’ and ‘Grampy’ like our
grandchildren do. Would you like that?”
The sick ice-cold feeling in my stomach proceeded to
rapidly thaw as I began to comprehend what he had just told me. Dad wasn’t lurking around some corner, ready
to drive off with me again. I had just
been offered the most precious gift in all the world! Mister, I mean ‘Grampy’, had just given me
the only thing I had ever wanted - to belong.
Stoic as always, I managed a small, tight grin and said,
“I’d like that very much,” excused myself from the living room, and went to the crawlspace-under-the-porch-fort
where I cried, laughed, planned and practiced saying, “I love you, too, Grampy,”
in a barely audible whisper.
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