Someone’s at the door

April 25, 2008 at 2:23 am 2 comments

At 8:30pm, the door bell rang.  S was reading a book.  Jazz music played softly.  I balanced my laptop on my thighs, lost somewhere in cyberspace.  The girls were finally asleep.  We looked at one another.  And he answered the door.

It was someone from church.  Let’s call him Christopher.

Christopher is a nice guy.  He comes to church often, every other week or so.  S said that he may be stopping by because he needed a place to stay.  Last night, after leaving the home he had been living at for a couple of years, he slept in a half-built house on a construction site. 

Here’s what we know about Christopher:  He hasn’t lived with his parents for a long time.  He answers rhetorical questions from the pulpit at church, happily, out loud.  He gets mixed around when he talks sometimes, loses his place, starts again.  He is nice to everyone. 

Another guy at church always calls him by a different name.  Christopher likes this joke.  He laughs every time and gives his correct name.

Today, standing on the porch, he had a video game in one hand and a large plastic bag filled with his things in the other.  It was raining on and off for a few hours.  He was all wet.

We ushered him in,  heated up some pulled pork sandwiches and gave him carrots with ranch dip.  He didn’t need anything to drink.  He bought a pop on the way.

Christopher and I chatted while S made some phone calls.  A place was secured for him, for the night at least. 

S pulled on his yellow coat with the blue stripe.  We said goodbye and I closed the door behind them as they walked down the porch stairs.

Just tonight at dinner, Elaina was asking a question about kids without parents. 

“Some parents, Lainie, unfortunately, either don’t want their kids or are unable to take care of them.”

Christopher is not a kid anymore.  But he’s been on his own for a long time and in a lot of ways, is still a child.

Sometimes I wonder what we are doing?  I’m often surprised that my husband is a minister.  There have been weeks that I’ve hidden in my house during the blessed 11:00 hour on Sunday morning, blinds tightly shut because I couldn’t play the part that day.

Stuff like this, though, a person on the door step, watching the back of my husband as he leaves to give someone a ride, a silent prayer on behalf of another person.

It feels right. 


Entry filed under: Christianity, Church, Friends, Prayer.

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2 Comments Add your own

  • 1. TheRamblingHousewife  |  April 25, 2008 at 3:01 am

    It must be hard to be a pastor’s wife . . .

    I really can’t even imagine what that must be like . . .

    People expect you to be “perfect,” I think . . .

    I can sort of relate, being a teacher . . .

    You are just held to a higher standard. You feel like people watch you to make sure you keep your ducks in a row, etc.

    But on the other hand . ..I really loved teaching, even though there was that side of it . . .

    It always feels so good, to help others . ..seriously.

    I really do mean that! 🙂

  • 2. ukrainemom  |  April 25, 2008 at 3:06 am

    Yes, I think people who don’t know me may expect perfection. Those who know me know better:).

    I bet you were a great teacher, ramblinghousewife.


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