Sage, Texas
His earlier rage had gotten Roland past the
crisis. He finished his sermon and read
it over with satisfaction. Collecting
the pages, he put them inside his Bible.
It would take a few days and frequent turning of pages to get it
completely dry.
Roland didn't see the mice again, but knew
they’d be a continuing problem until he patched the hole behind the sink. As he started toward the back porch to get
supplies for the patch job, he heard a knock at the front door.
Roland rarely had company—except an
occasional member of his congregation who brought him a casserole. But, unfortunately, few had arrived in recent
days. When he opened the door, a woman
of perhaps 50 stood before him. “Yes,
may I help you?” Roland had never seen the woman before.
“If you’re Roland Fisher, you can.” She had a nice smile, and was modestly
dressed.
“Yes, I’m Pastor Roland Fisher. What may I do for you?”
“I’m Ruth Livingston. You know my father, Harold Gordon.” Mr. Gordon had been a minister for many years,
but a car accident left him paralyzed from the waist down. Soon after the accident, an uncle died and
left him a large sum of money, so with increasingly poor health, he decided to
find someone to replace him in the pulpit.
He heard about Roland Fisher looking for a church at just the right
time.
“Please come in, Mrs. Livingston. I have to apologize for the way my house
looks. I have no wife. Well,
with Isabelle’s unwillingness to come with me, I don’t have a wife. And I’m afraid my homemaking skills lack
greatly.”
“Don’t apologize, please, Pastor
Fisher. My father tried to call you, and
I guess your phone is out of order. He
wants to invite you to dinner after your sermon on Sunday.” Harold Gordon lived about an hour from
Sage. He didn’t often come to Sunday
services because of his health. “My
father will have his driver pick you up after church and take you to our home.”
“Mrs. Livingston, thank you. I’d be honored to come, but I’m sorry that
your father won’t hear my sermon. I have
worked hard on it. The congregation is coming
along, but it is difficult to get people to understand what they must do to be
saved. I think this Sunday’s sermon will
have an impact.”
Ruth Livingston looked around the shabby
furnishings in the little house. Her
heart went out to this man who, like herself, worked hard toward getting out
the message of salvation.
“May I offer you some tea?” As Roland asked the question he wondered if
he actually had any tea bags, and he knew he didn’t have clean cups. Once again, he apologized for how things
look. “I usually don’t let things get
this bad, but I’ve been so busy with planning our door-to-door calls and the
Sunday sermon.”
Ruth smiled. “I’m afraid that my husband, may he rest in
peace, could not have washed a cup if his life depended upon it. Women are much better at the household side
of things, I think. I don’t mean to
offend you.” Ruth looked around at the
disastrous mess everywhere her eyes rested.
What this dear man needs is a
woman to put his life in order.
Roland went to the kitchen, heated water,
scrubbed two cracked cups, squeezed tea out of one bag and carried the cups
into the small, drab living room. “When
I moved here, all I had was a couple of suitcases and my landlady loaned me
enough to get by.” The room housed two
straight-back chairs and an old brown recliner, a black painted coffee table,
and a dented, metal floor lamp. Shabby
lace curtains hung drearily at the windows.
They sipped their tea in a hesitant
silence. Ruth wanted an excuse to
return, but thought perhaps she’d wait until they were better acquainted. “Thank you for the tea, but I’d better go
now. My father is expecting me. I actually help care for him since my husband
died. It has worked out quite well. I don’t have any children, so it is just Dad
and me, and a woman who comes in if I have to be gone.”
“What a generous soul you are. I had a wife once whom I thought would be
there for me, but she became charmed by the worldly ways and now I serve God
alone.” Roland felt encouraged to find a
woman who still knew her place in the world.
On Sunday morning, when Roland entered the
pulpit, he looked out at the 45 souls—he did an exact count each week—and saw
Ruth Livingston’s smiling face from the front pew. She wore a gray dress with a white collar. A hat with small white flowers hid her brown
hair which he’d seen in a long braid down her back when she’d stopped by his
house.
Roland pounded the pulpit as he made his position
clear on the issues of living God’s will.
Roland noticed the smiles and nods of approval coming from Ruth’s face
as she spoke. He felt encouraged.
After the service ended, Ruth stayed behind
and then approached Roland. “Mr. Fisher,
I told my father that I’d attend church here and then bring you to our
home. I hope that’s OK with you.”
“Why certainly. Seeing you in the front row was an
encouragement to me.” Roland gathered up
his Bible and notes, locked the church doors and they began their hour-long
drive to Sunday dinner.
To be continued...
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