Forced In

Adventures in Modern Living

One Day the Lord Knocked

Our house has only one bedroom, so I slept in the living room on a fold-out bed that doubled as my desk and bookshelf when the bed was folded into the cabinet. It was about six in the morning when a knock at the front door roused me from pre-adolescent dreams. I turned over, hoping the cat had knocked something over, or that the sound was some noise from next door. The houses are close enough to nearly share a wall; we’re packed in here like matches in a book. The knock came again.

Fully awake, I asked, “Who is it?”

“The Lord,” came the reply.

I dashed to the back to get Mom. “Mom, the Lord is at the door.”

“Say what?” Mom always woke ready. I think that was the Texas in her.

“The Lord, Mom, is at the front door.”

“Well, why didn’t you let Him in?”

Mom got up, put on her robe, and went to the door. She looked through the window and saw Pluko standing there in her nightgown, hair disheveled, a confused look in her eyes. “Who is it,” she asked. The answer came back, once again, “The Lord.” So, she opened the door.

“Come in. Would you like a cup of coffee,” she asked, always with that Southern hospitality. The Lord smiled and said yes to the coffee. Mom seated Her at the kitchen table and went to fetch a wrap because she thought the Lord might be cold. It had rained the night before and, while the morning was fresh, it was also cold and damp. She returned, dropped the wrap across the Lord’s shoulders, and began to make coffee and biscuits. 

She served the Lord, who gave her a beatific smile in thanks for the comfort, then went to call Pluko’s cousin to let her know where the Lord could be found. 

The Lord sat in our tiny kitchen, slurping coffee from a saucer, sopping a bit of it with Her biscuit. She was contented and calm, happy even, until Her cousin showed up to take Her home. Her face took on the look of a brewing storm and the Lord began to grumble under Her breath about what a hateful soul lived in Her cousin. “Her throat is an open grave,” She muttered.

The Lord was coaxed to the front door and just as She was nearly out, She turned to say something to Mom. She held up her arms as if preparing to offer a benediction and said, “Blessed are the kindhearted. They shall know gratitude.”

With those words of thanks, the Lord turned on Her heel, and was gone.

Categories: Craft, Fiction, Language

Tags: , ,

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.