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It could have been Wimbledon
finals – the verbal ball whacked from one end of the court to the other.
Joe’s question.
Cris’ answer. Or at least attempt
to answer, followed by Joe’s:
Parent! Or,
Librarian! Then,
Librarian!, again, then back to:
Parent!
Between Sam’s and my scrape-thump-scape-ing, and Joe’s ra-ta-ta’s
to Cris’ apologetics, we sounded almost like a Broadway musical. Before I knew
it my trunk was filled up with Publix plastic bags, now bulging with dark soil
ready to receive some good seeds. I rinsed out my hands and drank water, then walked back to the dueling theologians to
bid my good bye.
I noticed that Sam had
stopped shoveling even though the bed of their truck was only half-full. He
reappeared from around the pile, his arm stretched out towards me, holding an
ice-cold bottle of water.
Sometimes it’s the smallest
simplest actions of thoughtful kindness that bring us to our knees.
It was pleasure meeting you gentlemen, I choke a bit, and Cris, in his
burly, warmhearted way, walks up to me and gives me a bear hug, which he punctuates, just in case
there is any doubt of impropriety, with an energetic,
The Lord BLESS you!!!
I receive the blessing and give
one back in kind.
Joe watches our exchange
of blessing with curiosity. He knows I’ve been a silent witness to their entire
duel. That fact may come as a bit of a shock
to him since we Christians are better known for our ability to talk than our ability
to listen. I extend my hand to him and
he takes it. I must be one enigma after another.
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