Yesterday, I was scheduled to read the Old Testament lesson. While I was reading, I saw a man come up the walkway and enter the building. He came into the church and stopped at the door, as if he was waiting for me to stop reading before he took a seat. Nothing unusual in that, and from the distance I thought he was a former member. But then he turned around and left the building, and I saw him go back toward the parking lot.
When I had finished the reading, I followed him outside, where he was sitting in his car, looking through the Yellow Pages. He was not the person I thought he might be, so I asked him if I could help him.
“I’m looking for a Jewish church.”
Well, I’ve never heard of a synagogue being referred to as a “church”, and given that we have a steeple with a big cross on top, it would be hard to mistake Resurrection for anything but Christian. Synagogue services are generally on Friday evening, not Sunday morning, but OK. I told him the nearest place I knew of was about 20 miles away. “But, if you go back down this street and turn left at the 4-way stop, the people in the house on the corner are Jewish, so they may be able to help you.” He thanked me and went on his way. Very mysterious.
After we grabbed a bite to eat, The Squire and I went up to Eldest Daughter’s for a semi-farewell party for our grandson. He is in the Reserves, and is scheduled to go to the Middle East this coming Saturday. However, his wife is “great with child” and due to deliver any day. The Reserves have told him that is she doesn’t deliver the baby before he is supposed to fly out, he can stay home until the 22nd. We shall see.
The baby’s middle name will be the same as her father’s; he died only a short time after they got married, and this is a way to honor a wonderful dad who left us far, far too early. Her dad’s middle name is the same as my grandfather’s first name, but he pronounced it the “deep South” way, while my grandfather used the French pronunciation. We batted that around for a while, and I mentioned that I hoped somebody would name a child after The Squire. I don’t want to contemplate what life would have been if he had not come along on his white charger and rescued, not just me, but the girls as well.
SIL fixed steamed crabs and corn on the cob, and we all gorged ourselves. Great-granddaughter wasn’t too sure about hard crabs; she doesn’t have the strength to break the claws with a mallet, and didn’t think much of the bits of meat her dad offered her. GGD wanted Gran-mama to sit in Mimi’s car with her, so we “drove” to the store and she read me a story. Very interesting, that story. Fascinating what you can find reading between the lines in a catalogue!
Just a pleasant afternoon, filled with love, laughter, as well as prayers for a safe return.