The Meeting

The mornings all run together into one collective memory — a memory that goes something like this:

I walk into the living room, and there are two black soles of freshly polished shoes facing heavenward. Legs clad in dark slacks are bent at a ninety-degree angle, and a head is resting on folded hands, which lay against a fuzzy light brown couch.

A well-loved brown leather bible lay open next to folded hands and bent head. I hear murmurs, partially absorbed by and partially sounding off of the couch, which serve as a signal to me that he is meeting with our Creator.

I adjust my stride to a child’s tip-toe (which everyone knows still sports a resounding thud with each step as children are unaware of their force).

Though, at the time, I wasn’t sure why—I knew that this early morning meeting was big and important. And it brought security to my young heart.

Now, I have my own early morning meeting with our Creator.

This is my dad’s legacy.