My Name Is River (16 page)

As we sort our photos, Gram comes back from her morning walk along the river. She bursts through the screen door, leans her hiking stick in the corner of the kitchen, and hollers, “God Almighty, that's one beautiful morning out there!”

My face gets instantly hot, and I'm totally embarrassed. I'm
pretty sure it's sinful to say “God Almighty” like that, but Billy didn't flinch. Maybe he's too caught up in our project to notice, or maybe he's just being polite. But when I look again, I can see he's holding back a crooked, little half grin.

Gram wipes the sweat off her brow, waddles over to me, and rubs my head. “How's my sugar pie this morning?” Then she looks at Billy. “And how's Billy? Sorry 'bout your dad having you polish all those pews yesterday. Don't get me wrong. I respect your daddy one hundred percent, but if it was me, I wouldn't have made you do it. That's because I loved having you here to welcome me home.” Then she waddles over to Billy and rubs his head. “Now, don't you tell Pastor Henry on me,” she says and chuckles, “or he might not let me come back to church.”

Billy laughs at Gram. “You don't need to worry about that. He's never closed the doors on anyone. He's just strict sometimes, especially when it comes to school or telling the truth. Besides, I deserved it. I shouldn't have lied and skipped school, even if it was for a good reason. Those pews needed a good shine, anyways. Wait until you see them.”

Gram looks at me. “What do you say, Sugar Pie?”

“About what?”

“You want to go to church again tomorrow and see those shiny pews?”

I don't hesitate for a second to tell her yes. But my excitement hits the floor when she opens the fridge and pulls out the milk jug. I hold my breath. “God,” I whisper inside, “please don't let her do leg lifts with that.” And at that very moment, I learn God has extremely good ears because Gram sets the milk jug on the table instead of tying it to her ankle. Then she opens the cupboard and grabs three tall glasses along with her tin of chocolate-chip cookies.

20

A Father Who Loves Me

O
n Sunday morning Pastor Henry pulls their big white van into our driveway, just like he did last week. And as soon as Gram and I hop inside, the little Whippoorwills flock around us. I love the feel of them climbing all over me (and I'm pretty sure Gram does too). First Gram gives each of the girls a ride on her knee as she sings out, “This is the way the ladies ride, the ladies ride, the ladies ride. This is the way the ladies ride all the way to church!” It makes me remember when I was small enough to sit on her knee.

Then she gives each of the boys a ride, but she changes the words to, “This is the way the gentlemen ride, the gentlemen ride, the gentlemen ride. This is the way the gentlemen ride all the way to church!”

We walk into church, and every one of us is greeted with a hug. Gram parks herself beside the donut table and eats enough to last her the week. I take only one. After all, Jesus is guarding them (I don't think Gram noticed).

Billy and I stay with Gram near the donut table, and everyone who comes over has something nice to say about the birding place. Mrs. Martin, our lunch lady, says she can't believe how big her bee balm has grown and wants to know what our secret is. Billy and
I don't say a word about the river water, so we all agree it must be the music of the birds (Mrs. Martin says a flower only grows when a bird sings).

All of a sudden, Mrs. Martin moves in super close and positions her face at my ear. She whispers, “I thought you should know that our milk suppliers are all out of chocolate.” Her words feel like a swarm of buzzing mosquitos near my ear, but I keep myself from swatting at her. Then she buzzes again, “But no need to worry because I hid every carton we had left, and I'm going to make sure you get chocolate milk every single day this week.” My mosquito swatting thoughts disappear.

Mrs. Bunting comes over next. She tells us how much she enjoys the birding place and that she can't believe how well her daylilies and blue phlox are doing. “One day last week,” she says, “I was sitting on the log saying my prayers when I counted nine hummingbirds! Can you imagine! I've never seen so many hummingbirds all at once!” Then she wraps her arms around Billy and me and gives us a Sunday squeeze. “There's something special about that birding place.”

I drink the last sip of Gram's coffee before we head to the big part of the church (which today I learn is called a “sanctuary”). And I like that word because if you say it real slow (like sank-chu-ary), it has a very holy sound about it.

We sit on the same bench as last Sunday. I decide that even though they're technically called pews, I'm still going to call them benches. I don't think a word like pew is nice enough for a place like this. After all, Pastor Henry says this is God's house.

Pastor Henry stands up front again. This morning he has a mile-wide smile spread across his face (he must've forgotten all about me and Billy skipping school, or maybe he's just happy to see the pews so shiny). He asks us to open our hymnals and join with him in singing “The Solid Rock.” I'm glad the piano lady
doesn't have a microphone in front of her because her voice is plenty loud without one (plus she clearly doesn't have the kind of voice you'd want to broadcast).

I stand beside Billy, and we share a hymnal. He's so lucky he can read music. I follow along and listen, hoping maybe I can learn too.

When the song ends, Pastor Henry asks us to sing it once more. He wants us to pay attention to the words. This time I try and sing along too.

My hope is built on nothing less

Than Jesus' blood and righteousness.

I dare not trust the sweetest frame,

But wholly lean on Jesus' name.

On Christ, the solid Rock, I stand,

All other ground is sinking sand;

All other ground is sinking sand.

When darkness seems to hide His face,

I rest on His unchanging grace.

In ev'ry high and stormy gale,

My anchor holds within the veil.

His oath, His covenant, His blood,

Support me in the whelming flood.

When all around my soul gives way,

He then is all my Hope and Stay.

When He shall come with trumpet sound,

Oh, may I then in Him be found!

Dressed in His righteousness alone,

Faultless to stand before the throne!

On Christ, the solid Rock, I stand,

All other ground is sinking sand;

All other ground is sinking sand.

Even though I don't understand every single word, I really like this song (and I'll bet Gram will be singing it all week while she's galloping, skipping, and hopping around our house).

Pastor Henry opens his Bible. “This morning we'll read from the book of James. This is what he writes: ‘Come now, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go into such and such a town and spend a year there and trade and make a profit”—yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes. Instead you ought to say, “If the Lord wills, we will live and do this or that.” ' ”

Pastor Henry clears his throat, then closes his Bible. “James is saying that our lives are short. They're here and gone like a mist, a vapor, or a puff of smoke” (I wish Pastor Henry didn't mention that part about the puff of smoke because if Gram's paying any attention, she might be tempted to start up again). Gram must have read my mind because she pats me on my knee and whispers, “Now, don't go worrying yourself, Sugar Pie.”

Pastor Henry looks back and forth across the sanctuary. “We can plan our lives, and there's nothing wrong with that, but we need to include God. When we do, he'll set the course. But sometimes he changes the course in a direction we'd never expect.” Pastor Henry holds his Bible close to his chest, like it's his favorite book in the whole world. “We can only see from one moment to the next, but God knows our life from before its beginning all the way through to its end… and since we never know when that will be, we need to be ready.”

Someone from the back of the church shouts, “Amen!” I turn around and see Mrs. Martin with her arms raised to the ceiling,
but I keep myself from snickering because I'm counting on that chocolate milk.

Pastor Henry steps down from the stage and stands right in front of everyone who's in the first row (I'm glad I'm sitting three rows back). All of a sudden, he gets a serious look on his face. “What would happen if you were in a car wreck on the way home from church today and you didn't survive? Do you know where you'd spend eternity? Would it be heaven? Or would it be hell? God lets us make that choice. He made it so easy for us to spend eternity with him in heaven… and he doesn't want anyone to miss out.”

I hear Mrs. Martin shout amen again, but this time she's annoying me because I want to hear what Pastor Henry has to say, even more than I want chocolate milk. With Gram almost dying, it got me thinking about life and death and all that stuff.

Pastor Henry explains, “God gave his son, Jesus, to die on the cross for us. He did that in exchange for our sins. He says there's not one person on earth who hasn't sinned.” Now I'm getting warmer by the minute, and I'll bet my face is redder than a hot tamale because all I can think of is how I lied about my stomachache, the sour orange juice, moldy toast, and lumpy oatmeal. But I keep listening because I really want to hear.

Pastor Henry's voice turns soft and gentle. “But there's good news. When we ask God to forgive us, he does. We're completely clean—a whole new creation. It's that simple. And,” he says, “it gets even better. God is your heavenly father and loves you more than you could imagine. He loves you like no one ever has or ever will. And he will never leave you.”

All I've ever wanted is to be part of a real family and to have a father who loves me. So since my real parents haven't found me yet and my adoptive parents haven't come back, maybe having a heavenly father will do just fine until then. I'm sure it's okay to have a heavenly father and an earthly one both at the same time.

The whole church is silent (even Mrs. Martin) when the piano lady tiptoes over to the piano. She begins playing softly. Her hands move back and forth across the keys in slow motion, which actually looks a bit dramatic.

Pastor Henry asks us to sing one of his favorite hymns, “Come to the Savior, Make No Delay.” This time I begin singing on the first word and don't worry if I know the song or not.

Come to the Savior, make no delay;

Here in His Word He has shown us the way;

Here in our midst He's standing today,

Tenderly saying, “Come!”

Joyful, joyful will the meeting be,

When from sin our hearts are pure and free;

And we shall gather, Savior, with Thee,

In our eternal home.

Pastor Henry stops singing before the song's even over. “If there's anyone who would like to have a heavenly father, I invite you to come up front with me.” Then he adds, “There's no need to worry what anyone else will think. Now we'll sing the last two verses, and then the service will end.”