You know the word “ford,” right? Not the pick-up truck. As in a river. It’s the shallow area where one can safely cross a river. To have a ford, you need a river. A river is a depression in which water flows. So you need a depression, and water, and then you need the shallows. Read on.
My oldest younger brother moved out last month, into a condo. Tonight for the first time I got to see it with furniture in it. Well, furniture and boxes and a general mess upstairs. He managed to fill the entire place remarkably well. So my visiting sister and I helped unpack for a while. He has a skylight, on which our majorest Autumn Rain of the season was pattering peacefully.
After an hour and a half of organizing and throwing things away, we decided we were hungry. So we piled into my brother’s little white car that, due to a belt problem, squeals wildly whenever he shifts from reverse to drive. The rain still came down, and when we got to KFC for their $3.99 colonel strips deal, there was a miniature river glimmering in the parking lot lights. So our good brother dropped us off at the door. My sister and I, we were wearing shoes not made for wading. We wouldn’t even walk through the wet grass. So we were grateful.
Our brother’s renter met us there a little after 9 o’clock, and after my brother prayed, “Thanks for the chicken,” we finished our meal. The employees swept and stacked chairs on tables around us, even though they close at ten. Anyway, we were ready to leave and the rain had let up so my sister and I thought we could jump the smaller river. We stood on the edge, and judged. I teased that my good brother might carry us over, or lay down his hoodie for us. There was no jumping. We would splash water all over our poor feet. So we moved upstream to search for a ford.
Which is when my brother decided to be the ford. He put his two well-shoed feet in the water, and we stepped one foot at a time across the current. It was a marvelous adventure, and we were quite dry. Heroe brother to the rescue!
The only time we were really wet was when we got into my car to go back to our house. My car leaks. See, when I got it several years ago the windshield was cracked. And the dealer promised replacement as a condition of sale. So he sent his pathetic contract crew to do it. They didn’t come, and then they came the wrong time, and then they came with the wrong windshield so they came the next day with the right one. And finally I had a windshield, but my confidence was duly shaken. And as soon as it rained I realized I was justified. My windshield leaks at the seams. Maybe my car leaks in other ways, too. In fact I know it leaks through the rubber seal around the door on the passenger side, and it might leak through the sunroof, too (yes, even when it’s closed). So my seat was wet, and the dashboard dripped on my sister’s foot.
Safe and dry now, we’re at home. My parents were asleep early, the house dark at the remarkably early hour of 10:30. And I trust my brother is safe, even though he was going to investigate several police cars with flashing lights near his condo. It’s a nightly occurrence there. He and his roommate need prayer for safety and that their neighborhood will be influenced with the gospel. It can happen.
To God be all glory,
Lisa of Longbourn
Lisa of Longbourn 