A Time For Peace
By
Jean Thompson Kinsey

The almost forgotten scent of freshly mowed hay told me I was nearing Meadow Gates Farm, the place where I grew up. The farm I thought I'd never see again. Praying from the depths of my soul, I let off the accelerator and came to a complete stop as I pulled onto the gravel road. Please Oh Lord help me. I want so badly to forgive him. I took the bent photograph from my purse and studied the image of a little girl in a moth-eaten sweater standing next to a tall, thin young man, wearing overalls and a straw hat. Mascara mingled with tears smudged the edges of the photo as I ran my fingers over it.

Slowly I ascended the hill overlooking the family farm. Lord, how will I ever face him? How can I forgive a man who knows no forgiveness? I almost made a u-turn, leaving the farm a second and final time. But my quest for peace pushed me on. I had to make peace with my father before I could find peace with myself and with God.

Gravel crunched under the tires as my Ford Explorer came to a halt in the drive. I tried unsuccessfully to swallow the lump in my throat when I saw the stooped, frail, white-haired man standing on the porch. I had not counted on how old he would be now. This was not how I remembered my daddy.

He squinted and cupped his hand around his eyes to shield them from the glare of the afternoon sun.
A robin pecked at an insect in the grass of the front lawn and a black and yellow butterfly fluttered overhead. I heard the distant groaning of a combine in the field. For a moment, the time was thirty-years-ago, as if I were that little girl again, and the tall, thin, young man stood by my side. The heady smell of roses and the aroma of baking bread mixed with the sugary smell of sweet alfalfa cried out, “You’re home again.”

Was this where I really wanted to be? I wasn't sure. The unwelcome memories of the day he sent me away flooded over me. I was seventeen. Unwed. Pregnant, and alone. And he sent me away.

“Daddy? I-I...” I had practiced the words I wanted to say, but now I was at a loss. What could I say that I had not already said?

“Ar- Arlena, is that you?” His voice shook as he recognized me. Then he did something I had never before seen my daddy do. He wept. “Arlena. My baby girl.” He stepped forward leaning against the rail of the stoop. “I searched all over the state for you, beginning the day you left. I wanted you to come home, but I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

“I didn't know.” I whispered.

Daddy continued. “I wanted to tell you we would raise the baby, you and I. We’d raise it up just fine.” I was finally hearing the words I had desperately needed to hear. I stepped up to meet his open arms and I knew I was home.

None of the rehearsed speech was important now. “It's all right, Daddy.”

“I’ve prayed for this day when you’d return. I hoped I could tell you how sorry I am. Maybe make it right with you and you’d forgive me, but I couldn't find you. I couldn't find my baby girl anywhere.” He rubbed his eyes with his fist.

“I’m here now.” A peace swept over me. Miraculously, my daddy’s tears washed away the stored up bitterness I'd held inside me for all those years.

“And I do forgive you.” It was my turn to weep. Trying to lift some of his burden from him, I said, “If you’d found me, perhaps life would’ve been much easier for me and my baby, but then, would I have met my beloved Howard and had three more beautiful children? Who knows how our lives would have been?”

“Three more children? Bless God. Four grandchildren.” Daddy's eyes brightened through his tears. “Girls? Boys? ” He wiped the tears from his eyes with his red and white bandana that he kept in his hip pocket of the overalls. Some things had not changed.
“Yes, Daddy. Four. Two young women and two young men and a husband for you to meet very soon, I hope. Now let’s go inside and sample some of that bread, I smell cooking. I have pictures to show you. Pictures of your grandchildren and pictures of my grandchildren and…”

Arms wrapped around each other, we stepped through the doorway. A doorway that opened into a time of peace like when I was a little girl, in a moth-eaten sweater, standing close to a tall, thin man wearing overalls and an old straw hat.

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 23.12.2009

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