Hey Allen

So Allen came late Saturday afternoon, slipped in with his cowboy boots and his North Carolina drawl, right into this messy house with the kids talking way too loud and dirty dishes crawling over the counter and crayons wriggling on the floor.


He finds a chair at the table where my sewing mess is heaped high. 
We eat rice and kima from More with Less and bathe the kids and read to them and rock them, and Allen just gently mingles with all this madness.  Inside, we all slow down, and we talk about hard things.  When we talk about the weather, it's a hurricane.  We talk about the church and the Church, houses and Home, why I said I want to move to El Salvador, and Nicaragua and the Farmer to Farmer program, which is what brings him back to this area, near the campus where we first met. 


The kids climb all over him, and each year when he comes we remember when Leah had the flu and was sick all over him.  

When the house is still B.J. makes tea and we talk as the clock dongs hour after hour.  

It is nearly midnight when he leaves, and I rest my weary head on B.J.'s shoulder and fight back tears, longing for more of the sweet whatever it was that filled the last few hours.


But then I realize it...we've got forever.