The Sunday Evening Toast

“And these stones shall be for a memorial to the children of Israel forever.”  Joshua 4:7 (NKJV)

Mom was finishing up dinner while Dad was at the kitchen window peeping through the venetian blind at Ben and Francine sitting on the front porch. 

“Russell,” Mom said warning, “will you leave those two alone?”

“I heard a car door.  I thought Greg might drop by.”

“You told me Greg was out of town visiting his mother.”

Dad felt like a trapped animal with his foot caught in a snare.  Mom just stood there staring at him while he tried to wiggle his way free.

“Oh, just admit it Russell.  You’re gonna miss her as much as I am.”

Papa Joe’s timing to come into the kitchen could not have been more perfect.    

“Hm, dinner smells ready.  How long before we eat?” Papa Joe said rubbing his pot belly stomach and eying the chicken.

“I’m finishing up the gravy now.”

“What’s Russell over there doing?”  Papa Joe asked, tasting a piece of the chicken leg.

“Crying the blues; I think he’s gonna have a harder time letting go of Francine than I am.”

 “I heard that, and I am not crying,” Russell replied defensively. 

“It’s hard to believe that in six days, Franny will be Mrs. Benjamin Abraham.”   Mom watched from the corner of her eye as Papa Joe pulled another piece of the chicken off and ate it.

“They grow up so fast,” Mom said.  She pretended as though the chicken platter was in her way so she moved it to another counter space away from Papa Joe.  “Now, where did I put that gravy bowl?” she pondered.  Then she opened the cabinet door and pushed some things from one side to the other searching for it.

While Dad was peeping through the blinds, and Mom was busy looking for the gravy dish, Papa Joe eased his way over to the chicken platter.  He tugged at another piece of the chicken until it broke lose then shoved it into his mouth and savored the well seasoned morsel.    As soon as Mom turned back around, Papa Joe swallowed fast and looked at her innocently.  She, knowing he was guilty, gave him a suspicious glance with one eyebrow raised, and then went back to stirring the gravy.  He knew he would be pressing his luck if he tried to steal another taste, so he redirected his attention elsewhere. 

 “Russell, she’s only getting married for crying out loud! She’s leaving the country.  Try not to let it worry you.”

“Who’s worried?  Me worried?  I’m not worried,” Dad assured Papa Joe with much apprehension.  “Claire’s the one running around the house crying about her baby is getting married.  Not me, I’m as cool as they come.” Dad turned back around and pried the blinds open so he could get look at Francine.   He didn’t expect her to be standing at the window looking in.    “Oh, Lord!” he screamed, staggering backwards nearly knocking the basket of rolls on the floor.

“Watch out!”   Mom yelled barely catching the basket from toppling over.

Francine rushed inside with Ben following closely behind. “Dad, are you all right?  I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to startle you.  I was peeking to see if dinner was done,” she explained.

Mom shook her head and breathed a trio if “hmphs” under her breath.  She wasn’t sure if Russell would make it six more days let alone down the aisle without passing out.  Papa Joe thought the whole spectacle was hilarious.  He had a hearty laugh but tried to cover it up with a bogus cough when Dad looked over at him.

“Dinner is ready,” Mom announced.

“Francine, would you do me the honor of letting your dad escort you into the dining room?  I can practice how I’m going to walk you down the aisle.”

“Here honey,” mom said handing Francine a bowl of vegetables, “just pretend it’s your wedding bouquet.  Ben, bring the chicken before Papa Joe eats it all up.”

“Now Claire, I only had a small pinch.

“A small pinch?  Papa Joe, that chicken had two legs when I took it out of the oven, now look at it.”

“I thought love kept no record of wrong.”

“Are you admitting that you wronged that bird?”

“Isn’t there something I can do to help with dinner?”  Papa Joe asked changing the subject.

 “Bring the salad out of the refrigerator, and don’t forget the dressing.”

Papa Joe absolutely adored Claire and Russell; he moved in a short while after his wife, Pearl, passed away.  Even though he was unrelated to the Lankers, he had been a part of their lives for over twenty-five years. 

After dinner, Francine’s dad took his knife and gently clanged the side of his water glass.  “Huh-hum, I have a very important announcement to make.”  He held his glass up as though making a toast.  “Claire,” he said to his wife of more than thirty years, “this was the best meal you have ever cooked.  Thank you.”

Francine giggled leaning over to rest her head on Ben’s shoulder.  Dad made that same announcement after every Sunday meal, even if they ate at a restaurant. 

“Ben, since you’re practically part of the family, why don’t you make the evening toast.”

Francine sat up so Ben could stand.  The Sunday evening toast was a Lanker family tradition.      

Ben stood.  “Thanks dad,” he said proudly.  “Tonight, I would like my beautiful bride-to-be to join me in the toast.”

Francine tossed her dinner napkin onto her plate and slid out of her chair to join Ben at his side.

Mom gently squeezed dad’s arm while whispering, “That’s nice.” 

“It’s ironic that you would have me to give the evening toast.  Francine and I have a few things we would like to say to say.”  Ben looked at Francine for her to continue where he left off.

“Ben and I have talked in great detail about our wedding how we wanted a traditional wedding.  However, when it came to the something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue tradition for the bride, Ben and I thought we would do something untraditional.  Let’s start with something old.”  Francine handed her mother a ring box.  On the inside were the three promise rings Claire and Russell had given her as she grew in age from a teenager to a young adult.  “Mom, these rings are priceless to me.  They always reminded me that I was a promised daughter of the King.  I’m not giving these rings back to you because I don’t want them; I’m giving them back so you can one day give them to your granddaughter.  I pray that you tell her as you told me how special she is to God.  I think they would mean so much coming from you.”

Claire could hardly hold back the tears.  She and Russell had given Francine her first ring at age twelve, then sixteen, and her last ring when she was twenty-one.  Each ring was a reminder that she was in covenant with a living God.  Tonight was the first time her parents heard her express in her own way what the rings meant to her. 

“Now for something new,” Francine continued.  As you all know I’ve wanted to open my own bakery long before attending culinary school.  What you don’t know is that yesterday, Ben and I finalized the lease agreement for a vacant bakery shop.  We will open in less than two months.  In honor of Nana Pearl, our new business will be called Pearl’s Pastries.”

Papa Joe’s head hung down.  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief.  He wiped across his eyes hard and quick.  If only his beloved Pearl could see Franny now; she would be so proud.  Pearl taught Franny everything she knew about baking and was the inspiration behind her becoming a pastry chef. 

 “That brings us to something borrowed.  Dad, uh, I huh,” Ben stammered.  His nerves were unraveling.  He took a deep breath and continued.  “Every Sunday you lead this family into an evening toast where you all give thanks to God for who He is or what He has done.  I had never seen anything so wonderful; I knew that I wanted that tradition established in my family as well.  If it's all right with you, I would like to borrow the Lanker family tradition and make it a part of our family tradition after we’re married.”

Dad was touched that this young man saw something in him that he wanted to imitate.  Dad thought those days of the older man teaching the younger generation were long since passed.  He was wrong.  He lifted his water glass signifying his consent to Ben’s request.

“And lastly, something blue.” Francine was eager to make this presentation.  She stepped away briefly to get a small gift bag from the other room.  “Papa Joe, this is for you.” 

Papa Joe opened the bag and pulled out a soft, blue baby blanket.

“What’s this for?” he asked.

Papa Joe, I do not know why God didn’t give you and Nana Pearl children of your own.  Ben and I both think the world of you, and I know Mom and Dad feel the same way.  This family would not have stood as tall as it has if it had not been for your shoulders.  This blue blanket is our gift to you.  If we are blessed with a son, we want him to carry on your legacy.  We want to name our son Joseph Benjamin Abraham, after you.”

That day with teary eyes and warm embraces, both families lifted their water glasses and gave thanks to God during the Sunday evening toast.

Best Regards, Gable Fletcher

Therefore say to them, ‘Thus says the LORD of hosts: “Return to Me,” says the LORD of hosts, “and I will return to you,” says the LORD of hosts.  Zechariah 1:3

“Please,” the Judge demanded, “one at a time!”  A few strikes of his gavel against the table and the room hushed.  “Let’s start with you,” he said pointing to man on his left.

“My name is Calvin Herman.  I was scheduled to meet with a commercial real-estate agent at my restaurant this morning, so I went in early.  When I got there, I found this briefcase sitting at the door,” he explained, “with this note attached.” He then handed the note to the Judge.

The Judge wiped his eyeglass lenses with the cuffless sleeve of his robe.  After checking for smudges, he slid his glasses on allowing them to rest comfortably on his nose.  The note read:  Please bring this briefcase with you to your meeting at noon with the Judge in his chambers.  The Judge was baffled.  “What about you?” he said to the man on his right.

Just as Pastor Tisdale got out his first two words, an older gentleman dressed in a gray pinstriped suit entered the Judge’s chambers and quietly took a seat.  Having received the okay from the Judge to continue, the pastor picked up where he left off.

“Your Honor, I am Pastor Stanley Tisdale of A New Life Fellowship Church.  I stumbled upon this briefcase when I had gone to my office to look over some expansion plans for our church.”  He gently placed the briefcase on the table.  “Like Mr. Herman, I, too, had a note attached to my briefcase as well.”  He handed the note to the Judge for review.

“Hmm, both of these notes are exactly the same.  Does anyone here know who owns the briefcases?”

A swarm of “I don’t know” and “Do you know” buzzed about in the room as each looked at the other with their shoulders hunched. 

“I do,” the gentleman in the gray suit answered in a raspy voice.  “The name’s Truman, Your Honor.  Theophilus Truman.”

“Mr. Truman, I was called into work today because Judge Stephens took ill.  I’m afraid I couldn’t find the docket for this case, so it’s hard for me to follow what’s going on here.   Would you mind telling me what this is all about?  Do you know anything about the mysterious briefcases?”

“They were left by me on behalf of Mr. Gable Fletcher,” Theophilus confessed.  “I apologize for my tardiness, Your Honor.  There was a last minute change in my schedule.  As for the briefcases,” he continued, “it was Mr. Fletcher’s wish to bequeath the contents of the briefcases to the individuals who are represented here today.” 

Still confused by the ordeal, the Judge looked at the individuals sitting in front of him and asked a very simple question. “Do either of you know Mr. Gable Fletcher?”

Neither of them could recall the man or the name Gable Fletcher.

“Your Honor, if you don’t mind,” Theophilus interrupted.  He reached his hand into the inside pocket of his suit jacket.  “Mr. Fletcher asked that I give this envelope to you,” he said as he handed it to the Judge.  “I believe the letter will explain everything.”   

The Judge opened the envelope and read the letter.  “I see,” the Judge said rubbing his chin.  “It appears that even though you all do not recall knowing Mr. Fletcher, he recalls knowing each of you.  According to this letter, any persons having received a briefcase is a beneficiary of the contents contained in the briefcase that he was given (as it were).  Mr. Truman, the letter states that you have the keys to open these briefcases.”

Theophilus placed three small envelops in the Judges hand, each containing one key for the number of briefcases he delivered.

“Your Honor, the initials of the beneficiaries are written on the outside of each envelope,” Mr. Truman added.

“Let’s proceed,” the Judge said pushing the nose-bridge of his glasses with his forefinger.  He handed both men a key according to their initials.  Supposing that a third person would either show up late or not at all, the Judge set the third envelope with the initials RI to the side.   Theophilus watched but didn’t say a word. 

Inside each briefcase was a letter addressed to the beneficiaries.  Both men read their letter silently.

Dear Calvin Herman,

You may not remember me, but I used to volunteer when you would go out into the neighborhood to feed the hungry.  I was amazed at how you always prepared the right amount of food and still had enough leftovers for the people to take home.  The people in that community felt God’s love through your act of kindness and showed it by letting nothing you prepared go to waste.

I had gone away for awhile to visit with family and when I returned, I was saddened to hear that the community feed program had stopped.  According to the newspaper article I later read, I learned that you had opened up a restaurant with future plans to open a second eatery.  I must admit I was a little confused as to why you stopped the community feeding program to open up a restaurant to feed people.  Mr. Truman tried explaining to me that now that you own your own restaurant, you don’t have as much time as you once did.  I told him that I thought his explanation was ridiculous and flat out asked him, “How could a man be given more and do less?”  To my question, he had no response.

One evening we decided to visit your restaurant to sample the “fine dining experience.”  Mr. Truman and I enjoyed our meals so much that the only thing we left on our plates was the China design.  However, I noticed the other patrons were not as responsive.  There were plates and plates of half eaten food being scraped for garbage; whole loaves of bread in baskets that were certain to go into the trash.  I kept thinking about how the scraps left in your restaurant still outweighed the combined amount of food in the cupboards of at least five families in the community feed program. 

Mr. Herman, after speaking with members in the community, I realized that your time is worth just as much to others as it is to you.  Therefore, Mr. Truman, who is the executor of my estate, is prepared to write you a check for what your time would cost to continue feeding those in the community.  If you agree, Mr. Truman will contact you again in six months to see if you would be willing to sign on for another term.  Simply tell Mr. Truman the cost for your time and any other expenses, and he will give you a guaranteed check for that amount. 

By the way, I found some old photos that I had taken of you when you were serving the people in the community.  I had the pictures restored and put in photo albums for safekeeping.  You’ll notice that I even have a few shots of the children hugging you as a gratitude of thanks.

Best Regards,

Gable Fletcher

Calvin took a deep breath as he sat there going through the photos.  He had forgotten how special those moments were.  He pushed his chair away from the table.  Then folded the letter and slid it between two pages in the photo album book and tucked the book under his arm.   Without saying a word to Mr. Truman, he quietly exited the room knowing what he had to do. 

Meanwhile, Pastor Tisdale sat reading his letter.

Dear Pastor Stanley Tisdale,

I met you early one Friday morning when I happened upon your church hoping to find the doors opened for prayer.  You were there at the altar crying out to God for lost souls.  After a couple of hours of prayer, we had the opportunity to sit and talk for awhile.  That day you shared with me your testimony of receiving the call to be a messenger of God’s word at the age of ten years old.  You were, as you put it, to be a watchman on the wall.  I recall that you had been recently installed as the new pastor and were very adamant about following God and the direction He wanted to take His church.   

Not long after our first meeting, I came by the church on several mornings before sunrise hoping to find you still upon the altar petitioning God for this nation and its people.  Unfortunately, each time I came by the doors were locked.  Concerned, I decided to call and that’s when I was told that you usually don’t get to the church until ten or shortly thereafter.  I attempted many times to reach you, but I guess we just could not connect.  Recently, I had Mr. Truman to drive me to the church; I didn’t even know that you had closed the doors permanently.  I asked the people who were “hanging around” how long it had been closed, and they informed me that you had bought a new building somewhere on the opposite side of town and relocated your church members there.  With much persistence on my part and the help of my GPS, Theophilus and I finally found our way to the new church, which I have to admit is quite a distance from the original location.  When we arrived, I found the architectural stone and stained glass building stunning. I’m afraid I can’t say anything about the interior; I felt too underdressed to go inside.  As we sat in the parking lot, I remembered that I had your cell phone number and tried calling you.  I was somewhat surprised to find that your old number was disconnected and your new number was unlisted.   

As Theophilus and I drove away, I kept thinking to myself, what will become of all those souls that were standing around at the old church.  Then I had an idea.  Since you still own the old property, I was wondering if you would allow me to buy it from you so that I can reopen the doors for the lost, the rejected, and the downcast.   If you are interested in selling, just name your price and give the figures to Mr. Truman.  He will make the necessary arrangements to settle the sales transaction. 

By the way, I wanted you to know that I took your advice that day on writing down my prayers and recording when and how God answered my prayers.  You were right; it is amazing to see God moving through our prayers.  I am leaving you my prayer journal.  If you wouldn’t mind, there are still some unanswered prayers that I would like for you to add in with your prayer request. 

Best Regards,

Gable Fletcher

Pastor Tisdale removed the prayer journal from the briefcase.  He took a moment to sift through some of the pages.  He was touched to find his name written throughout the journal.  He took time to gather his thoughts.  How could he possibly ignore what God was saying to him in that hour?  After pushing in his chair, he grabbed the prayer journal and exited the room.  He had quite a few phone calls to make to get things ready for Sunday.

When both men left, Theophilus got up and gathered the briefcases, tossing the keys inside each one.  He turned to the Judge and thanked him for his time.

As he sat in his chambers fiddling around with the envelopes that once held the keys to the briefcases, he remembered that he still had the third key with the initials RI.  He got up quickly, thinking that he might catch Mr. Truman before he left the building.  When he opened the door leading to the hallway, he noticed a briefcase sitting in the middle of the floor.  He looked this way and that way but there was no sign of Mr. Truman anywhere.  He picked up the briefcase and brought it back into his chambers.  I wonder if the third key fits the lock he thought.  He took the key out of the envelope and tried it.  Sure enough it opened the lock.  Inside was a letter and a leather covered Bible.   

Immediately when he read the salutation, his heart began to beat double-time.  The letter was personally addressed to him; he was RI- Rufus Ingalls.  He leaned back in the chair and finished reading. 

Gable Fletcher had sat in on his first case as a Judge.  In the letter, Gable recalled how Judge Ingalls was unashamed to look in the law books before rendering his verdict to make sure people were getting a fair trial.  He admired the Judge for that because he wasn’t depending on himself to make right decisions.  After more than twenty years as a Judge, Gable revisited the courtroom.  He could tell that Judge Ingalls was more confident in himself and his knowledge of the law.  In fact, he had become so familiar with the law that he no longer consulted the books for anything.  “That,” Gable wrote, “was one of mankind’s greatest errors concerning the Bible- becoming so familiar with God that he no longer consulted God’s word before making a decision.”  Judge Ingalls had been guilty of that and he knew exactly where Gable Fletcher was heading. 

As he sat contemplating the contents of the letter and the motivations of his heart, something on the table caught his attention.  All of the envelopes for the keys that had the beneficiary’s initials written on them were side-by-side on the table.  He hadn’t taken notice until now all the initials put together spelled CHRIST; and right in the middle of Christ was his initials.  Something told him to open the cover page of the Bible.  He did, and on the inside flap he found written the following inscription.      

Rufus,

Never forget that your life is hidden in Christ so that He can lead. 

Best Regards,

Gable Fletcher