He sat in my kitchen, elbows on the grey armrests of his chair. His forehead was wrinkled slightly. His mouth was serious. 

He folded his hands together, and took in a deep breath. He looked like he was about to deliver some thoughts on doctrine, or maybe tuition. He moved his head from side to side, as if wondering where to begin.

 His hand moved to his chin, and I thought perhaps he was going to smooth out the edges of his slightly pointed goatee. He blinked slowly up at the ceiling for a time. Then he moved his left foot up and down in a thoughtful manner, and sighed again. Obviously this was quite a weighty manner. 

Later, we sat in the living room. He put his head to one side and have me his kindliest look, like he wanted to ask me how my Christian life was going. He was radiating contented good will.

 I smiled back. He opened his mouth, but instead of a reminder about the upcoming school functions , he let out a gentle burp. “Silly baby,” I said, and wiped the bubbles from his chin. 

Katie Friesen