It was a few minutes before the worship began. The parson was coordinating a matter with the usher when they walked in. The parson did a double-take. The woman looked familiar. There was something about the smile.
“Hello, Parson,” she said.
The voice brought the recognition. On the parson’s desk was an old card. The front showed a cat wiping tears from its eye. The caption below read, “I’m going to miss you.” The card had been given to the parson by an eight-year-old girl when he left her church for another. The presentation of the card was the last time he’d seen her. And now, fifteen years later, she was standing before him.
“Jennifer,” the parson exclaimed. They mutually moved toward each other and hugged.
Stepping back, she said, “This is Robby Neiman. I wanted him to hear you preach.”
“Well, I hope you haven’t set him up to be disappointed,” said the parson.
“I hope so, too, Parson,” she said, hugging him again. And then she added, “After church we need to talk to you about setting up some pre-marital counseling. I told him you’re still my pastor.”
“When are you getting married?”
“Sometime in the fall; it depends on when you can do the ceremony.”
The parson walked to the chancel feeling old, feeling joyful, feeing vindicated.
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