“Living freely?” She frowned at the immaculate kitchen around them. She hadn’t failed to notice how carefully George kept everything in its place. So much so that she felt certain he had some form of obsessive-compulsive tendencies—although she was reluctant to ask.
George sighed. “As freely as one can, I suppose.”
“From my understanding, Ralph Waldo Emerson was an atheist,” she said cautiously. “Do you embrace that as well?” Although she hoped that George would say no, she knew it wouldn’t be a deal breaker in their friendship. Not at all.
“I suppose I’m an atheist.” He frowned. “To be honest, I don’t give religion much thought.”
“I used to be an atheist,” she confided. “But looking back I believe it was simply a cry out to God for him to prove to me that he was real.”
“And did he?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “Most definitely.”
“So now you have no doubts?” George looked skeptical.
“Well, I’m human. Of course, I have doubts. But my faith outweighs them.”
“So do you believeeverythingin the Bible?” he asked.
“I’m not much of an expert on the Bible, but I’m not sure I take it all literally.”
“Really?” George looked genuinely surprised.
“Oh, I believe it’s inspired by God. Although there are parts of the Old Testament that I don’t understand. But I do love the New Testament. Especially the words of Jesus. Those Scriptures ring true and clear to me.” She cringed slightly. “I’m sure my theology doesn’t line up with a lot of well-meaning Christians. To be honest, I’m not usually this open about my beliefs. Although I do chat with God about these things.”
“You chat with God?”
She chuckled. “Well, yes. I try not to wear him out with every little thing, but if I need to talk to him, I do.”
“Interesting.”
She felt somewhat embarrassed. “I’m not usually this transparent with people about my faith. Well, except for Collin. He makes fun of me sometimes. But I just remind him that we’re all on our own spiritual journeys and as long as we’re moving forward, we really shouldn’t compare ourselves to each other. And we shouldn’t judge.”
“This is all very interesting.” George rubbed his chin. “I’ve never heard anyone talk like that about religion. My grandparents were very involved in church. As was my mother. But as I grew older, I identified more with philosophies like Ralph Waldo Emerson’s. He had little use for religion or God. Felt they were like crutches that crippled people. I began to feel the same way as I grew older. Religion let me down. So whyshould I trust in it? That’s the first step in living independently.”
“Independently of God?” she asked.
He slowly nodded.
“I suppose I thought I was rather independent too,” she admitted. “But at the same time I was uneasy inside ... and, I think, rather lonely.”
“Lonely?” George’s brow creased, but his gaze was intense. “You do not strike me as a lonely sort of person, Willow.”
“No, I suppose not. But I believe I was lonely for God. I had this hunger. Nothing filled it up. Not my family, not my art, not the adventures I sought. It was only when I invited God into my life that the empty place was filled.” She looked at George to see that, although he was still listening, he appeared confused.
“I’ve said too much.” She stood, gathering up their dishes. “And I’ve used up too much of your time—on your first official day of retirement too.” She smiled. “But I do thank you, George. I feel ever so much better now. I suppose I needed to preach that little sermon to myself. Thank you for graciously listening.” She set the dishes in the sink. “Can I help you wash—”
“No, no, this is a one-man job.” He studied her closely. Probably still trying to make sense of all that she’d just said. Poor man.
“Then I will let you get back to your day. And I better go home and find out what’s going on with Josie. Hopefully she hasn’t disturbed Collin with her troubles ... or burned the place down.”
“What?” George looked alarmed.
“Oh, she’s a smoker. And she keeps forgetting my rulesto take it outside.” She glumly shook her head. “Thank you again, George. You’re a good listener.”
As Willow walked home, she felt concerned. Oh, not so much that Josie would be smoking in the apartment. Willow felt worried that perhaps she’d said too much to George. Overwhelmed him once again. And so she prayed for God to straighten things out with George. After all, these matters of faith were between them. And then, as she got nearer to her building, relieved to see no smoke or fire engines, she prayed for Josie, imploring God to help her lost child find her way. Because, for certain, only God could do that.
George washed and dried the dishes and wiped down his kitchen. Then, suddenly feeling bone-tired and weary, he sat down in his easy chair in the living room and stared up at the painting of the pickup in the poppies. He felt discombobulated. That was not a word he’d ever used to describe himself before. But he felt so thoroughly confused, bewildered, perplexed, and befuddled ... onlydiscombobulatedreally fit.
