We were sitting around the other day when a knock came at our door. Knocks in general aren’t uncommon, but as we live on the 3rd floor of a house, in our neighborhood, unplanned knocks are an oddity.
It was our landlord’s wife, Madam, and his daughter, L. Apparently they’d gotten locked out of their apartment and needed a place to light while waiting for her husband to return home.
Of course we invited them in – albeit somewhat hesitantly. We were dressed in our inside inside clothes; not the inside clothes worn to welcome guests; and certainly not the inside clothes you can run to the corner store in. We looked at one another – thought about putting something nicer on – when Madam said, “Don’t worry about it. We understand; you weren’t expecting anyone – this is your house – you’re inside – you’re fine.”
So in they came. They sat down at the table as it was obvious that’s where we had been. Books spread out all over the table – we’d been studying language and working on some tracts. We made tea and put out some cookies.
L picked up the NT that was open on the table and asked what it was – as she read the title. So we told her. She said, “Oh, yes, we must read our book as well – to please G*d and to work out our own place in paradise.” We talked about paradise; we talked about how one gets there; we talked about where paradise actually was/is; we talked about Adam and Eve; we talked; we talked. After about an hour, the landlord came home.
She stood up to leave; as she put the Book down, she said, “I’m not done with this yet.”
You are right, L. We’re not done, indeed!