When she walked in on the soft carpets and the sympathetic organ music, Ruthe found the girls waiting impatiently in the foyer for her. They insisted that she come sit with them.

While Muriel, in a short-skirted suede suit of burgundy, squeezed one of her hands, and Cathy, in a tight and stunning black and white linen dress, hugged her other arm, Ruthe glanced about the compact, grey and blue funeral chapel. This was a first for her and she could hardly hide her curiosity. She noticed the modern shaped pews were honey-brown, which she liked, but how the decorator fell on gold, purple and green stained windows and accent pieces puzzled her.

Glancing down at her own simple cotton dress in nubby light blue plaid with pink rosebuds, she felt like a country lass from another era.

Mr. Ian O'Brien, and his sons, Ross and Keith, sat in the first short pew on the right. The two sisters and Ruthe were on the left. A number of people were scattered through the rest of the pews, including four or five ladies, each sobbing gently, quietly, under her gauzy black veil. Fascinated, because none of the ladies in Kleinstadt ever dressed like that, Ruthe asked Cathy who they were. She whispered back that they were some of her mother's bridge friends. "I refuse to wear those veils," Cathy added. "This's the seventies, for G#$%- oops."

Surrounding the ivory velvet casket at the front were banks and tiers of flowers, many of them in huge white wicker baskets with high arching woven handles. Some had wide ribbons wound artistically across them with gold letters stapled to them that said, "Mother," "Darling Wife," and "Pearl."

Wow, Lord. Nice flowers! Yet she sighed. Ruthe was used to packed out churches and long lines of people filing soberly past the open coffin, either before or after the service. Here it was closed. She got no farewell peek at her friend of three short weeks.

Looking around even after the priest began to speak, the odd colour combinations grew on her. Parts of the service Ruthe didn't understand at all, but she allowed for that. It seemed only right that Mr. O'Brien had called their priest, Father Inglis, back from a trip, to conduct this service as a Catholic one. Mrs. O'Brien had spent much time over the years bothering him for answers in her search to be accepted in God's sight. What comforted Ruthe was that Pearl had met God personally and knew she was forgiven and loved. She hoped the girls remembered that.

During the solemn trip, for which the girls insisted she come with them in the big black limousine to the sunny cemetery, Ruthe began to feel like an intruder. A fresh sobbing at the lowering of the coffin was inevitable, and she joined with the family. She had always found tears catching. When they regained control and stumbled back to the long car, Cathy and Muriel begged her to come home with them. Tea was to be served on the lawn.

Ruthe expressed concern about having her car there so she could leave for her shift at four, so Cathy instructed the driver to drop her off at her car at the funeral home, and she followed them.

A catering maid was ready to serve tea on a white lawn table with a glass top. Sandwiches and cookies were arranged on doily-lined silver platters. Controlled and polite now, the family stood about with their guests in the afternoon sunshine, sipping at tea, and nibbling at the dainties.

Several ladies asked Ruthe to introduce herself. Which she did.

For all their politeness and round of sympathy kisses to each of the O'Briens, Ruthe noticed that they did not stay long. Soon there were only the O'Briens, Father Inglis and Ruthe left.

Come to think, Ruthe glanced over the lovely green grounds, surrounded by carefully chosen and placed background plants and trees, Ross is not in sight any more. And, I bet those rosebushes are going to bloom next week!

The priest had conducted the service without personal comment. Now he stood facing one of his favourite parishioners, and drew him into conversation about his deceased wife. He wanted to know more of the spiritual experience the girls had mentioned about their mother. Ruthe froze in her pose, wondering how Mr. O'Brien would answer, and whether she ought to go round the table to join them.

What if he gets hostile and tries to pick apart all your innocent theology? tormented her enemy, pleased to find her in a quandary again. You don't want to start a quarrel. So what if it works in your simple little life? You've got to be able to explain it if you are up against a priest.

Turning aside to the rosebush, Ruthe moaned silently, Now what do I do? A snatch of a Bible verse came to mind, and she knew she didn't have to rely on herself for tact or wise words. She turned around and drew closer to the two men.

"...So this is my first opportunity to talk with you, Ian. Come, did Pearl really find a new way to pray? Tell me about her beautiful experience."

"I'm not sure I understand all of it myself. But Pearl says- Excuse me." He caught his forehead with the heel of his hand, rearranged himself, and continued, "she read in the Bible that, when anyone claims Christ's sacrifice and resurrection as completed for oneself- then the Holy Spirit, or maybe God...." His voice trailed as he looked about.

"Maybe one of the girls, or their new friend, can explain it better."

Ruthe, standing behind him, was opening her mouth to volunteer when Keith appeared at her side, tapping her shoulder.

She turned to see him put his hands behind his back, with his shoulders squirming nervously under his best blue suit. "Could I talk with you?"

"Sure." As she moved away with Keith, she had a sudden premonition that he wanted to meet God too.

"Let's take a walk around the far end of your house," she suggested lightly. "I haven't seen your back yard yet."

Keith nodded assent.

As they rounded the far corner of the glassed sunroom, Keith's self-control broke and slipping his arms around Ruthe's waist he began to cry with a whimper. Poking her fingers into his thick strawberry blond hair, she waited.

In a moment or two he pulled back as if he'd just remembered he was supposed to be too old for this. He dried his cheeks on the sleeve of his suit jacket while Ruthe scrounged in her purse for a tissue that was not too wrinkled and balled up.

Suddenly he could talk. "I- I guess you've been thinking I didn't care about losing my Mom. Well, maybe my brother doesn't care, but I- I do! I- ouh-h, I miss my Mom! I need my Mom!"

"I know you do," and Ruthe wrapped him to herself again.

"I feel so... so cold and naked without her!"

"I know. On Friday night I felt like.... It's like someone has chopped off one of your arms or legs, isn't it?"

Hiccupping with emotion, he tried to tell her all his feelings at once. He couldn't talk to anyone else in his family because they wouldn't believe he ever thought such serious, grownup things. He was sorry about breaking up like this, but he'd seen how his sisters had cried on her shoulder and found a friend in her. He wished he could have a friend who really understood him properly. And, would she mind?

"Of course not, Keith. I'm only so glad you want to be my friend. I'm glad too, that you had enough nerve to come and ask me, because I've lost mine to ask you, several times."

Keith smiled a bit. They moved over to sit on the thick blue-green grass in the shade of the two metre high hedge of Chinese elm. It was a perfectly smooth, leafy wall except for one shady gap, from which emerged a narrow footpath in the luscious lawn.

Keith was looking earnestly into her face and blurted, "This- this business of having God live inside you?"

"Yes?" Ruthe began to grin with anticipation.

"Well, I don't understand how it is possible, but if you explain it to me slowly, could I try it too?"

"Sure you can! I'd love to!" Though she was feeling eager, she paused for a moment to think. He was different from his mother and sisters. From other kids his age too. Lord, how do I begin?

Just like that she recalled an illustration that Pastor Ewert had used only a Sunday or two ago. One she'd heard a number of times as a child. Keith would identify with this story. "There was this boy, who had created from almost nothing, from scratch, a masterpiece of a model ship. It was a beauty. All the sails and ropes and everything done in realistic miniature."

"One day," she went on, "when this happy fella was trying it out for the first time on an ocean beach some distance from his home, it sailed away on the tide and he lost it. The poor kid was heartbroken. He'd put so much work and tender care into that particular ship."

Keith leaned forward, drinking in every word.

"Some time later, he spied that very same model in a local shop window and immediately ran inside to claim it. The proprietor had bought the ship and insisted the boy could only get it by paying the full price."

Ruthe saw Keith reacted as intently to every nuance of a story as she did.

"So," she continued, "that desperate, determined kid went to his hiding place at home, and taking out every last cent he owned, he hurried back to buy his own little ship! On the way home, someone overheard him whispering to his precious model, 'There, little ship. Now you are twice mine. First I made you and then I paid everything I had for you!"

Keith understood. "I love to make things too; I know how he felt."

"That must be a bit like God's feelings about us," Ruthe explained. "First He made you and me. But we became lost. Our sins, like selfishness and our stubborn wills, took us far away. That broke His heart. But by sacrificing Himself, through Jesus (who was God in human form), He paid the price to get us back to enjoy His precious companionship."

Ruthe raved about the thrill of having Jesus as an intimate Friend.

Keith wanted to know, "About getting this; are kids allowed in? How do I get initiated?"

"Remember the story of Pentecost?" Ruthe asked, wondering if Keith had ever had some equivalent of Sunday School classes on the Bible.

"Sort'a. I go to a Catholic Separate school, and I don't always skip the religious instruction classes."

"Good. That was when the Holy Spirit arrived after Jesus had gone back to heaven. Well, He has been present with each one who believes that Jesus died for him or herself. This is what makes Jesus so close and easy to talk to at any time. All you have to do is choose to believe that Jesus is God's Son, and that when He died on the cross and rose again from the dead, Jesus did that for you. You promise to walk with Him all your life, and He comes to live with you by His Spirit."

"That's all Mom and Muriel did?"

"Right. And just Friday night, Cathy did too."

Keith shook his head. "I couldn't figure it. Something sure got into them!" His voice lowered. "Mom took me into her bedroom just last Sunday and tried to tell me all about this. But- it sounded like nun talk. I guess I didn't pay attention to Mom then."

His face puckered with regret. "Wish I had."

"No doubt your Mom did too. She wanted all of you to have the same wonderful experience. However, I think God can still let her know today. What I can't guarantee is that you will have another week to make up your mind."

"It sounds good," Keith answered carefully, "but, what if the kids at school find out? Won't they think I'm kind'a queer?"

"Do you think," Ruthe leaned forward and spoke gently, "anything your friends could say might make God a liar? He is far bigger and better than they. Your friends need to hear about this fabulous friendship too!" Even as she said these words her conscience twinged at her own reticence in sharing her Saviour with school friends. She was always afraid they would laugh and say, "We know you; you're just that mousy bookworm, Ruthe Veer."

Keith grinned. "They're the ones to pity. Not me."

"Exactly. As soon as you choose to believe, God will forgive you for Jesus' sake, and the Spirit of God will live with you always. Maybe slowly at first, you will begin to have new attitudes. You'll see people the way God does. In fact, I bet you will be eager to share Jesus with all your friends."

Keith plucked some grass. "What do I do first? Pray?"

"That's best. You just talk to Him as though He is sitting right here." Ruthe patted the grass in front of them. "Just tell Him what you've decided and ask Him to do what He promised."

"Me? Does He promise me anything in there?" He pointed to Ruthe's Bible on her knees.

"He sure did! Let me show you." Ruthe picked it up very quickly, suddenly glad she took her Bible with her to any kind of church service she attended, and opened it to First John, scooting around sideways so Keith could read.

"This promise says, 'If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness¹.' And here," she flipped a page and pointed to a line shaded in red pencil. "You read this, Keith."

"'Whosoever shall confess that Jesus is the Son of God, God dwelleth in him, and he in God².' Hey, I'm reading it; like you said!"

Excitedly, Keith read a few more verses at random. "De-cen-t! I'd love to have a Bible! I've often wondered what secrets are in it."

"Shouldn't be too hard to arrange," Ruthe assured him, making a mental note to tell his sisters.

He asked again if Ruthe would show him how to talk to Jesus, so she bowed her head, thanking Him for Hiss love, and for drawing Keith to Himself in the middle of his loneliness for his mother. "Please make this loss up to Keith with Your extra-great friendship."

Keith said a few words of greeting, apologized briefly for his past, and ended with, "So long, Lord-Jesus-God. Be seein' You later." His head bobbed up, sparkling with dewy cinnamon spots.

"I feel sort'a bathed."

He grabbed Ruthe's hand as they got up. "Let's go tell the girls, eh?"

His sisters saw them coming around the corner of the house and met them half way. "So that's where the two of you are!"

"Cathy. Mur!" Keith blurted out his news in a rush.

The four of them formed a circle, linking arms, and passed around hugs.

Their huddle worked towards the lawn table where Father Inglis and Mr. O'Brien sat watching and discussing them.

Ruthe studied Mr. O'Brien as Keith sprinted toward his father. The man could hardly be more than forty-eight, even with those greying temples in the sunshine. Yet now the haggard, forsaken look on his face made him appear to be sixty-five and failing. So little seemed to hold up his tall, thin frame, that Ruthe found herself wishing he would stay seated. His loneliness ached vicariously in her heart, just as it had for the others, although she was aware that she really did not know it as deeply as he did.

She believed that simply trusting God and learning to discuss his most intimate cares with the Lord would solve much of his problem, or at least do wonders in easing his pain. But how could she explain that to a man as deep and inquiring as Mr. O'Brien? He was looking for very complicated answers. Ruthe squashed the idea of going behind the house with him the instant it entered her mind. This would have to happen differently if Pearl was to get all her prayers answered this day.

"Ah-ha, here she is," said Father Inglis gallantly as they came nearer. "Young lady, we've been waiting to talk to you. Our girls have been telling us about the new prayer practices you put forth. Are you a charismatic, my dear?"

"No-o," Ruthe said slowly. "I don't think so, Sir. I've heard the word, but I'm your basic, garden-variety, Bible-believing Christian. If I'm different, it's only that I get so excitable about seeing Christ do things in my daily life. I can't help but share it. I don't mean to offend."

The elderly priest gathered his black jacket snugly around his middle, and settled down in his lawn chair as if ready to debate.

"Girls," said Mr. O'Brien in a quiet aside to Cathy and Muriel. "We need more chairs." They hurried off to bring some nearer from the other side of the deserted tea table.

Keith drew up one of the closest chairs for Ruthe, but after a moment's hesitation she suggested he offer it to his father. She longed to sit on the cool grass again. It would impart some calm.

Mr. O'Brien offered it to Ruthe once more. He accepted it back only after she said shyly, questioningly, ""I really admire your luscious lawn, and if it's not rude or impolite, I'd rather sit on it. May I?" When he nodded, she got down and spread her gingham and floral printed dress skirt around her knees in a circle.

Father Inglis leaned toward her, eager to start.

Keith dropped cross-legged, as far as his suit allowed, at his dad's feet and looked up eager to see if this were a good moment to tell what had transpired behind their house.

Mr. O'Brien glanced from Keith to Ruthe, and both saw that he had caught on. He laid a long hand on Keith's head and swallowed his adam's apple with great care.

Oh-h-ew dear Lord! Please choose my words! Ruthe's limp, worn Bible lay open on her knees, and now her downcast eyes fell on a heavily underlined part in First Thessalonians, with the words, "We which are alive and remain...." Yes. Her eyes whisked over to the beginning of the passage. This was the one to share.

She looked up again to catch what Father Inglis was saying to her.

"-What you've been telling these people? One should think you would be offering hope that their mother may be in heaven some day. Instead, the girls are saying, you've talked about forgiveness and chatting informally with God."

"But you see, Sir, they already know that their mother's in heaven. God promises eternal life to all who trust Christ. The problem is to make sure they will be there to meet her."

"Of course, dear." The priest harrumped as if putting something aside.

"The Lord Jesus told us," she patted her old Bible, "that whatever we ask of our Heavenly Father, believing we receive it, we shall have. Mrs. O'Brien asked with faith for forgiveness and assurance of that forgiveness. She got it!"

Ruthe looked kindly at Mr. O'Brien, hoping to draw him in on her side. "Her confidence was beautiful on Friday night, wasn't it?"

He spoke carefully, she realized, to avoid hurting her feelings as he answered, "Yes, but there is more to obtaining divine and eternal grace than simply believing you have it because you asked. Isn't there?"

Ruthe took a deep breath. "God has the best of love and meaning in mind for our lives, right? However, we can't experience it as we are, because- well, just as a spot of darkness cannot stay near a light, so our souls cannot come directly into His Holy presence. Except that God loved us so much that He came up with the only solution. He became human. He became me, and took my death sentence for sin. Since He arose again in a new, glorified body, so will I! By faith we may live a new spiritual kind of life now, before we even get our new glorified bodies. Doesn't your Bible teach that, Father Inglis?"

She forgot her fears as her voice rose in joyous enthusiasm. "Every part of the Bible declares it to be this way, and the fact that I see its results in my own life and in others, proves it!"

"Another Martin Luther." Father Inglis cleared his throat. "Uhk-um. I grant you all that for the moment. However, you've also been saying that God speaks audibly to you?"

"Audibly? No." Ruthe was cautious now, watching for a trap. Still, she wanted to be honest and polite. "Though I have experienced God's Spirit speaking in my conscience to reprove me, and in my intuition to guide me. That's a knowing." She smiled a tiny smile. "My imagination, which loves words, can easily supply those."

The girls had pulled up chairs for themselves on either side of Ruthe, and everyone seemed to be waiting for her to continue.

"Mind you, God does speak in other ways. Frequently He may grant us specific signs we've prayed for. Sometimes He'll show us by the advice and example of Bible characters or more mature Christians. Usually, we have good clues from the circumstances we find ourselves in, but we can always know His opinion and plan by earnestly studying His Word, the Bible. Least-ways, if we are prepared to obey."

Ruthe had said quite a mouthful. Maybe it sounded like a sermonette. She stopped and waited.

The priest sat doubled forward on his wooden slat chair, chin on his fist, staring right through Ruthe, into his thoughts.

Mr. O'Brien was lost in thought too, as if weighing each phrase of her statements against some inner scale.

Suddenly Ruthe remembered the passage from First Thessalonians. "Cathy, Muriel?" she said softly, trying not to disturb the two men digesting her words. "Let me show you something."

They moved closer. Keith leaned nearer too.

She read in a lowered voice, beginning at, "But I would not have you to be ignorant brethren, concerning them which are asleep, that ye sorrow not, even as others which have no hope...." and ending with, "Then we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air: and so shall we ever be with the Lord. Wherefore comfort one another with these words³."

Muriel looked up into the sky with anticipation.

"I didn't even realize that was in the Bible!" exclaimed Cathy. "That's when we'll see Mom again!"

Father Inglis spoke, "All quite commendable, m'dear. I used that passage this afternoon myself. But be careful when you're reading the Scriptures so freely. Not everything is meant to be taken literally, you know."

"I understand your point, Sir. False doctrines have come from taking a verse out of context; but this passage means just what it says and it becomes clearer when it is studied with other related chapters." Oh Lord, am I too bold to talk like this? Ruthe whispered on another level.

She turned the thin pages, trying to think of good examples. While she did, she found herself saying, "God also tells us His Word is spiritual and can only be understood through His Spirit. We must first have that indwelling of His by faith before we can grasp these- well, more profound truths."

"Meaning," asked Cathy, "Only those who walk and talk with Him, in that garden walk you told us about, can understand the Bible?"

"Yes, we could say that. If, as Christians, we refuse to read God's Word because we're afraid of misinterpreting it, we are as badly off as a certain little old lady who refused to eat foods of all kinds when she learned she could be poisoned by certain sorts of mushrooms."

Keith snickered mildly, "Sounds like our Granny."

This took everyone off on a tangent while Cathy and Muriel explained about their Granny O'Brien living in that tall grey stone building on the other side of that elm hedge.

Ruthe's eyes followed the path that disappeared in the gap. For a split second she expected a humpbacked old woman with a pointed chin to come through waving a gnarled stick.

"She fought with Mom for years," said Muriel. "I wonder who she will pick on now?"

Mr. O'Brien stirred uncomfortably in his chair. "Come now, girls, that is no way to talk about your grandmother."

In an effort to bring the conversation back to theological matters, he turned to Ruthe. "I don't see how you can have Christ, or as you like to say, the Holy Spirit, living within you and communing with you all day, when they are members of the Triune God."

Oh-oh, Lord; help! Ruthe prayed, blinking her eyes for a moment, before she said, "I'm afraid I don't understand the physics of it either." She smiled and cocked her head in a friendly manner. "I do know that God manifests or shows Himself in three Persons, all equal. Take a man: he can be a son, a husband, and a father all at the same time. I don't know, Mr. O'Brien; this is one of those areas where we have to trust God, let's Him be the One who knows all things, and exercise spiritual faith. If we have physical evidence, we can only exercise physical faith, right?"

"My child, how long have you believed all this?" asked the priest.

"Oh, I've known these Bible facts all my life. However, I was about nine when I prayed and asked the Lord Jesus to forgive me. It's only just been in the last few years that I've begun to realize what that really meant. I've spent many hours trying to understand myself, and God. He seems very friendly and willing to teach me."

Ruthe glanced at Muriel, who was drinking in each word. "I still struggle with new truths, but a lot of them have started to fit together for me." She gripped her Bible tightly. "It's all in here, if one takes time to read, and think, and ask for understanding."

Just thinking about these growing stages flooded her with memories. The little group was so attentive, Ruthe found herself rambling on. There was the time she had learned to vanquish jealousy and love Greta, her sister, or Suzanne, as she wanted to be called. She digressed to explain; one day as her sister complained about her old-fashioned name, Ruthe looked up from a magazine borrowed from a school friend. She suggested Greta ask everyone to call her something new, like Suzanne, which she saw there on the page. Greta had been doing it ever since. Their parents couldn't understand trading one good Mennonite name for another, but now they called her Suzanne.

"The bigger miracle is; I'm learning to love my prettier sister as she is. Without trying to make her over."

Ruthe didn't notice she had slipped into a storyteller mode. She just knew that she was able to talk about things she thought, and nobody was cutting her off. "A couple of weeks back," she went on, "The Lord showed me that He could supply courage as well as the desire to help someone. He gave me action when I was frozen with panic. As a result I met Muriel. Since then," she smiled around, "all of you."

The next instant, Ruthe had a sinking feeling that it was late in the afternoon. Glancing at her watch, she blushed, but avoided sighing with relief. She might still make it to work!

"Ack-um. You both confirm and blow up what I know of Mennonites," said the man in black, stiffly. He rose and straightened his cramped back. "May God always bless you, m'child." With a courteous nod to the family, he about-faced and marched to his car in the drive.

"He has long looked for live saints who live exactly as they believe," murmured Mr. O'Brien.

Ruthe gazed kindly at the speaker. His own face showed wrenching decision-making.

Cathy and Muriel saw it too, and went to either side of him. Keith went to hug his dad's knees. "Oh Daddy," whispered Muriel, encircling his neck from behind. "It's all true. If you could feel it for a minute you'd know!"

Cathy stood bent at his other side. With long fingers that reminded one of her mother, she lifted his chin. Without a word, but with her mother's eyes, she pled with him to join them in this venture.

"Oh-h- girls," he said hoarsely. He turned to stare into the west where the sun was just dipping behind the tops of the trees. But all his concentration could not keep tears from blurring his vision.

Ruthe held her breath, not wanting to break the spell as he made his momentous decision.

"All right," he said very deliberately. "Al-l ri-right. Why put it off?" Three pairs of arms tangled around him.

Blushing, Ruthe scrambled up, looking at her watch. At the same time recalling she had not seen Ross since- well, since the funeral. Where was he?

She tapped Cathy's shoulder and whispered, "Listen; I'm glad with you. But I've got to run to skid into the toll room on time. And, maybe you ought to check around for Ross."