Glory Be

Chapter Nine

"Isaiah," It was almost immediate. His Father was standing near the back of the pews. They had locked eyes immediately, "How did it go?" He asked in a low tone.

Isaiah held in a breath, "It went great, Father," Say it all, just as planned, "Mr. Kowal and his son, Sydney, were wonderful hosts, and I learned a lot on my first day. They've asked me to be back tomorrow, same time."

"Oh," His Father almost smiled, "That's great news."

"I should mention though," Isaiah knew to just get it out. He was sure what happened this afternoon was already making it around town, "There was an interruption during lunch. Mr. Evans' son, Luke, is sick. He asked if I'd spare a moment of my time and pray over him." Isaiah's composure broke for a moment, and he had to take another breath, "With Sydney's permission, I did so."

"Really?" His Father took a step towards his son, causing Isaiah to tense up, "That amazes me Isaiah, rarely do I see you take such initiative, "Let this not be a fluke. I'd like to keep believing this apprenticeship is really doing something good for you." His Father looked off towards the end of the sanctuary. A cross hung, illuminated by only candlelight.

"I believe it is, sir," Isaiah said.

His Father turned back to him "Dinner will be soon, go change, and get ready to help serve and perform the service tonight." His Father moved slightly out of the doorway.

"Of course," Isaiah scurried through the archway and into the sanctuary. He smiled in relief; his mission was a success.

. . .

The community dinner was more packed than usual. Pork was on the menu, and everyone wanted a go at the fresh cuts of meat. There wouldn't be a minute of peace and quiet the entire night. Every moment was spent running back and forth, delivering more food, and talking to guests.

Every second not spent doing that was spent explaining his new apprenticeship. His mom wanted every detail, Eve asked if he was exhausted, Esther wondered about the printing press, his Father even discussed proud accounts of his son with small groups, but his brother had barely looked at him at all. Isaiah paid no mind in the moment; that was one less person to worry about giving a perfect story too. Whatever David was thinking wasn't his problem yet.

The dinner was full of silly mistakes. Isaiah's mind was everywhere, but on the banquet. Usually, he had nothing but the event to think about. Except now, his head ran wild with ideas of organization, material, and inventory. He saw book covers and articles on the back of his eyelids. Many times, he received a jolting shove to the arm from David walking past, to shake him into realizing he had been standing and staring for far too long.

Isaiah would quickly jump back into action, trying to maintain a proper thought process. The ideas would find their way back in though. It was an uncontrollable urge, and Isaiah couldn't wait to return the next day.

It wasn't long until the Service began. Isaiah watched his Father speak about repentance and forgiveness. His voice would be calm and soothing, people's eyes would follow him as he walked around the front of the sanctuary. He would raise his voice when the moment called for it. People would tense up, though their eyes never left him.

"Then if my people who are called by my name will humble themselves and will pray and will seek my face and will turn from their evil ways, then I myself shall hear from the heavens and will forgive their sins and heal their land."

Isaiah thought about repentance quite often. Every time he stumbled or disappointed his Father it came to mind. He'd return to the pews late at night and lower his head. His hands would clasp together. Palm to palm, fingers intertwining. The room would be silent and dim. He'd close his eyes and start to pray. Mouthing the words for forgiveness and guidance. Once he was finished, he would wait patiently for anything. Anything at all. A gust of wind, a shining light, a whisper. Yet, the sanctuary would remain just as it always was.