As everyone began to fill their plates, I couldn’t help but notice Daddy. One of his oddest quirks was his insistence on counting everything. The habit probably coming from stocking shelves so many years at the grocery store. Standing to one side of the room, he counted once, and then twice, those of us assembled for lunch. As the bells on the porch continued to jingle, jangle, filling in all the quiet spaces between people’s voices, Daddy spotted me across the room. He looked around the room, held up five fingers, closed them, held up five, closed them, held up five, closed them and then he held up just his index finger. We had sixteen in attendance. I nodded in agreement.
He kept staring at me as if he expected me to catch onto something, as if there was a riddle afloat in the room and I was supposed to answer it. Lifting my shoulders to show I didn’t understand, I turned back to the serving line, wishing all the while he’d go outside and take down the bells. Surely I wasn’t the only one they were annoying.
Of course, as it ended up, the last chair to be filled was beside my least favorite person. As I took it, I glared down the table at Daddy, nodding my head in the direction of the front porch. I truly didn’t think I could eat my lunch both smelling mothballs and listening to all that racket. Catching on, Daddy signaled me to come help him. Gladly I left my dinner on the table and joined him on the front porch. Little Sharla came out and fussed a minute or two about our taking them down, but finally she gave in. Just before his knife cut through the knot in the twine, Sharla began to count the bells.
“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.” Then slower, as if in great concentration, “Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. Fifteen angels are with us today, momma. Fifteen!”
Then she added, “It’s a good thing there weren’t anymore because I’ve forgotten what number comes after fifteen.”
My head was relieved as the bells were dropped into a cardboard box. Returning to my Christmas lunch, I scooted my chair as far away from the lady as I could, wondering to myself if angels smelled like mothballs? Looking down the table at Daddy, I felt as if he’d read my mind. Once more his hand came up pantomiming sixteen at the table. Then he leaned his head toward the porch and lifted his hands palm up as if asking a question.
I failed to understand what he meant. I didn’t catch on until Momma asked me to be sure we had enough dessert plates. Her request reminding me that we had sixteen at the table. My mind jumped to the bells. Only fifteen bells had been ringing on the front porch. Bells, that to Sharla, meant how many angels were seated around Momma and Daddy’s table.
As I walked toward Daddy with a piece of pecan pie in my hand, I caught his eye. Holding up an index finger, I signaled I’d understood his message. There was one “non-angel” at the dinner table that day. One among us hadn’t earned a bell this Christmas season.
Running down the list of people present I concluded that it couldn’t be any of the children. God loved all the innocent children. It couldn’t be any of the relatives, as they all professed to believe in Jesus. And, it couldn’t be Momma. She was the biggest angel of all in the house that day. Of course, I wanted to nominate the lady that smelled like mothballs, and who talked so loudly no one could carry on a conversation anywhere near her. But, she seemed to truly love the Lord.
I thought about the scripture we’d heard today. Who wasn’t loving their brothers? I’d like to say Daddy because of all the practical jokes he loved to play on his brother, sisters, momma and us children. But, I knew better. He not only fed strangers at his table, he carried produce from his gardens to the nursing homes and the shut-ins around Llano so they’d have fresh food on their tables to share.
Only one person remained. Like Daddy, I didn’t have a bit of trouble figuring it out. After all, who was the only one present who spent the day trying to hide her sour disposition?
Later that same Christmas day, I had a lot to think about as I left Sharla once again at Momma’s and headed home. Thinking all the way about how tomorrow would be a good day to start acting the way God directed us to be.
Besides, Easter lunch at Momma’s wasn’t that many months away. And I sincerely wanted my bell to be hanging on the front porch when Sharla remembered how to count past fifteen.
Merry Christmas! Patty Kramer, December 2016