Sunday evening — November 1

"Now may the God of peace, who brought back from the dead our Lord Jesus, the great shepherd of the sheep, by the blood of the eternal covenant, make you complete in everything good so that you may do his will, working among us that which is pleasing in his sight, through Jesus Christ, to whom be the glory forever and ever. Amen." — Hebrews 13:20-21

It is Sunday evening and All Saints' Day is done.

I will tell you how it went, but first I will tell you about the hour. The clocks went back last night and I woke at five by the new clock, which was six by the old clock, which was the time my body has been waking for seventy-seven years, and the hour I gained was an hour in the kitchen alone with the coffee and the stove and the dog and the light, and I did not pray during it or think during it or do anything at all except sit there and have the hour, and it was one of the best hours I have had this fall.

Monday I sat with the list and waited, and the Lord leaned. Tuesday Dan called and said they were coming, and it was not a discussion. Wednesday the window over the sink went black at five-thirty. Thursday I sat with the old mirror and the word dimly, and the face I am losing, and the then that comes after. Friday I made up the guest room. Saturday I said their names at this table before I said them in the sanctuary.

Yesterday Dan and Beth drove up and filled the house. I put out the quilt that was Mama's and a glass of water on Beth's nightstand and the house smelled like whatever Beth brought and whatever I made, and by evening there were shoes by the door and coats on the hooks and voices in rooms that have been quiet since August.

This morning the children came — ten in the circle, one new girl who smiled but did not speak — and they learned about the boy and the loaves and Sophie wanted to keep one loaf, which I will remember for a long time.

And then the service. Pastor Holloway read the names. Every name. I heard Earl's and Mama's and Daddy's and Virginia's and Robert's and the name I learned three months ago, and after each one the congregation said amen, and after Earl's name Dan's hand was on my arm, and that is the whole report of All Saints.

Revelation says death will be no more. I said that yesterday at this table and I said it again in the sanctuary this morning and I will say it again next year and the year after that. The verse does not change. The dead do not come back. The saying is for the living, and the living need it most in November, when the clocks go back and the dark comes early and the house is full of people who are here and empty of people who are not, and both things are true at the same time, and both things are the prayer.

Dan and Beth left after lunch. The house is quiet again. Biscuit is on his spot by the stove. The wind is outside.

Until next Sunday.