{"id":10302,"date":"2024-07-27T13:20:17","date_gmt":"2024-07-27T18:20:17","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/?p=10302"},"modified":"2024-07-27T13:20:17","modified_gmt":"2024-07-27T18:20:17","slug":"coming-home-again","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/coming-home-again\/","title":{"rendered":"Coming Home Again"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
\"Coming<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

By <\/strong>Lucy Allen<\/strong><\/em><\/h3>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Eight o\u2019clock in the morning and already Verona could tell the day was going to be sweltering.\u00a0 Here in her home state of North Carolina, and especially in the Sandhills, the combination of heat and humidity always took her breath away. She would not be deterred, however. This morning, she was making one final stop before she headed away from this area for what was probably the very last time\u2014back to the cooler temperatures of the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains she now called home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Six months after her grandmother\u2019s funeral, Verona had come back to her hometown of Sandy Pine with one purpose in mind\u2014to find an antique ladies\u2019 secretary desk. The desk had been the prize of the household and held special meaning for Verona and her grandmother, Rebecca. Then her grandmother had been diagnosed with an aggressive cancer that took her in a matter of months. In her grief, Verona hadn\u2019t thought about her grandmother\u2019s possessions, but now she couldn\u2019t get the desk out of her mind. The realtor who\u2019d sold Rebecca\u2019s house explained that there had been an estate sale, which no one had bothered telling Verona about at the time. For years, other than her grandmother, she\u2019d had no contact with distant relatives scattered across the country.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 For the past week, Verona had combed every antiques store and collector\u2019s shop. She\u2019d called furniture restorers and even stopped at a couple of yard sales. Finding her grandmother\u2019s desk seemed like an impossibility.<\/p>\n\n\n

\n
\"\"<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Verona packed her bags to check out of the quaint bed-and-breakfast that had been her home for the past week. As she gathered up and folded clothes, her mind wandered back to the funeral service\u2014the prayers and hymns to celebrate Rebecca\u2019s homecoming. With each word, Verona had felt a stab of pain at the memory of only seeing her grandmother once before she died. She\u2019d always meant to come back again; then, it was too late.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 They had chatted on the phone often. But every time she came home to visit, Rebecca seemed fixated on whether Verona was still committed to her faith. Where are you spending eternity? <\/em>Each conversation had ended with that nagging question. There had been a time in her life where the answers were different, answers her grandmother would have been happy and relieved to hear. Not anymore.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Verona pulled herself back into the present and went downstairs to have breakfast, then checked out. Before heading back to the Blue Ridge Mountains, she would make one more stop: an antiques and collectibles shop about twenty miles away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 As she drove, Verona\u2019s thoughts drifted through the years. Suddenly, she was a child in Rebecca\u2019s house having been dropped off by her mother, Susan. A single mother with a serious alcohol addiction, Susan would have weeks of sobriety before slipping into binge drinking. During those dark days, when it seemed her mother did not love her, her grandmother explained to Verona how Jesus always loved her. Verona remembered the simple songs and Bible verses her grandmother had taught her, reminders of a God who would never abandon her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Then there had been the notes\u2014the ones her grandmother began leaving for her in her lunchbox, on the bathroom mirror, on her pillow. Sometimes her grandmother would ask Verona to get something out of the little hidden drawer in the secretary desk, and there would be another note, telling her how much she was loved. It became their special ritual.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0Verona always felt the drawer was a magical place, with its green velvety lining, so soft to the touch. She could still picture the inside of that drawer, where her grandmother\u2019s initials, RT, <\/em>had been stamped many years before. Once, Verona had added her own with a black permanent marker, VT. <\/em>\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Each time she left her grandmother\u2019s house to go back to live with Susan, Verona would always leave a note for Rebecca. I love you, too, Grandma.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 During Verona\u2019s first year in college, her mother died. At the time, she hadn\u2019t even been sure where her mother was. The call that she\u2019d died of some fatal combination of substances had been a shock, and yet not surprising. Verona knew her mother had a disease. But if her mother had loved her, why couldn\u2019t she beat the addiction? \u00a0Maybe her mother just didn\u2019t love her enough. Once that thought implanted itself in her head, it wouldn\u2019t stop. Nothing anyone could say\u2014not her grandmother, not the pastor, not her friends\u2014could get that thought out of her brain.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 With her grandmother\u2019s death, Verona lost the only real home she\u2019d ever had. Now, there was no place to go back to for love or encouragement.<\/p>\n\n\n

\n
\"\"<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Verona crossed the city line into the next town and began looking for the antique store she\u2019d called the day before. They had desks, the owner had told her, and urged her to take a look.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Sucking in a breath, she stepped out of the car and onto the sidewalk.\u00a0 Just a few feet away was the store\u2019s door. Verona started at the front and began her search. The owner approached, offering to help, and showed her several desks\u2014but not her grandmother\u2019s.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cDo you have any more?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cYou didn\u2019t like the others?\u201d the owner asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Verona heard the hitch in her own voice as she told the owner about her grandmother\u2019s desk, how it had been sold in an estate sale.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cCome with me,\u201d the owner said, beckoning her to follow out of the back of the store and into a separate building that held the newest inventory that had yet to be appraised, repaired if needed, and catalogued.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cI\u2019ve been to a few auctions recently and bought a lot of stuff. Haven\u2019t had time to go through all of it yet,\u201d he added. \u201cMaybe there is something in here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Another hour went by as Verona dug through stacks of chairs and tables, lamps with dusty shades and others with bare wiring, and cartons stacked four high. In the back, she caught a glimpse of something familiar.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The desk was heavily laden with all manner of glassware, dishes and antique d\u00e9cor. She stepped over and around several objects on the floor to reach what was undeniably her grandmother\u2019s desk.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Her fingers slid to the little compartment and the hidden drawer. Inside were two sets of initials, RT and VT\u2014side by side, for always.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 As she ran her hand into the drawer, her fingers touched something. Slowly, Verona extracted a piece of paper that had been rolled and tied with a pale yellow ribbon.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 My dearest Verona, I am so sorry I had to leave you. But know this; I will see you again one day. I will always love you.\u00a0 Your Loving Grandmother<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Clutching the note to her chest, Verona let the tears fall. She\u2019d come home, again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n
<\/div>\n\n\n\n

Lucy Allen<\/strong> is the author of The Pond<\/em> and Pearls of Great Price<\/em>, Christian devotionals that focus on everyday things that teach a scriptural lesson. Her works have also been published online at ChristianDevotions.us and AwakeOurHearts.com. Lucy has been married to her high school sweetheart for nearly 50 years and has two children and three grandchildren.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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