My dad was one of those preachers who visited his parishioners, but he didn’t just limit his visits to the church folks. He visited the hospitals and those in the community as well. Often when he came back home, he had stories to tell. Many of his stories began with a chuckle. Such was his story of Miss Roberta.
By my Guest Author, my Daddy
I speak of her as Miss Roberta. She was a bedridden lady of memories. With the help of daily visits from another woman, she was able to live alone. She could get to her stove, refrigerator, and kitchen table. Most of her time was spent in her bed or on the nearby sofa.
Miss Roberta was from a small town – a small Christian College town near the edge of the North Georgia Mountains. She could move from her bed to the cook stove and refrigerator. However, she lived alone, and I was her pastor. Through her memories I became a child in the small town of Demorest. I could pick up dreams and hopes and memories which kept her going. Sometimes, I thought maybe the lady was lonely. But then again, maybe she wasn’t. She had friends that I did not know.
One day I saw a mouse running across the corner of her room. I think it had been nibbling at leftovers on the kitchen table. I didn’t say anything about it. Maybe I should have. A few checkups later that mouse jumped off the top over of her bed. “Did you know that you have a mouse?” I exclaimed.
She answered, “Oh yes, that’s my friend. He even comes to my pillow and talks to me.”