My daughter-in-law, Christie, has a bowl of yeast dough sitting near the furnace register so that the dough will rise. It is the recipe that my mother has used for over a half-century. While the bread is working, she lays out asparagus and mushrooms on a baking tray. Dan preps tenderloins for the grill while my daughter, Susan, and I talk to the kids and one another. Reese is focused on Mario Brothers while his toddler sister, Ann Marie, is focused on whomever has a bit of food to share.

Ben and Sara show up a little later. Christie kneads the dough lightly and cuts out rolls. The rolls go into the oven and Dan heads out to the grill. With the dark of November’s first Friday settling onto the fields and woods beyond the house, Dan blesses the meal and we eat. There are "knock, knock" jokes with Reese, banter between brothers, questions, stories, quips and comments. And lots of rolls.

There are even a few rolls left a few hours later when Jeremiah and Misty make it in from Arkansas. We hug and hold one another for a long moment in the kitchen. I have not seen them in three years. He, the youngest of the six children, seems taller now but argues with me that Sam, the second oldest, is still taller than him.

In the morning, all the rolls are gone. I wish that I had stashed a couple the night before. After the boys return from an early morning hunt without fresh venison, Susan, Jeremiah and I drive over to Clarkesville, Tennessee, to visit with Michael and Sarah and their six children. It is a spectacular autumn day as we make our way across the Cumberland River, full glory reflected in the waters.

At lunchtime, we head over for a deli and barbecue run. Back home, the older three kids sprint to their quick errands: plates, glasses, napkins, and tableware. On a rare November Saturday, we sit at table in the sun on the deck.

For the first time in eleven years, I am able to be with five of my children on the same day. Though not at the same time and in the same place, it is still a thing of great treasure to me. I have seen all six and their families now in less than thirty days.

Under the limbs of a hundred-and-twenty-year-old maple, I look around at the baby, the young ones, Josh and Nathan digging in the garden. I put an arm around Mike’s shoulders, steal another half-hug.

I believe that I know at least a sample of the joy that my Redeemer will feel when we finally sit at table with him in that place where there is no more parting. A day when all joy will be made complete.

H. Arnett

11/7/11