As we headed home, we went past the church where Dad had served before. When I pointed it to Luther, he stopped the cruiser and parked it nearby.
Since it was open, we entered the church and sat down in the back row. Nothing had really changed—a small rectangular-shaped room with an altar at the front and a cruciform at the center of it.
“Do you always come here often?” Luther asked, taking my hand to his.
“Yeah, it was my way of showing my support to Dad,” I answered as I stared at the podium where Dad usually stood while he was preaching.
“So you believe in God?” There was a note of resentment I detected in his voice even though he appeared to be calm.
If he had asked me that question when I was a child, I would give him a definite ‘yes’ answer. It was my mother who first introduce
