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Show ^2-3 "I won't feel b e t t e r u n t i l you stop playing footsie under the table. And a l l the other games t h a t make me the butt of your jokes." "Well, if you d i d n ' t take yourself so seriously," Danny said. "A person can'tAtake h e r s e l f too seriously." its "I can." I remembered a story my father used to tell wm, how the boys had called him Elijah because hew was so zealous in church* Even w w young he had been dedicated to the Lord, had already assigned himself to a will that transcended the pettier workings of the will of man. He had borne the boys' mockery until they grudgingly admitted him to their company. But I imagined that he had kept his good will and cheerfully borne their ostracism, while my sense of humor was dead and decaying. Suddenly I was stricken with realization. My father was a kind of Elijah, isolated from the world, fed by the hand of God, both literally and figuratively. All the times that the cupboards had been bare and food had magically appeared, all the times when we seemed bereft of friends or help and he had appealed to the right person at the right time. And yet he had been alone in his leadership, alone in his resolve to serve the Lord. He^had been left alone by his first wife and their three children. Suddenly I understood the depth^of his loneliness. "I'm not kidding." My voice was low, resolute. "Stop the nasty little games or you'll have to find another fourth." The room was terribly still. Danny cleared his throat. "This sounds like a scene from 'Who's Afraid of Vifrginia Woolr?'" He tried to toss the comment off, but his voice trembled. |