Welcome back Staci Stallings!
My Father’s House
Years ago my Saturday nights were planned long before we ever got to Friday. My friends and I would go to church, go out to eat with my parents and then go to my house for a long night of
whatever the game of the season was. We would stay up long into the night playing Michigan Rummy, Pictionary, Guesstures, or Scattergories. More than once a worried parent called to check up on a child and make sure they were at my folk’s place and not up town running around. They were always there around that kitchen table laughing and having a great time.
I don’t really remember how the tradition got started, or who the first friends I invited over were. However, over the years there were a long line of them. Theresa. Elaine. Kirsten. Lorelea. Michael. Damian. Mike. Eventually my younger sister’s friends joined us, and there were very few Saturday nights that our house wasn’t an all-out party.
Now mind you, my parents were always there. In fact, my mom seldom went to bed before everyone left as she was often the last challenger standing no matter what the game was. My dad, on the other hand, had to be up at 5 a.m. on Sunday morning to go out and milk cows. More than once, he rounded the corner, one eye half-opened to stare at us and ask what we were still doing awake.
We had a lot of good, honest fun in that house, and my friends never balked at going there instead of driving around looking for trouble. It was simply more fun than anything else we could be doing.
Recently I’ve been looking at my life and realizing that one of my goals is to point as many people to Heaven as I can through my writing and through my life. For awhile it bothered me that maybe I was saying in that goal that I thought I was the one through which they were going to get to Heaven. Of course that wasn’t my intent, but there was a nagging thought that maybe that’s how it would be interpreted.
It didn’t take a genius, but it did take some soul-searching, to realize where that thought came from—Satan, the number one instigator of doubts of all time. Max Lucado once said that “Satan doesn’t want to convince us, he just wants to confuse us,” and that was certainly true in this case.
It wasn’t until I thought back to my high school years and how much fun we had at my parents’ house that I finally put all the doubts aside. You see, I don’t think I’m the reason others end up going to Heaven—that is their choice and their business. However, I amthe one who can invite them to come with me to my Father’s house. I figure we’ll all be better off in Heaven than out on the streets somewhere, so once again, my plan is to invite as many people as I can to join me for a joyous time in my Father’s house. It worked once, I hope it works again.
Copyright, Staci Stallings 2004
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9 thoughts on “My Father’s House”
Hi, Staci and Diana. This post was particularly timely for me. Thanks for the insight. Blessings!
Thank you for you note.
Blessings to you too.
Thanks for stopping by! Have a blessed day!
Love this story. An excellent way to put it. I figure te more friends I gain on earth, the bigger the welcoming party in heaven.
Holly!!! What a great way to look at life–more friends here bigger party in heaven.
My mom always says she's coming by my house in Heaven 'cause that's where the party will be, and in case I don't get another chance… You're ALL invited! 😉
Staci and Diana, what an awesome post. I enjoyed it so much it took me back to long game night at my house. Thanks for reminding me that simple is sometimes better!
Sharon, that's what happened to me when I read it too. All those summer nights playing games.
It was amazing how many different games we could play and still have an all-out good time. So glad others had that experience too!