Spiritual nourishment for the shut-in
We gathered around the kitchen table in the old farmhouse. The oilcloth with pictures of yellow pears and red strawberries was still on the table from lunchtime. So were the napkins and a few stray bread crumbs. There were four of us: the eighty-two-year-old widow who had lived in the house since her marriage sixty years ago, two elders, and myself.