New Life at the Krossroads

It was early afternoon when she pulled into a gas station to fill up and study the map. Having eaten a late breakfast, she wasn’t really hungry yet, so decided to get back on the interstate and head toward Ashland. Maybe she would spot an interesting little restaurant at one of the off-ramps. Fumbling with the radio as she pulled up to a four- way stop, she was almost through the intersection when she realized she had just passed a sign for the interstate and probably should have turned. Immediately, she pulled over in a paved area that had some kind of marker. That’s when she saw it. The old concrete block building with a brick front stood bleak and deserted across the street. Faded black stenciled lettering proclaimed, “Krossroads Diner.” Karen stared in awe. Swallowing back the lump in her throat, she crossed the highway and walked over to the boarded up building. Is this it Granny? Is this where you were leading me? There were no signs saying the building was for sale or rent. She would have to make inquiries as to whether it was even available. Somehow, she knew it would be. She walked back across the street and read the sign that was posted beneath a large quilt pattern on a wooden board. She had passed several other such quilt block boards hanging on barns or adorning small businesses. Her curiosity aroused, she hoped this would explain what they were about...maybe even give her some information about the old diner. The sign read: Farmers was first called CrossRoads because it was situated where the road running parallel to the Licking River crossed the road running east and west. As early as 1792, settlers came to CrossRoads after receiving land grants from the U.S. government. This quilt pattern, CrossRoads, has been chosen to commemorate the historical contribution of Farmers to Rowan County Okay, she thought, so the diner was named after a well known crossroad...but why with a K instead of a C? Then, walking over to the large historical marker that stood to one side of the quilt block, she once again stared at the heading in awe. Morgan Raiders’ Camp. Granny Rickles maiden name had been Morgan. This was too much. Shaking her head in amazement, she spoke out loud, saying, “When you show me a sign, it’s literally a sign, Granny. You must have some pull up there!” “Excuse me?” The voice came from behind her and she almost jumped out of her wits. “Were you speaking to me?” She turned to face a young man dressed in khakis and a bright blue t-shirt that outlined a muscular build. His hair was as black as the cover on the bible he held in his hands, and his eyes as green as the trees that swayed behind him. Karen wasn’t certain if the dizziness she felt was caused by her spinning around so fast; the swaying trees; or from just looking at him. “Ah…actually, I was…talking to my Granny,” she stammered. Looking around, the young man glanced at the packed SUV parked several feet away and saw no one. Seeing the confused look on his face, she pointed up toward the sky. The bible he held gave her the confidence to say, “Up there. We had…have a very close relationship.” The broad grin that spread across his face almost made her knees buckle. He was gorgeous! “I didn’t mean to barge in on your conversation, but I spotted you from over there,” he said, pointing to a bench that sat in the woods next to a small church. The large lettering across the front proclaimed, Farmers Christian Community Church. “I was having a conversation with someone up there, myself.” When Simon Crawford had spotted the long legs emerging from the car, he lost all train of thought from the sermon he was preparing for next Sunday. He tried to refocus his mind to the task at hand, but as he watched her lithe body move across the highway to stand staring at the old diner, his curiosity (or was it, God forgive him, lust,) got the best of him. By the time she returned to study the marker, he was close enough to see that she had a lovely face as well. Karen was now staring at the church with an indiscernible expression on her face. Slowly she began shaking her head and spoke in wonder, her large golden eyes remaining fixed on the building. “Crossroads! Morgan! Christian! I get it Granny. You don’t have to smack me over the head with a two-by-four!” “Huh?” Jumping, as if she just realized that someone was standing beside her, she began apologizing profusely. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to…that is…I sort of got lost in my own thoughts. It’s all so…incredible, really.” “I don’t mean to repeat myself, but, huh?” Her laughter was as musical as the ping of rain drops on a tin roof. She reached her hand out to him saying, “My name is Karen Christian. My Granny’s maiden name was Morgan and one of her life lessons to me dealt with crossroads. I am definitely at a major crossroad in my life and I do believe that Granny is trying to tell me something.” Still confused, but definitely intrigued, Simon took her hand and introduced himself. “The name’s Simon Crawford and I am pastor for a small, but wonderful faith filled group that meets twice weekly at that little church. I’m rather new at my job, but have had to deal with numerous ‘crossroads’ myself, so if you would like to talk about it, I would be delighted to listen.” “Actually, I could use some information. Do you know if that diner over there is for sale or lease?”