Twenty two years. That is how much of my life was wasted. Hurtful years, lonely years. I’d go to work by myself, I’d come home to an empty house. I’d cook and eat and go to bed. In between I’d walk the dogs and clean the kitchen and talk to myself. Oh, occasionally this man would show up. He’d complain about the dogs, the house, the mattress on the bed, the food I cooked (if I bothered to cook, past experiences showed me the futility of fixing a meal for two). If I bought something he’d explain how I wasted my money, the furniture I ordered (and designed, wow, was that was fun!) for the sunroom was tacky, bad workmanship, just thrown together. Everyone else loved it; south western décor is in, at least here in Texas (his native state, by the way). He had been consulted about the furniture but made noncommittal responses so I had to work with my own judgment and likes.
He wore the clothes I washed weekly, ate the groceries I brought home, washed with the water, read by the electricity and enjoyed the health care I paid for, but bike trip vacations he had money for. Vacations that didn’t include me, but that was okay, really, it gave me time alone to relax free from criticism and negativity. I paid for our twentieth anniversary (I was surprised he could fit it into his schedule) weekend in a nice resort motel. I paid for the dining and sightseeing. He just came along for the ride: to complain about the directions getting there and getting home.
Now he was packing up and leaving, at my request. I had prayed about it and decided it was my only remedy. And I was crying, resisting feeling better. Why? Because of twenty two wasted years. I felt God had abandoned me. I felt like I wasn’t saved (after all Alex had pointed out my Christian failings often enough). I felt lonelier than ever. My heart felt like it was being pulled apart by laughing demons with sizzling claws who were straight out of the fire pit I was sure to call home some day. Why? Because I couldn’t shoulder my cross any longer. I couldn’t (or didn’t want to) support Alex for the rest of my life. I couldn’t take anymore censorship and tactless words. I couldn’t accept watching him act sweet and divine at church, in the choir and with the kids from the church bus he drove and then come home and unveil his alternate ego with me.
Oh I cried. I begged God to help me but got no answer. I wanted help now, not later, because this was an emergency call, a 911 call to heaven. This wasn’t the kind of hurt that could wait for an appointment; it needed to be treated immediately. But what did I want?
As Alex loaded up the last of his belongings and drove into the sunset I was gasping for air. Alex had been right about everything he’d said about me. I was useless, unstable, stingy, unlovable. Probably not even Christian! I begged God for help again and again. Tears spilled forming a moat about my feet. I’m sure my carpet was mildewing and rotting the wood underneath.
I got on Guidepost.org to request prayer, and then I read the prayers of others in pain. Children with cancer, parents dying, hurricane victims, joblessness, drug addicts, and people praying for lost (not missing) relatives, alcoholics, pregnant teenagers, miscarriages, AIDS victims, Lou Gerrig’s disease. Wow, there sure was a lot of hurting going on among fellow Christians. My prayer was one of many leafs in a bonfire. It certainly could not get as much consideration as the life and death prayers.
I went to bed in the customary fashion, “Alone, again”, I proclaimed. My dog Scruffy, who has excellent understanding of the human language, shook the dust off of his feet and moved to the other side of the bed to let me realize he wasn’t just chopped liver. This time I knew Alex wouldn’t be traipsing in from doing all his good deeds after I was asleep and he wouldn’t be staying in bed in the morning while I fixed the coffee, breakfast, washed his clothes and cleaned our house. Why did that sound pathetic? As I drifted off to sleep I felt something soft and feathery brush my face. I assumed it was Scruffy snuggling up to forgive me; I was too deep into somnolence to rouse. Not even hours later when the phone rang and rang and rang. Why wasn’t the answering service picking it up after four rings? Keeping my head buried under the pillow I stretched my arms out to the receiver.
“Hello.”
“Is Marcy there?” an accented voice asked.
“You’ve got the wrong number,” I mumbled stretching the phone back to its home.
“Is this not……”The voice read out my unlisted number, (you don’t think I’d write it here for the public to know, do you?)
“Yes, but no Marcy lives here.” My voice croaked, after all my vocal cords were roughened from crying.
“I’m sorry….(pause)..Are you alright?” The voice asked after I sniffled. It seems I was even crying in my sleep.
“What? Oh, yea, fine thanks.” I wanted to go back to sleep to re -anesthetize myself with unconsciousness, the question of the hour was why didn’t I just hang up?
“I don’t believe you.” Who was this voice with no physical substance? Calling the wrong number late at night and not letting me off the phone. What rudeness.
I don’t know how it happened but before long I had revealed my life history. Years of not getting anything right, from how I walked the dogs, did the laundry, cleaned the house, bought pots and pans, warmed up the car. And worse yet, how I thought I had been a Christian till Alex kept calling me a hypocrite. Oh, I fought back. I had a sharp tongue also, when provoked, but his words settled in anyway and grew roots deep into my subconscious sprouting products of doubt and insecurities.
“Your husband seems to suffer from heart failure,” my confessor responded.
“Huh?”
“Failure to have a heart, Alex claims he loves God but doesn’t treat you with love. How can he possibly love someone he hasn’t seen if he can’t love you?” The voice quizzed. “Besides, it’s not his job to judge you; you’re God’s servant, not his.”
“But I can’t say I act any better, I’m pretty sinful, if I make as many mistakes as Alex says I do, how can God love me? If I can’t please humans how can I please someone totally holy and just?”
“You pleased God that day in June as you lay in bed when you accepted Jesus, the day your girlfriend introduced you to the prayer of salvation.” Funny, I must have told him that but I can’t remember doing so. That’s what comes from talking in your sleep.
“Could he love me even if I was only 90 percent good?” I had high standards for myself.
“He’d love you if you were only 80 percent good.”
“What about 70 percent, surely he’d expect more from me.”
“No, you could be only 10 percent good and he’d still love you.”
“What about 9 percent?” Talk about testing the limits.
“Don’t push it. My patience is running out!”Was the answer I got. I detonated into laughter. Oh, how good to know I could still laugh.
Getting serious again I stated, “I’m just sorry I wasted the last twenty two years of my life.”
“You’re a cup is half empty kind of girl, aren’t you? Look at it this way; at least you’re not going to waste the next twenty two years.” Astounding. Brilliant. I hadn’t looked that far yet.
I awoke in the morning feeling rejuvenated. I couldn’t remember why I had been crying…oh, yea, Alex moved out. I didn’t feel like crying anymore. Wow, awesome. I pressed my hand against my chest. No pain. No symptoms of a broken heart. No tenderness, swelling, or aching. Something had happened last night, but what? I tried to get my brain to gear up which is pre-coffee-hard-to-do. Something had…oh the phone…a stranger…..
I grabbed the receiver to inspect the caller I.D. Whoever I spoke to last night deserved a thank you card, maybe with a gift certificate. He had been better than any paid counselor.
The caller I.D. said “Out of Area”.
What did I smell? Coffee? Just what I needed but I hadn’t started any last night. I was too upset. I followed the smell to the kitchen. The table was set with pancakes, eggs, and sausage. The dishes used to prepare the repast were cleaned and on the drain board. There was a new peculiar area rug around the table. Unnerving, to say the least. A card on the table beckoned to me.
Looking around to make sure I was alone I read, “Have a blessed day, love Gabrielle.” I dropped the card and passed out onto a floor layered in glowing feathers. God had answered my 911 call and sent a heavenly paramedic. My problem was just as important to Him as anyone else’s at Guideposts.com!Gen.
Gen. 18:22-33
1 King 19:5-8
psalm 30:1-5
Math 1:20
Math.18:6-9
Rom 14:41
Peter 5:6-11
Forms of mental and emotional abuse:Mental or emotional abuse can take place in varied situations like these:
• Extramarital affairs
• Excessive criticism suffered at the hands of your spouse
• Excessive humiliation
• A provoking tendency of your partner
• Miscommunication or refusing to communicate at all
• Sarcastic and taunting comments
• Unreasonable jealousy
• Reduced affection and intimacy
• Frequent mood swings • Deliberately isolating and ignoring the partner’s presence and needs
• Continuous threats
Cycles of domestic abuse: Mental, Emotional or PhysicalMental or physical abuse gradually tends to acquire a cycle of events and behavioral patterns very distinct to a person inflicting suffering on the other. They include the following:
• A constant effort to show the other that he or she is the boss of the house.
• Resorting to fear and guilt about others coming to know of his or her abnormal behavior.
• The abuser is always aware of what he or she is doing and also recognizes them to be wrong. So he or she is well equipped with justifications and excuses.
• The abuser will always behave in a way that he or she is normal and there is nothing going wrong.
• There is always a tendency to plan and set things up to blame, fight and hurt the partner.
Tips to recover and end mental or emotional abuse:Experts suggest some practical ways to recover from and to put an end to mental and emotional abuse. They include the following: • Recognize the warning signs of domestic abuse and free yourself from them • Try to heal the old bruises
• Respect each other • Try doing things your spouse likes more often • Respond with a relaxed outlook or character
• Realize your own capabilities and wants • Fight to achieve peace and love in your relationship
• Try breaking the cycle of events and behavior
• Bestow the seeds of a doubtless and an unconditional love
• Develop and initiate more intimacy • Cope with the circumstances while your partner grows out of it
If as a partner you can make a positive difference to the relationship then never give up and fight to stay together. But when you cannot handle things then you need to get out of the situation soon. Also reporting domestic abuse can be of much help for the couple, so always intimate concerned people about it.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Friday, October 17, 2008
the walk
I looked at the clock. Time was running out, so were my excuses, I thought. He would be here any minute anticipating I’d keep my word. I was hoping to come down with some serious symptoms before he arrived, but what good what that be? He’d probably do the hands on thing and cure me. I could stay out of his reach, claiming I was too contagious.
There went the door bell. Do you suppose he could see me, maybe I could pretend to not be home? Oh, what’s the use, I had promised. I opened the door to find him on my doorsteps with a stack of brochures in his grip and his chronic smile (I wonder if he had facial nerve damage?)
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“As ready as I ever will be.” I stated coming outside to him. “You know this isn’t my idea of fun.”
“Oh, it won’t kill you; it might even do you some good.” He answered.
“These are my neighbors; I know they won’t be interested. They’re a bunch of dead beats” I explained trying to discourage him with thinly veiled negativity. Heck the veil had so many holes in it, it was apparent it held nothing but negative expectations.
We headed down the street knocking on doors as we traveled. No responses, just as I thought. Well at least no one knew it was me unless they were peeking out of their curtains! Oh, how humiliating, to be seen with Him, in broad daylight, in the middle of a Sunday afternoon; family time, time to relax and unwind from the past hectic week to get ready for the upcoming hectic week.
Around the corner a guy came out of a rent house, dressed, er, so to speak, in baggy shorts that swept the ground, held on with a chain belt that could double as a weapon. His upper body had a muscle shirt on revealing massively massive tattoos that spread up his neck to the back of his bald head to his crown, to his forehead. Man, he couldn’t have been more than twenty, and by the looks of him he spent all those twenty years in tattoo shops!
I suspected he wouldn’t be approached by my friend; he was too far gone to the other side to be presented with an invitation to be around descent people.
Oops, I thought to soon. Friend yelled out a casual greeting.
“Have you lost some weight lately?” Did I say casual?
“What? No, why?” Tattoo man asked spinning around.
Friend replied, “Those pants are a bit supersized.” Oh, my gosh, I thought, Friend is going to get us killed. I grabbed his arm to steer him backwards. But not before he continued with, “Do you dress like that to look tough?” Okay, that’s too much. I released my grip on Friend and took bigger steps backwards. He was in this alone. Yep, I’m a coward, spelled C-O-W-A-R-D.
Tattoo guy gawked at Friend’s audacity, and then broke into a wide grin, (I was actually expecting to see tattoos on his teeth,) ”Yea, do I?” he answered.
“Oh yea,” Friend said, faking a shudder. “I’m real nervous being this close to you. But you know, if we hung out together I could get used to you. Here,” he said proffering a brochure, “Come by my place tonight for a small intimate neighborhood get together, I’d be honored to have you over.” Intimate? If all the regulars showed up plus all the last minute invitations, it would be about as intimate as Time Square on New Year’s Eve!
Tattoo took the brochure and stuck it in his baggy shorts; the pockets were about knee cap level. “Thanks, but I doubt I’ll come.”
Finally when there was considerable distance between us and Tattoo man Friend laughed at my unease. “He’s just a man; what do you think he could possibly do to us?” Thousands of possibilities occurred to me, none of which were pleasant.
We kept on with our mission, (Friend’s mission) Friend was fully focused, I was just along for the walk relieved we were way out of sight of my street now. Brochures were passed out to every person we met or that would come to the door.
One lady answered her door expecting someone else and was extremely disappointed when she saw us standing on her porch. It was unmistakable she’d been crying as she stared over our shoulders hoping for a glimpse of that someone else behind us. No, it was just us. Friend reached out and patted her arm, asking if he could help in anyway. She broke down with a story about her daughter who had run off in a rage to live with her boyfriend. After calling the police she’d learn there was nothing they could do about it because she was considered an adult at seventeen. Seventeen! She firmly believed that was too young to be considered an adult. Laws should be changed to meet her ideals.
Friend was a good listener, and obviously that was apparent to even strangers, I wished the woman would stop babbling and let us get on our way so I could get this over with. Friend seemed genuinely concerned for Hysteria Woman. Let her get over it, I mumbled to myself, so I can get this afternoon over with. Her daughter would probably be back many times, between relationships, with a parcel of kids tagging along. Friend encouraged Hysteria Woman to get out for the evening for some uplifting entertainment and placed a brochure tenderly in her hands. Man, He sure had tunnel vision. Like tonight was the end of all ends.
Up ahead a yard party was in full bloom. Beer cans were littering the yard by plastic lawn chairs as brisket cooked over coals. Across the street was a playground with unsupervised grubby kids running amuck as their parents guzzled Budweiser’s and Miller lights and spewed “good natured” profanities at each other. As we neared I caught the distinct whiff of some botanical tobacco mingled with the Heinz sauce and mesquite.I didn’t know hell gave day passes!. Alcohol, drugs, lechery, debauchery; a nice recipe for disaster if they attended his evening shindig. Not to mention the scandal that would ensue as the good people of the town observed them entering Friend’s house!
Well I was wrong. Friend had no limits to his optimism, to his mission to reform the world. I watched him work the motley crew, no; they weren’the popular singing group, Motley Crue, though they could have doubled for them. They guffawed and snorted as he passed out his invitations. One or two actually stood up on unsteady legs to toss the brochures into the flames under the brisket. Well, I thought, at least now we were out of brochures and I could go home.
Friend saw me off at my house and smiled sanguinely, “See you tonight.” It was more of a statement than a question.
“Sure.” I replied, glad to be back home where I could hide and recover from this unsettling afternoon. I wish I’d taken one of the Budweiser’s that had been offered me in jest at the last pit stop! My nerves were shot, I sure hope my neighbors hadn’t seen me with Him.
At six thirty I dressed and headed to Friend’s house, I wasn’t in the mood to go, but I had promised. I found Pastor John sitting on the front steps looking down cast. The parking lot was relatively empty except for the van with the name of the visiting choir and the cars of some of the diehard regulars who never did anything else on Sunday night. The marquee announced the commencement of our church revival promptly at seven.
“What’s wrong?” I queried, pretty sure I knew the answer.
“What’s wrong? Look at the parking lot! We invited a minister and his prestigious choir to come sing for us and most of the members have told me they had other plans and wouldn’t be here. This is totally embarrassing.” Well not everyone was bored enough on Sunday nights to go to church, I thought, especially in the middle of summer.
Pastor John got to his feet with sagging shoulders and we both entered the auditorium where the band was setting up for the enjoyment of approximately twenty congregants scattered about the large room making it look even emptier. He was ashamed at the prospect of a small love offering filling the collection basket at the conclusion of the revival. Small? He knew these members well; they probably didn’t bring their wallets or checkbooks. It was amazing he even made a living preaching here!
I saw Friend up on the stage with his disgustingly perpetual smile. He never knows when to give up!
John and I turned as we heard an unexpected commotion behind us. Several strangers were staggering in carrying beer cans. The group from the front yard barbeque! A vigilante group! They had come to destroy our evening, (maybe that would actually save the night!) No. Wait. They were taking seats in the back of the church. Then more people came in. Hysteria Woman. Tattoo man and a date? Who would have thought he was the type to bring a date to a revival. Hysteria Woman and the couple had a private conversation in the back. I could see more tears flowing down her cheeks as she hugged Tattoo man’s companion. Hit by revelation I realized that we had invited Hysteria Woman and her daughter’s boyfriend resulting in an answered prayer for reconciliation that was taking place right behind me in the church atrium. I looked up at Friend. The smile. What a pompous know it all. He had this planned down to the last detail.
As seven o clock turned into seven ten more stragglers slipped into seats. Before long the choir was provided with a audience of misfits that had received brochures distributed throughout the afternoon. The regular members sat stiffly in their seats, unsure of what to make of the eclectic mixture of society that was invading their personal space, their church. Some even assembled their belongings and exited with expressions of palpable censure thrown in the direction of the new comers, holding their noses high in the air to avoid catching a whiff of anything unpleasant. Oh, they also had their bibles clutched securely in their hands as if they were afraid they might be snatched from them by the visitors. Maybe they ought to open them occasionally, I thought. I also decided I better be careful, after all people in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones, feeling a little awkward since I had rebelled myself at the prospect of inviting those that were filling the pews about me. Friend met my gaze and smiled deeper, was he reading my mind? Him and His smile.
Then it was show time. The band started up; drums beat, cymbals clashed, trumpets blared, singers sang. The barbeque group hooted and hew hawed through the first song, became quieter for the second song, probably because of the sedative effects of the beer, I thought. Then by the third song they were absolutely silenced. I twisted in my seat to see if they had fallen into alcoholic comas only to witness their complete absorption with the performers. Some even moved to closer pews!
At the hour’s conclusion (had this been just an hour, I could have listened longer!) there was an alter call. Pastor John was overjoyed in the love offering being presented this evening. This love offering had nothing to do with money. Several dozen of the newcomers made an offering of love to Friend, who with extended arms, welcomed all into his presence. The minister and his choir broke into more songs as one by one Pastor John prayed the prayer of salvation with a motley crew of neighbors I would have locked out of the kingdom. I caught Friend’s eye and he saluted me with a scarred hand as a tear (or two or three) slid down my cheeks to meet lips that were turned up into a smile that could never outshine His. Then Friend laid his chin back down on his chest, extended his arms, crossed his feet and blended back into the cross above the baptismal.
On the way to my car several neighbors (former dead beats who had been resuscitated into new life) approached me to thank me for thinking of them this afternoon and leaving brochures in their doors and then complemented me on being a good soldier for Christ. Ooch. That hurt. Should I confess to them how I had been Friend’s hostage, dragged along unwillingly? No, I don’t have to admit a thing; I wasn’t on trial (anymore). Now however I was experiencing conflicting emotions, earlier I had been ashamed to hand out brochures now I was ashamed I’d been ashamed. Nothing a prayer of forgiveness wouldn’t wash away. When Jesus hung on his cross millennia ago, he’d already forgiven me.
There went the door bell. Do you suppose he could see me, maybe I could pretend to not be home? Oh, what’s the use, I had promised. I opened the door to find him on my doorsteps with a stack of brochures in his grip and his chronic smile (I wonder if he had facial nerve damage?)
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“As ready as I ever will be.” I stated coming outside to him. “You know this isn’t my idea of fun.”
“Oh, it won’t kill you; it might even do you some good.” He answered.
“These are my neighbors; I know they won’t be interested. They’re a bunch of dead beats” I explained trying to discourage him with thinly veiled negativity. Heck the veil had so many holes in it, it was apparent it held nothing but negative expectations.
We headed down the street knocking on doors as we traveled. No responses, just as I thought. Well at least no one knew it was me unless they were peeking out of their curtains! Oh, how humiliating, to be seen with Him, in broad daylight, in the middle of a Sunday afternoon; family time, time to relax and unwind from the past hectic week to get ready for the upcoming hectic week.
Around the corner a guy came out of a rent house, dressed, er, so to speak, in baggy shorts that swept the ground, held on with a chain belt that could double as a weapon. His upper body had a muscle shirt on revealing massively massive tattoos that spread up his neck to the back of his bald head to his crown, to his forehead. Man, he couldn’t have been more than twenty, and by the looks of him he spent all those twenty years in tattoo shops!
I suspected he wouldn’t be approached by my friend; he was too far gone to the other side to be presented with an invitation to be around descent people.
Oops, I thought to soon. Friend yelled out a casual greeting.
“Have you lost some weight lately?” Did I say casual?
“What? No, why?” Tattoo man asked spinning around.
Friend replied, “Those pants are a bit supersized.” Oh, my gosh, I thought, Friend is going to get us killed. I grabbed his arm to steer him backwards. But not before he continued with, “Do you dress like that to look tough?” Okay, that’s too much. I released my grip on Friend and took bigger steps backwards. He was in this alone. Yep, I’m a coward, spelled C-O-W-A-R-D.
Tattoo guy gawked at Friend’s audacity, and then broke into a wide grin, (I was actually expecting to see tattoos on his teeth,) ”Yea, do I?” he answered.
“Oh yea,” Friend said, faking a shudder. “I’m real nervous being this close to you. But you know, if we hung out together I could get used to you. Here,” he said proffering a brochure, “Come by my place tonight for a small intimate neighborhood get together, I’d be honored to have you over.” Intimate? If all the regulars showed up plus all the last minute invitations, it would be about as intimate as Time Square on New Year’s Eve!
Tattoo took the brochure and stuck it in his baggy shorts; the pockets were about knee cap level. “Thanks, but I doubt I’ll come.”
Finally when there was considerable distance between us and Tattoo man Friend laughed at my unease. “He’s just a man; what do you think he could possibly do to us?” Thousands of possibilities occurred to me, none of which were pleasant.
We kept on with our mission, (Friend’s mission) Friend was fully focused, I was just along for the walk relieved we were way out of sight of my street now. Brochures were passed out to every person we met or that would come to the door.
One lady answered her door expecting someone else and was extremely disappointed when she saw us standing on her porch. It was unmistakable she’d been crying as she stared over our shoulders hoping for a glimpse of that someone else behind us. No, it was just us. Friend reached out and patted her arm, asking if he could help in anyway. She broke down with a story about her daughter who had run off in a rage to live with her boyfriend. After calling the police she’d learn there was nothing they could do about it because she was considered an adult at seventeen. Seventeen! She firmly believed that was too young to be considered an adult. Laws should be changed to meet her ideals.
Friend was a good listener, and obviously that was apparent to even strangers, I wished the woman would stop babbling and let us get on our way so I could get this over with. Friend seemed genuinely concerned for Hysteria Woman. Let her get over it, I mumbled to myself, so I can get this afternoon over with. Her daughter would probably be back many times, between relationships, with a parcel of kids tagging along. Friend encouraged Hysteria Woman to get out for the evening for some uplifting entertainment and placed a brochure tenderly in her hands. Man, He sure had tunnel vision. Like tonight was the end of all ends.
Up ahead a yard party was in full bloom. Beer cans were littering the yard by plastic lawn chairs as brisket cooked over coals. Across the street was a playground with unsupervised grubby kids running amuck as their parents guzzled Budweiser’s and Miller lights and spewed “good natured” profanities at each other. As we neared I caught the distinct whiff of some botanical tobacco mingled with the Heinz sauce and mesquite.I didn’t know hell gave day passes!. Alcohol, drugs, lechery, debauchery; a nice recipe for disaster if they attended his evening shindig. Not to mention the scandal that would ensue as the good people of the town observed them entering Friend’s house!
Well I was wrong. Friend had no limits to his optimism, to his mission to reform the world. I watched him work the motley crew, no; they weren’the popular singing group, Motley Crue, though they could have doubled for them. They guffawed and snorted as he passed out his invitations. One or two actually stood up on unsteady legs to toss the brochures into the flames under the brisket. Well, I thought, at least now we were out of brochures and I could go home.
Friend saw me off at my house and smiled sanguinely, “See you tonight.” It was more of a statement than a question.
“Sure.” I replied, glad to be back home where I could hide and recover from this unsettling afternoon. I wish I’d taken one of the Budweiser’s that had been offered me in jest at the last pit stop! My nerves were shot, I sure hope my neighbors hadn’t seen me with Him.
At six thirty I dressed and headed to Friend’s house, I wasn’t in the mood to go, but I had promised. I found Pastor John sitting on the front steps looking down cast. The parking lot was relatively empty except for the van with the name of the visiting choir and the cars of some of the diehard regulars who never did anything else on Sunday night. The marquee announced the commencement of our church revival promptly at seven.
“What’s wrong?” I queried, pretty sure I knew the answer.
“What’s wrong? Look at the parking lot! We invited a minister and his prestigious choir to come sing for us and most of the members have told me they had other plans and wouldn’t be here. This is totally embarrassing.” Well not everyone was bored enough on Sunday nights to go to church, I thought, especially in the middle of summer.
Pastor John got to his feet with sagging shoulders and we both entered the auditorium where the band was setting up for the enjoyment of approximately twenty congregants scattered about the large room making it look even emptier. He was ashamed at the prospect of a small love offering filling the collection basket at the conclusion of the revival. Small? He knew these members well; they probably didn’t bring their wallets or checkbooks. It was amazing he even made a living preaching here!
I saw Friend up on the stage with his disgustingly perpetual smile. He never knows when to give up!
John and I turned as we heard an unexpected commotion behind us. Several strangers were staggering in carrying beer cans. The group from the front yard barbeque! A vigilante group! They had come to destroy our evening, (maybe that would actually save the night!) No. Wait. They were taking seats in the back of the church. Then more people came in. Hysteria Woman. Tattoo man and a date? Who would have thought he was the type to bring a date to a revival. Hysteria Woman and the couple had a private conversation in the back. I could see more tears flowing down her cheeks as she hugged Tattoo man’s companion. Hit by revelation I realized that we had invited Hysteria Woman and her daughter’s boyfriend resulting in an answered prayer for reconciliation that was taking place right behind me in the church atrium. I looked up at Friend. The smile. What a pompous know it all. He had this planned down to the last detail.
As seven o clock turned into seven ten more stragglers slipped into seats. Before long the choir was provided with a audience of misfits that had received brochures distributed throughout the afternoon. The regular members sat stiffly in their seats, unsure of what to make of the eclectic mixture of society that was invading their personal space, their church. Some even assembled their belongings and exited with expressions of palpable censure thrown in the direction of the new comers, holding their noses high in the air to avoid catching a whiff of anything unpleasant. Oh, they also had their bibles clutched securely in their hands as if they were afraid they might be snatched from them by the visitors. Maybe they ought to open them occasionally, I thought. I also decided I better be careful, after all people in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones, feeling a little awkward since I had rebelled myself at the prospect of inviting those that were filling the pews about me. Friend met my gaze and smiled deeper, was he reading my mind? Him and His smile.
Then it was show time. The band started up; drums beat, cymbals clashed, trumpets blared, singers sang. The barbeque group hooted and hew hawed through the first song, became quieter for the second song, probably because of the sedative effects of the beer, I thought. Then by the third song they were absolutely silenced. I twisted in my seat to see if they had fallen into alcoholic comas only to witness their complete absorption with the performers. Some even moved to closer pews!
At the hour’s conclusion (had this been just an hour, I could have listened longer!) there was an alter call. Pastor John was overjoyed in the love offering being presented this evening. This love offering had nothing to do with money. Several dozen of the newcomers made an offering of love to Friend, who with extended arms, welcomed all into his presence. The minister and his choir broke into more songs as one by one Pastor John prayed the prayer of salvation with a motley crew of neighbors I would have locked out of the kingdom. I caught Friend’s eye and he saluted me with a scarred hand as a tear (or two or three) slid down my cheeks to meet lips that were turned up into a smile that could never outshine His. Then Friend laid his chin back down on his chest, extended his arms, crossed his feet and blended back into the cross above the baptismal.
On the way to my car several neighbors (former dead beats who had been resuscitated into new life) approached me to thank me for thinking of them this afternoon and leaving brochures in their doors and then complemented me on being a good soldier for Christ. Ooch. That hurt. Should I confess to them how I had been Friend’s hostage, dragged along unwillingly? No, I don’t have to admit a thing; I wasn’t on trial (anymore). Now however I was experiencing conflicting emotions, earlier I had been ashamed to hand out brochures now I was ashamed I’d been ashamed. Nothing a prayer of forgiveness wouldn’t wash away. When Jesus hung on his cross millennia ago, he’d already forgiven me.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
How ready is ready?
Here it goes again, I said to myself. I’m not going to let myself go into a tailspin this time; emotional roller coasters make me feel awful. I looked at the calendar as though I didn’t already know what it said. September 2008. I counted years off on my fingers, again something I do quite regularly. The end of the world has either been eight or two years overdue; I’m not much of a chronologist; is that a word? It seems God was 30 years late rescuing Israel from Egypt but I think he was on time for his birthday since it’s stated he arrived in the fullness of time. But the end of the world. Following the prophesies it seems like he’s way over due for the closing act. All this speculating makes me nervous. He shouldn’t have given us so much information to read in his word!!! If he doesn’t show up soon it looks like he was lying, if he does show up soon my life style will change forever. I hate change. I’m not sure I’m a big fan of surprises either.
In the earlier 1990’s I remember getting hit really hard with this scare. When troops from all over the globe met outside of Iraq to fight over oil or whatever men fight over I just knew it was time to go, and I didn’t feel totally ready. I had to face facts, it was the Middle East and the fight was over land and oil, I think. Politics always confuse me because there is usually some other hidden agenda. All I know is I almost quit work to stay home and get prepared. That was eighteen years ago. The last eighteen years have almost been business as usual. Sunday school classes, prayer meetings, church attendance, volunteer work. Surely I’ve had time to get ready!
Then in 2001 some towers in Manhattan got hit by planes. I was working that morning and I wanted to go home really bad. Things like national calamities send shivers up my spine. Imagine that. I work in surgery so packing up my things and walking out would have been patient abandonment. At the time I thought I would have bigger worries than that. All free personal were in the lounge watching the constant, live televising of thousands of people dying, including hundreds of brave firemen ascending stairwells to rescue trapped victims. Those in the operating room with me had me turn the radio on. We listened as we worked, making speculations as to the causes of three planes crashing on the same day, into major structures. I was sure I knew the answer. One of those in the operating field had me make some phone calls to look for her sister, who was guess where? In Manhattan on vacation. Thank heavens I could tell Glenda her sister was okay. Or was she. Did we have some bigger worries? Again I don’t know why I was worried. I should have been ecstatic, he was coming home! But I didn’t feel ready. I had slipped into complacency, concerned about worldly things. Change isn’t my biggest forte. I like consistency. That’s why I’ve never changed jobs though I’ve seen many employees come and go. Something about the unknown jiggles me up, rotates me around and sets me down upside down. It other words, it disorients me!
Okay we got through the Twin Towers saga with some scars, rising victoriously over our foes. Even though the newscasters thought we wanted every salacious detail of the skirmish poured into our living rooms every minute of the day causing many to suffer post traumatic stress syndrome that weren’t anywhere close to Manhattan or the battle fields of Iran, but were close to mail boxes that could contain envelopes of anthrax! I spent my time trying to psyche myself up, trying to get prepared for what knew was coming, and who I knew was coming, praying that he would let me catch hold of the tail of his mount (that’s a horse!) Of course, I spent a lot of time praying because that was seven years ago and I’m still here trying to get ready. Well, seven years of praying interrupted with tsunamis, earthquakes and contaminated food and toys. Yet life here doesn’t seem bad enough to give up yet. Is there something wrong with my thinking?
Now it’s September 2008 and the market has taken a plunge. I’m actually not scared. I don’t know why? It’s my nature to worry about my retirement. I’m more worried about why the market has dipped, dipped, tumbled, and nosedived. I pulled out my bible and scanned Revelations 18. Wow this sounds familiar. But then so did the crash of 1929, and black Friday of the 1980’s. I went to the window and looked up. I’m safe for now according to the cloudless blue skies. But for how long? God I’m not ready, I’m not good enough, I have too much to do, I thought. But since the day I got saved I knew this was coming. It’s not a bad thing. It’s a good thing. Go on girl, keep telling that to yourself! I recounted my life. I have wasted so much time. It’s not fair. I need more time. I want to die old, or suddenly. I don’t want to know when I get hit by a bus and dragged under. I feel like someone who knows the exact minute she will die (or change from terrestrial to celestial) and doesn’t embrace that knowledge with joy.
I made up my mind to stay ready. This resolution has been made several times. Once in the 80’s, 90’s, and several times in this century. That is how good resolutions are. I’ve made several New Year’s resolutions, one for everyday of the year. I wish knew where that list was.
I sat down with my bible, hoping to draw some comfort from it when…………………
Man I feel great! What is this feeling? Why is my back not hurting? Or my knees? Where is my bible? I had it just a minute ago. Where is my chair? Wait a minute! Where are the walls to my room? Where is the….ground! I looked down at my feet, the chipped nail polish was gone, and so was the earth! I was spinning, spiraling upward in a giant mist. No. This isn’t a mist. This is a cloud of people…bodies…souls! All wore surprised expressions. All were young, even those I recognized as old timers. All were wearing white robes. Some were holding hands. Some were scanning the area for others. I looked about for my father, please! Oh, wonderful, I see him up ahead, all crippling disfigurements and oxygen supplementation gone; I almost didn’t make him out. There were my kids I’d spent years praying for also. We’re all ascending upwards faster than the speed of light, ascending faster than the speed of light to a light, an enormous ball of light. No. A ball of white. An army of white horses. At the head of the army was the Commander on a perfect white steed. He passed within inches of me and I grabbed for the horse’s tail hoping to catch a secure ride, (fleetingly forgetting it was in the opposite direction!) briefly remembering my unworthiness. As I clung to the tail with all my soul, whizzing past the souls going upward, the commander who wore the title King of Kings and Lord of Lords on a very expensive breast plate,(he certainly wasn’t affected by the recent fall of the stock market) twisted in his saddle to confront me.
His eyes pierced my soul,(that was all that was left of the former me, my old carnal body was..where?). His lips curved up in a smile. He wasn’t angry with me for hitching a ride! Thank heavens! Then he spoke, his words were soft and sincere.
“You can let go now, you have been assured a place in my kingdom since they day you believed. Your service has been well appreciated over the years but your moment of trust in me was your pivotal point.” I gasped. All those years of worry, of feeling unworthy wiped away. My hands released their tight grasp of the poor horse’s tail who snorted with relief, and I automatically zoomed back upward while the army, the host of heaven, passed me on their way to complete written history, (written in the chapters of the book of Revelations!)
At the entrance of some enormous unidentified expensively ornamented flying object (Star Trek beware!) I zoomed up to one of twelve of the largest pearls I’d ever seen. The oysters that laid these needed gastric bypasses! As the crowd I was with entered into the pearl shaped openings we were escorted to various mansions. Yes mansions and we all had our own. Wow. Even I did. Me, who thought herself unworthy of such a prize! And here I was dreading change all those years! Change can be good I told myself. Better than good, it can be blessed. Settling in was going to take some time I discovered as my door bell started to ring with visitors welcoming me home.
Gen 15:13
Exo 12:40
Math 24:36-44
Eph 1:13-14
Eph 2:8-9
Gal 4:4
Revelations 18
Revelations 19
Revelation 21:9-23
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