Wednesday, February 11, 2009
the accident
I let the curtains fall back into place...again. How many times have I looked outside now just to watch the rain splatter in the moonlight? Sigh. Sigh. Pace. Pace. Waiting isn't one of my best pastimes. My son and his best friend were on their way back from a youth retreat. One was saved, had been saved for years, the other... well we' had been praying for just as many years for his salvation. We being my best friends, Angie and her husband Greg. Oh and Jeff of course had been praying. It was his idea to invite Randy to the retreat. We'd hope that this weekend would result in an answered prayer. Jeff and Randy had been best friends since birth. It was predestinated since Angie and I had been friends since birth.
I glanced at the annoyingly slow time piece on the wall. Why did the hands move fast when I was late for work but so slow when I sit up waiting for my son to come home? Hopefully with good news. He isn't even behind schedule yet, they had about an hour's worth of driving to do to get home. They should be here within the hour, if not then I will engage myself in real high tech worrying. Teenagers driving so far from home make me nervous, but they were both excellent drivers. At least when We were watching. Again, We, being Angie and myself. I've always heard kids put on a good show while driving when their parents are around so they can sweet talk us into extra privileges, like taking the car out of town for a weekend retreat.
I forced myself to relax for forty five minutes. If you call reading for five minutes, getting up and pacing, then re-reading the same paragraph relaxing I was doing a bang up job. Ah. The phone. Either Randy or Jeff must be calling to tell me they’re getting close. Good boys. Don't make mommy worry or she will cut back your curfew. They know how I think.
"Hello." I answered anticipating my son’s voice..
"Is this Mrs. Carson?" a stranger asked. An official sounding stranger.
"Yes." I answered hesitatingly.
"There has been an accident......." more words followed but my mind had shut down, however, not before I had heard the location! They were just around the corner. Almost home!
I didn’t say goodbye before I dropped the phone on the floor, and rushed out the door. The rain soaked through my night clothes before I reached my car. Then I had to go back inside to get my keys!
There were lights marking the accident scene: lights, blue lights, yellow lights, flashing lights. Lots of flashing lights. Lots of activity. The first mangled car I spotted made me gasp; it belonged to Angie and Greg, their two bodies were slumped in the front seat and police were hovering over them, no one was moving them to one of the ambulances parked about. They must not be hurt too bad. Or...no! I couldn't think the worst. I couldn't accept the worse. Angie and I had been friends since our diaper days. We had been born on the same day, in the same town, in the same hospital; that is how our mothers had met and become lifelong friends. We went to school together, become Christians and were baptized together, married together, had our sons, Randy and Jeff, together, though not in the same hospital on the same day; that would have been too creepy. We had prayed for our sons together. Prayed for their salvation. Rejoiced together when one finally accepted Jesus. Prayed together for the success of this weekend. Angie had been my solid rock through my husband's infidelities, then through my divorce. I needed her now!
I was instantaneously encircled by several police officers who barred my way and restrained me. My nightie was clinging to my body, my bare feet were scrapped and bleeding from the gravely street I had just run down. A street lined with on lookers, pointing, whispering, speculating.
I heard someone whisper, "That must be her, the mother of the one....."
"Shhh, she doesn't know yet." another voice responded.
A kind face under an umbrella asked me if there was anyone she could call for me as she wrapped an overcoat around me, her overcoat, to provide me warmth and offer some decency from the gown that was plastered against me revealing way more than should be seen. I was fighting furiously to get loose from the well meaning cops, my wet arms were too slick for the officers to keep a steady hold on and I broke free, several times. The policemen grouped together and tried to regain a grip on me but Umbrella lady pushed them back with a no nonsense look that kept the strong law enforcement officials at bay.
There they were; Randy and Jeff! Jeff's body was reclining, Randy was sitting up, bent forward at the waist, his face in his hands. He was crying and sobbing while paramedics worked on Jeff. The paramedics eventually stood up and shook their heads. Oh no. Randy sobbed harder, then he saw me and his face lit up, but only momentarily. I ran to him and clutched him hard. Hard and secure. Then I sat down beside Jeff and gripped his hand while Randy wailed. It was alright for him to cry like a baby.
Jeff didn't look like Jeff. I've known him all his life and I couldn't recognize him! A mother, a father, a son. Dead. A complete family; three fourths of the people who meant anything to me; who met everything to me. It was just Randy and me now. He had been driving when the full day's activities followed by the long drive (and a secret bottle of beer he had snuck in his backpack and enjoyed while Jeff snored in the passenger seat) had had its affects on him causing him to become groggy and doze off briefly. Doze off going forty miles an hour. Briefly, but long enough for him to not notice the light turn yellow, then red, that was when he careened into Angie's car as she and Greg were heading home to be there before their son. Now, at sixteen Randy was responsible for the death of three people. I clung tightly to him and we wept and wept. We wept till the police separated us, handcuffed him and drove him to jail, leaving me standing there, soaking wet, and muddy, barefooted and cold. And in shock.
Umbrella lady had stayed by me and offered to drive me home in my car. She was a godsend since there was no way I was safe behind a steering wheel myself right now, even for only a few blocks. She not only drove me home, she stayed with me, fixing me some tea, tea that had a calming effect on me. Tea I’ve never tasted before. I wondered where it had come from as my eyelids slowly closed. I had ephemeral thought I’d been drugged. Umbrella lady proceeded to assist me to my bed where she undressed me, sponged bathed me,dried me off, re-gowned me, and tucked me under the covers. Oh, it felt so good to have someone nurturing me right now. (How did she know where everything was?) Umbrella lady had the uncanny common sense of not bothering to be overly eloquent. She just was there, quietly seeing me through my nightmare. I woke up once in the night to see her sitting by my bed, eyes focused upward, lips moving, then pausing, then moving again as though she was carrying on a conversation with someone…or something. Whatever had been in that tea was strong stuff if it was making her hallucinate!
In the morning Umbrella Lady was gone. I had no way to contact her, to thank her. All I could do was pass my thanks on to God who I hoped would deliver them to Umbrella lady, via his messenger the Holy Spirit. It stunned me that after last night I had any thanks left in me. There was one more thing to be thankful for. The Teenage boy that still lived was the one that hadn’t been saved yet. That had not found Jesus at the retreat, though Jesus had been there looking for him. How could he have missed out on such blessing over the weekend?
What followed were weeks of blurry actions and reactions. First there were three well attended funerals that sent three wonderful people off in grandeur. People I would see again, not in this lifetime but in the next, longer, eternal lifetime. The funerals were followed by court appearances, then a trial and sentencing for Randy. I stayed by his side, not condemning him for his mistake, holding out hope to him, giving assurances that things would work out. That God was still in control. That Angie, Greg and Jeff were home in heaven after their brief sojourn here on earth. That they had died knowing without a doubt they would join Christ at the throne.
As Randy served his time he was visited often by church members who counseled him. He was full of anger about a God that allowed this to happen, that had taken people like Angie, Greg and Jeff instead of him. They were Christians, they had trusted in God and where had it gotten them? If God existed he picked the wrong persons to die that night, he was the one that deserved death, not them. The church family answered some questions for him; made him still feel loved and unlocked the world of salvation and redemption to him. The world of forgiveness. At last, the moment Angie and I had prayed for for years had come. Randy accepted Jesus as Lord and Savior and was baptized behind bars. The metal bars held him in captivity but his spiritual prison opened up and let him free. He took courses in religion while in confinement. He grew in spirit. He healed. Healing from his mental injuries was a choice and his choice was the peace of God that he accepted on his seventeenth birthday.
At last the day arrived when I could pick Randy up from juvenile detention and take him home. A son would be sleeping under my roof again. I opened up the door to the bedroom that I had prepared for his homecoming. He blinked back tears at the photos on the dresser of Jeff and him as they were growing up. In softball, football, hockey, cub scouts, boy scouts. Manly sports. Bonding sports. He let some tears slide down his cheeks as he picked up Jeff's baptismal picture. His best friend had been the first to make a profession of faith and had tried to convince him that he needed Jesus in his life. It took the death of Angie, Greg and Jeff to persuade Randy of his need for forgiveness and salvation from his private hell.
I took the picture from Randy's hand and gazed into the eyes of my son.
"Jeff wouldn't have wanted to live if you had died without Jesus." I said putting the photo back in place so I could retrieve the picture of Angie, Greg and their son and said, “Angie and I shared everything growing up. We swopped clothes, records, videos, makeup, books, and now we’ve swopped sons. I’m confident that she is taking good care of Jeff in heaven. Now it’s up to me to take good care of you till we get to see our families again.”
Up above Umbrella Lady smiled and passed the tea kettle to an excited Angie, Greg and Jeff for refills as they breathlessly watched the unfolding drama on the big screen television in God’s throne room. Greg and Angie held hands, delighted that they would see their son again someday, and Jeff…well he was grateful his mom had someone to watch over her till they met again.
Umbrella Lady pulled her beeping pager out of her white gown's pocket, spread her wings and descended earthward to comfort another one of God’s children walk through the valley of the shadow of death.
psalm 23
john 3:16
2 corin. 2:15
col 1:13
hebrews 11:13
2 peter 3:1
Saturday, December 27, 2008
the message
Boss and I stared at each other. Then we stared some more. Where was the punch line? His son reached over and reunited my lower and upper jaw with a slight upward push on my mandible before I started drooling. That would have been real dignified. I was trying to process this mission. These two had to be playing a joke but their faces said they were as serious as sin.
“You need to pack and get going,” Boss announced. He knew I wouldn’t decline the undertaking. No one here ever rejected his commands…er…proposals. Well one group had eons ago, (I shuddered in memory,) and they lived to regret it. ”Here is a picture to help you identify our goal.”
I placed the proffered photo in my breast pocket, after studying it, awed that I’d been selected to deliver such a mind-blowing message. Boss and his son shook my hands heartily, and then embraced me enthusiastically, demonstrating their confidence in me. Confidence I was hoping I wouldn’t extinguish.
In my room while I was gathering my necessary travel kit some buddies entered, curious as to my conference with the big guy. Their jaws did the same dislocation movement mine had, plus their eyes protruded out inches from their eye sockets. Green with envy. I loved it. I’d love it even better if I wasn’t in shock. What an honor had been bestowed on me! Wait. What if I messed it up? What if I dropped the ball? I think I was starting to hyperventilate, an unusual experience for me indeed.
“Whoa there! Take a deep breath and slow down!” Mike demanded, easing me unto a soft fluffy cushion. Like I needed oxygen, ridiculous. “Maybe we better go with him,” he suggested to Jim.
“We don’t have permission.” Jim countered.
“We weren’t told what to do with our time off, either.”
Jim frowned at this possibility. It bordered on fraudulence, but, he reasoned, it was a large border. Looking over at me, as I swayed sideways, he laid his cards down, “Alright, let’s do it!”
“This doesn’t look like the right place,” Jim announced seconds later when we landed.
“How can you tell?” Mike asked.
“By the teepees and buffalo,” Jim answered. “They’re not native to our target’s homeland.”
I had to agree, we over shot our mark. I had always been bad in math. We used the GPS next to guarantee a successful, accurate landing. It was just like us men to feel we could find someplace on our own. If there were any women around we’d never use this silly device.
The three of us finally arrived in the mid afternoon at the correct location and started searching for our objective. It was a small humble village so it shouldn’t take us long. Or so we thought. The streets were crowded with merchants selling baskets, trinkets and jewelry. Vacationers were plentiful, pushing and shoving each other about. And beggars; hundreds abounded with hands stuck out reaching for, or trying to pilfer from, unwatchful suspects.
We looked at each other and pulled our coat collars up and our hat brims down. It wouldn’t do to be recognized. One glimpse at our visages would start a mass riot. People would be hurt. Or healed. And that wasn’t the present function of our operation. We could bring death and healing any day. This mission was more unique.
“The best place to start will be at the school,” I suggested, pulling out the snapshot. We all studied it carefully, as though we’d be able to get a good view of Her face considering the current dressing style included head veils that wrapped around the neck, mouth and nose.
At the school kids were milling about visiting or studying. Mostly visiting, times hadn’t improved that much that kids actually liked homework! And of course all the women were practically hooded. We would need a miracle to find Her. Suddenly, a miracle occurred. A gust of wind passed through sending veils fluttering upwards.
“There she is!” I cried.
Jim and Mike looked over to see a teenager with piercings in her nose, lips, cheeks and ears; lots of jewelry in her ears. Her hair was red, blue and spiked. Hints of tattoos peeked up over her neckline. The breeze passed letting her veil fall back in place. Apparently veiling women for decency also protected the family’s secret afflictions.
“That’s going to be the…..” Jim started to stutter.
“She’s the ……”Mike failed to finish his thoughts.
“No, you goof balls, the one behind her!”
Sure enough an awkward gangly girl stepped out from behind Pierced Woman, nearly tripping over her robe’s long dangling cloth belt. Her arms flailed in the air as she regained balance, without dropping her books. She was the picture of innocence, if not poise.
“Well go on,” Jim shoved me forward. “Go give her the message!”
I gawked at Jim. “This is not the kind of message that warrants and audience. I need to get her alone.”
We followed her all day. She was never alone. First she was with her brothers as they walked her home, and then she was with her whole family. No one had separate sleeping quarters. She shared a room with six sisters.
We sat in a tree outside Her house with mounting frustration as the evening planets came out of hiding and the sun set beyond the edges of the world. Catching Her alone could take forever in a culture where woman were never left unattended. Maybe this wasn’t such an honor after all. Maybe it was a nasty trick to test my patience; the Lord knew I needed some coaching in that area. Whatever the difficulties were I felt like we were dangerously close to being labeled as stalkers.
“Hey, look! Here she comes!” Jim squealed.
Sure enough, She came out the back door, by herself, not counting the family cat, and headed to the dumpster with the dinners scraps, tugging clumsily at the hefty trash bag. No wonder women weren’t left alone, the men needed them for the dirty work.
“Now’s your chance!” My friends cried in unison.
They were right but I was frozen. Frozen and speechless. Stage struck. This woman was going to be …..I couldn’t energize myself to approach her. I was weakening fast. My companions sensed my abject terror and as good friends should do they lent me a hand. They pushed me off my perch! I landed with a decorous plop right in front of Her! Using my polished skills I bounced back to my feet, looking as though I had landed as intended. I shot my friends a killing look. Friends! With friends like them, I already had enemies.
“Who are you?” She cried, almost stumbling backwards into the trash can. “Never mind, you better get away before my fiancé finds you here. He’ll rip you to shreds!”
I stood there staring. This woman was going to help change the course of history. She was no bit player, no character actor. I had no idea how to begin. I was so privileged to be in Her presence I was immobilized. I, a warrior, was weak kneed in Her presence. Mike covered his face with his hands, sharing my humiliation, while Jim wrote furiously on the palm of his hand the dialogue I was suppose to have with the started maiden and raised it up for me to see.
Great. Cleft notes. I squinted to read Jim’s palm high in the tree while Mike sprinkled star dust powder downwards on me for special effect. (like we really needed special effects!) I started to feel my potency grow. I inhaled a lungful of air as my celestial form started to glow with the radiance that comes from having been in the presence of Him.
I fanned out my wings and began, “Hail Mary, full of grace, blessed will you be among all women, and blessed will be the fruit of your womb!”…I didn’t get any farther because She, the earthling who had been chosen to birth Boss’s son, passed out, spilling refuse and landing on the cat. Well, she may be full of grace, but apparently that’s not the same as graceful.
This was obviously a great tension breaker as Jim and Mike began to hoot. They were so tickled feathers drifted off of them down to the ground in piles. It would serve them right if they became bald-winged. I on the other had would need extensive therapy. There were bound to be eternal consequences for causing the future mother of God to lie in apple and potato peelings.
It took two attempts at resuscitation for me to complete my monologue and by then I was ready to make tracks in the sky.
Back at the office, Boss and his son congratulated me on a job well done. I honestly don’t think they’re as omnipresent as they claim. If they thought I’d done a good job they obviously hadn’t been watching, but I wasn’t going to squabble. They also gave me a communiqué to deliver to Jim and Mike. Boy, I was going to love this.
In the break room I found Mike and Jim regaling everyone with my efforts at passing on the announcement to a semi comatose young girl lying in dinner remnants that she was going to have the long awaited savior. Everyone was having a good laugh at my expense. Oh, well.
“Hey, no hard feelings, right?” Jim queried.
“Pooh, of course not. That had to have looked humorous.” I said as I poured some coffee to go with my fresh baked manna. “Oh, by the way, I have a message for you guys too.”
Mike and Jim leaned back in their chairs and waited while I doctored up my coffee with creamer and sugar, sat down and carved up my nourishment with knife and fork, tucked a napkin under my chin then……..
“Well, what is it?” The strain was getting to them. Good, they deserved it.
“Nothing big, apparently it’s your job to convince some guy name Joseph his fiancé didn’t get pregnant the usual way before he divorces or stones her.”
Two chairs fell backwards with a thud. I picked up my coffee and toasted the two unconscious angels as our friends burst into laughter. "No hard feelings, right?”
Isaiah 7:14
Isaiah 9:6
Math 1:18-25
Luke 1:26-33
Luke 1:46-56
Gal. 4:4-5
Phil. 2:5-11
Sunday, November 30, 2008
The River Ride
"River ride
It had to be nine at night. I checked the time on my cell phone. Nope, one thirty in the afternoon. I knew that, but the dark sky hoodwinked me. I kept thinking that with every group of teenagers that exited the building I’d spot the one that belonged to me, Cindy, my daughter. She was probably somewhere practicing her major, socializing. She would be a great public relations worker some day.
A crack of lightening followed by a clap of thunder sent Scruffy, my occasionally timid terrier, into a tailspin, something that is literal with dogs. He hated this weather. I loved it. "I
Love A Rainy Night" kept going through my head. I wish I could carry a tune and remember stanzas to songs I adore, but alas, musical talent isn’t in my DNA, it wasn’t passed down to me or anyone else in my immediate family, I realized as Scruffy sent out another yowl.
The next flash of God’s light revealed what I’d been waiting for, Cindy. She was walking a guy to the bike rack, talking nonstop. He worked at our favorite pizza hangout, Dan; I think his name tag had said. He was listening (I assumed) nonstop. I never saw his lips move, but he did have the opportunity to shake his head, once or twice.
Cindy finally shrugged and looked around for me. I wasn’t hard to find as I was the last vehicle left. Dan swung his legs over a bike and took off over the terrain. Smart, he doesn’t have to deal with the traffic, just people angry about his damaging their yards, that is if they could catch him! I’d like to see those leg muscles, wow, look at him go.
“You should have offered that young man a ride,” I stated.
“Oh, why didn’t I think of that?” Oh, oh. Some boy didn’t succumb to her charms; this was going to be a rocky ride.
Cindy climbed into the back seat with Scruffy so she could brood over a lost conquest.
Lightening, thunder, barking, whining. The cycle repeated, this time Scruffy leapt over the back seat, jumped down to the floorboard at my feet, and tapped the gas pedal with his paw. His eyes said, ”take a hint lady.” I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, “Scary little dog.” Scared little dog was more like it. He had more sense than me sitting out here in a rain storm not moving towards safety.
The downpour started off by splattering the windshield. Even with my high beams on if it wasn’t for the perpetual lightening I wouldn’t have been able to see the road. Was it really only two o’clock P.M? The roads were disappearing under a layer of liquid, mixed with leaves and other signs of an inconsiderate civilization.
When the weather is intense I usually prefer to drive in quiet, hands tight on the steering device, my back ramrod stiff, hiding, unsuccessfully, nerves on the verge of panic, so I reached to turn off the radio that was announcing a recent burglary at a local fast food place. Not my problem.
A car sped by throwing buckets of water over my car momentarily obscuring my view. I missed the curve ahead and slid into a river of churning disaster. This was a good time to panic. Scruffy, who’d been barking wildly until now decided it was time to shut up and kiss his….back end…goodbye.
The car bobbed up and down, pushed by the current, bouncing off of tree trunks and river bed rubbish until it got trapped by a damn of junk. Thank god for inconsiderate civilization. Cindy and I tried desperately to free ourselves from our new submarine.
Hands reached into my window and tugged on my arm, assisting me through the opening. Four paws jumped on my back and; using my shoulder as a spring board Scruffy leapt into the air, missing the bank by inches, and splashed into the muddy torrential death trap. I got a view of a hairy head dipping up and down as it was hurtled further out of reach then out of sight.
“Scruffy! Oh, God, Scruffy!” I wailed as rain sloshed over my face and flooded my mouth, chocking me. I no longer loved a rainy night! Cindy was pulled out after me with a horrified expression on her face.
“Where’s scruffy?” She cried looking down river. “We’ve got to find him!”
“He’ll be okay, baby, that dog’s a survivor.” I tried to lie to myself as much as to Cindy. I didn’t believe me, I hoped she did. There wasn’t a blessed thing we could do for Scruffy right now except to pray and hope. As we searched the distant river bank for signs of our little buddy the head board from someone’s discarded bed slammed against our car, shifted its precarious position and sent it sailing out of sight.
I turned to our hero, Dan! The boy from school and our waiter at Pizza Paradise!
“Thank god you happened by when you did!”
“Happened by, I heard your screams for help! I couldn’t believe anything could be heard over the caterwauling of this storm!”
Cindy and I exchanged looks. We hadn’t screamed for help. We hadn’t even had time to realize our dilemma as fast as everything happened, but now it was obvious we had been in deep….manure.
“You guys are in shock, come with me!” Dan ordered, taking charge with his testosterone and steering us uphill. Up a muddy rain soaked hill. Through soggy trees that offered no protection from the downpour. My shoes stuck deep into the earth and made a sucking noise with every step I managed. I could hear Cindy sobbing behind me. Oh how we had loved that little fellow, despite his eccentricities. Not had, do, we do love that little fellow. And we will always love him. We’ll find him, I persuaded myself.
We made it to a rickety cabin someone had built centuries ago and had long abandoned through death. It appeared someone had been squatting in it I realized as we entered and shook droplets the size of grapes off us. There was a kerosene heater present that had my name all over it and Cindy and I fought for dominance in front of the warm blaze. She’s fifteen, I don’t have to baby her anymore, it’s a fight for self survival now, I thought as I sneezed once, twice three times.
“Let me in, Mom!” Cindy wailed giving me the hip move.
“Here, take those clothes off and wrap up in these blankets.” Dan ordered.
We exchanged more looks; Cindy was not about to get undressed in a room with a teenage Lancelot, not her choice, mine! I certainly wasn’t going to ask her what her wishes were!
“Oh give me a break!”Dan moaned stepping into another room, a room whose wooden walls had several gaps. Yea, I was about to believe an adolescent boy! I watch TV. I know a thing or two about teenagers and what I don’t know, well I can just imagine!
After Cindy and I shed our wet attire (except for our undergarments), spread them out in front of the kerosene burner, and wrapped up in fleece blankets I peeked through one of the many breaches in the wall only to see Dan stuffing some money from his bulging pockets into a tin can that held more of the same green leafy currency. I pulled back swiftly before he caught me spying on him. Why would he have money here of all places. I contemplatively ruminated on the situation (those were two of my Reader Digest words for the month, good huh?) An abandoned cabin? Or his hideout? No, his home, I realized. Bedding in the form of a sleeping bag, food stuff on shelves, food wrappers on the floor, school books on a small desk, rather on a wooden slat held up by a piles of bricks, all indicated this was home. Also, clothes were spread out hither and thither in the style of male decorating.
Dan came back to the room and started fixing some hot cocoa over a grill. He caught me observing him and averted his eyes.
“This is just a hidey-hole I spend time in to give my parent’s a break.” He offered. No eye contact. Yea, right. Poor kid. What about the money? The burglary at a fast food place! Wasn’t that a pizza place they named. Wasn’t it the one Dan worked in? Oh, my gosh! Cindy and I are practically naked with a thief. Is this the same as being in bed with bad company? Oh, hurry up and dry out, I mentally shouted to our clothes.
Cindy was ready to go on a man hunt (er, dog hunt) for Scruffy the minute the rain let up and there was no holding her back. I couldn’t blame her; I was just as concerned for his well fare as she was, but more concerned for ours.
We followed the trail back to the river which was slowly shallowing out (not a Reader’s Digest word, but it fits for me). Cindy in search of Scruffy. Me in search of my car and cell phone. I needed the police and only I knew what trouble we were in. I hadn’t had a moment alone to confide in Cindy.
Well there was our car, window deep in sewage that polluted the once pristine river (well it was pristine centuries ago before man got here!)
“Nice going mom, at least we had this car for six months!”
“Hey, no fair, it wasn’t my fault this time!” Boy was I touchy about my driving skills, or lack of.
No way was I going to swim out to the wreckage and ferret out my purse.
“Scruffy!” Cindy bellowed, startling me and reminding me of our primary mission. No answering shout, er, bark.
“Whose there!” Someone yelled in the distance.
“Scruffy?!” Cindy answered back.
“Cindy, that’s not scruffy,” I explained patiently to my delusional off spring, though I wouldn’t be surprised if that mutt could communicate using the English language. I called out, “Over here.”
Two well dressed men came into view, carrying a duffle bag. Clean cut young men, nice. Maybe they had a cell phone, if I could just ask them nonchalantly to call 911 because we had a thug here, ready to be sent to juvie hall. Hope the reward would cover the cost of a new car. The newcomers had flooded out their engine in a swamped road dip and were trying to find their way back to civilization. Their phones had been incapacitated in the deluge also. Great.
As Dan and Cindy travelled further down the embankment seeking out doggy prints I confided in the two newcomers, “I believe this guy robbed the Pizza Paradise this afternoon.”
“What makes you think that?” The tallest guy asked.
I divulged all my suspicions in as much of a whisper as I could muster, pleased to have the protection of these strong looking young men. Their eyes widened when my scoop culminated with the bundle I saw Dan stuff into a tin can filled with more of the same.
Dan and Cindy back tracked to my little group.
The shortest guy reached into his jacket and pulled out a ….is that really a gun? Wonderfu;l that was better than a phone. I felt much safer now. I grabbed Cindy to my side.
“Mom, what’s going on?”
“It’s alright honey; these guys are going to take care of everything.” I confided while Dan’s eyes popped out of his head.
“All of you, back to the cabin!” Tall Man ordered.”
“Let’s just go to the police.” I suggested, "They have a station down that way.” I waved off to the west, east, north. Oh, heck, I waved to the left. The police station was that way.
“No, you all come with us,” Short Man said, casually waving his weapon about.
“Mom, what’s going on?”Cindy repeated, clinging to Dan who was slowing maneuvering her behind him, presumably to safety. Yea, after the first shot and he falls, who gets to protect the damsel in distress then? Such a last effort show of bravado.
“Your mom just told us how we can diversify our portfolio. Stock from pizzas and now from this guy here. Now move it!” Short Man shoved me with his free hand. Oh, I hate being pushed around.
Suddenly an enormous wet bat dropped out of the sky and latched on to Short Man’s wrist with razor sharp teeth, causing him to release his revolver to the ground with the most painful howl I’ve ever heard. Dan and Tall Man lurched for the pistol. Somehow my foot got in Tall Man’s way sending him face down into muddy leaves. Dan stood up a winner with the trophy. Yea! Or Yikes! Would he use that on the foolish woman who nearly got us killed by jumping to conclusions?
A police helicopter came into view and hovered over us, “Drop the gun and raise your hands!” Bellowed down to us. Tall Man swung the duffel bag into the nearby foliage.
Our hands shot up. Shot up. Good play on words. Instantly police swarmed the vicinity handcuffing suspects and questioning the others. They had received a tip about the thief’s getaway car being located nearby.
The wet bat was now prancing about my feet as I shrieked for help, “Get this thing away from me!”
“Mom! That’s scruffy!” Cindy exclaimed, scooping up the filth plastered love of our lives. After a time of frenzied face lapping, he leapt from her arms and dragged Tall Man’s duffel bag to the police who found lots of dough inside, and not pizza dough.
As it turned out it wasn’t the Pizza Paradise that had been robbed, but Pizza Palace, and the money that Dan had was hard earned working cash he was saving for a better life. The life he had now, he explained, held a father that was a drunken…donkey (or something like that) and a mother that was a cheap…loose woman (or something like that).
I couldn’t apologize enough to Dan, though he claimed he understood and forgave me. He was guided by the police to an organization that helped kids in his situation and could provide running water, electricity, and a dormitory like room for him till he graduated from high school. And he was always going to be welcomed at our home.
After we were deposited at our house Cindy asked, “How do you suppose Scruffy fell from the sky like that?”
“He must have…., well, he could have…maybe…Shoot don’t ask me! That dog has always been strange!”
Scruffy serenely eyed me as he was being petted by his two friends who had pulled him to safety and thrown him like a football at Short Man. The same two friends who had called for Dan to come to our aid and used my (dead) cell phone to tip off the police. The very two who had guarded Cindy and me from our births yet we never aware of. Thank God for invisible friends, er... gaudian angels!.
It had to be nine at night. I checked the time on my cell phone. Nope, one thirty in the afternoon. I knew that, but the dark sky hoodwinked me. I kept thinking that with every group of teenagers that exited the building I’d spot the one that belonged to me, Cindy, my daughter. She was probably somewhere practicing her major, socializing. She would be a great public relations worker some day.
A crack of lightening followed by a clap of thunder sent Scruffy, my occasionally timid terrier, into a tailspin, something that is literal with dogs. He hated this weather. I loved it. "I
Love A Rainy Night" kept going through my head. I wish I could carry a tune and remember stanzas to songs I adore, but alas, musical talent isn’t in my DNA, it wasn’t passed down to me or anyone else in my immediate family, I realized as Scruffy sent out another yowl.
The next flash of God’s light revealed what I’d been waiting for, Cindy. She was walking a guy to the bike rack, talking nonstop. He worked at our favorite pizza hangout, Dan; I think his name tag had said. He was listening (I assumed) nonstop. I never saw his lips move, but he did have the opportunity to shake his head, once or twice.
Cindy finally shrugged and looked around for me. I wasn’t hard to find as I was the last vehicle left. Dan swung his legs over a bike and took off over the terrain. Smart, he doesn’t have to deal with the traffic, just people angry about his damaging their yards, that is if they could catch him! I’d like to see those leg muscles, wow, look at him go.
“You should have offered that young man a ride,” I stated.
“Oh, why didn’t I think of that?” Oh, oh. Some boy didn’t succumb to her charms; this was going to be a rocky ride.
Cindy climbed into the back seat with Scruffy so she could brood over a lost conquest.
Lightening, thunder, barking, whining. The cycle repeated, this time Scruffy leapt over the back seat, jumped down to the floorboard at my feet, and tapped the gas pedal with his paw. His eyes said, ”take a hint lady.” I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, “Scary little dog.” Scared little dog was more like it. He had more sense than me sitting out here in a rain storm not moving towards safety.
The downpour started off by splattering the windshield. Even with my high beams on if it wasn’t for the perpetual lightening I wouldn’t have been able to see the road. Was it really only two o’clock P.M? The roads were disappearing under a layer of liquid, mixed with leaves and other signs of an inconsiderate civilization.
When the weather is intense I usually prefer to drive in quiet, hands tight on the steering device, my back ramrod stiff, hiding, unsuccessfully, nerves on the verge of panic, so I reached to turn off the radio that was announcing a recent burglary at a local fast food place. Not my problem.
A car sped by throwing buckets of water over my car momentarily obscuring my view. I missed the curve ahead and slid into a river of churning disaster. This was a good time to panic. Scruffy, who’d been barking wildly until now decided it was time to shut up and kiss his….back end…goodbye.
The car bobbed up and down, pushed by the current, bouncing off of tree trunks and river bed rubbish until it got trapped by a damn of junk. Thank god for inconsiderate civilization. Cindy and I tried desperately to free ourselves from our new submarine.
Hands reached into my window and tugged on my arm, assisting me through the opening. Four paws jumped on my back and; using my shoulder as a spring board Scruffy leapt into the air, missing the bank by inches, and splashed into the muddy torrential death trap. I got a view of a hairy head dipping up and down as it was hurtled further out of reach then out of sight.
“Scruffy! Oh, God, Scruffy!” I wailed as rain sloshed over my face and flooded my mouth, chocking me. I no longer loved a rainy night! Cindy was pulled out after me with a horrified expression on her face.
“Where’s scruffy?” She cried looking down river. “We’ve got to find him!”
“He’ll be okay, baby, that dog’s a survivor.” I tried to lie to myself as much as to Cindy. I didn’t believe me, I hoped she did. There wasn’t a blessed thing we could do for Scruffy right now except to pray and hope. As we searched the distant river bank for signs of our little buddy the head board from someone’s discarded bed slammed against our car, shifted its precarious position and sent it sailing out of sight.
I turned to our hero, Dan! The boy from school and our waiter at Pizza Paradise!
“Thank god you happened by when you did!”
“Happened by, I heard your screams for help! I couldn’t believe anything could be heard over the caterwauling of this storm!”
Cindy and I exchanged looks. We hadn’t screamed for help. We hadn’t even had time to realize our dilemma as fast as everything happened, but now it was obvious we had been in deep….manure.
“You guys are in shock, come with me!” Dan ordered, taking charge with his testosterone and steering us uphill. Up a muddy rain soaked hill. Through soggy trees that offered no protection from the downpour. My shoes stuck deep into the earth and made a sucking noise with every step I managed. I could hear Cindy sobbing behind me. Oh how we had loved that little fellow, despite his eccentricities. Not had, do, we do love that little fellow. And we will always love him. We’ll find him, I persuaded myself.
We made it to a rickety cabin someone had built centuries ago and had long abandoned through death. It appeared someone had been squatting in it I realized as we entered and shook droplets the size of grapes off us. There was a kerosene heater present that had my name all over it and Cindy and I fought for dominance in front of the warm blaze. She’s fifteen, I don’t have to baby her anymore, it’s a fight for self survival now, I thought as I sneezed once, twice three times.
“Let me in, Mom!” Cindy wailed giving me the hip move.
“Here, take those clothes off and wrap up in these blankets.” Dan ordered.
We exchanged more looks; Cindy was not about to get undressed in a room with a teenage Lancelot, not her choice, mine! I certainly wasn’t going to ask her what her wishes were!
“Oh give me a break!”Dan moaned stepping into another room, a room whose wooden walls had several gaps. Yea, I was about to believe an adolescent boy! I watch TV. I know a thing or two about teenagers and what I don’t know, well I can just imagine!
After Cindy and I shed our wet attire (except for our undergarments), spread them out in front of the kerosene burner, and wrapped up in fleece blankets I peeked through one of the many breaches in the wall only to see Dan stuffing some money from his bulging pockets into a tin can that held more of the same green leafy currency. I pulled back swiftly before he caught me spying on him. Why would he have money here of all places. I contemplatively ruminated on the situation (those were two of my Reader Digest words for the month, good huh?) An abandoned cabin? Or his hideout? No, his home, I realized. Bedding in the form of a sleeping bag, food stuff on shelves, food wrappers on the floor, school books on a small desk, rather on a wooden slat held up by a piles of bricks, all indicated this was home. Also, clothes were spread out hither and thither in the style of male decorating.
Dan came back to the room and started fixing some hot cocoa over a grill. He caught me observing him and averted his eyes.
“This is just a hidey-hole I spend time in to give my parent’s a break.” He offered. No eye contact. Yea, right. Poor kid. What about the money? The burglary at a fast food place! Wasn’t that a pizza place they named. Wasn’t it the one Dan worked in? Oh, my gosh! Cindy and I are practically naked with a thief. Is this the same as being in bed with bad company? Oh, hurry up and dry out, I mentally shouted to our clothes.
Cindy was ready to go on a man hunt (er, dog hunt) for Scruffy the minute the rain let up and there was no holding her back. I couldn’t blame her; I was just as concerned for his well fare as she was, but more concerned for ours.
We followed the trail back to the river which was slowly shallowing out (not a Reader’s Digest word, but it fits for me). Cindy in search of Scruffy. Me in search of my car and cell phone. I needed the police and only I knew what trouble we were in. I hadn’t had a moment alone to confide in Cindy.
Well there was our car, window deep in sewage that polluted the once pristine river (well it was pristine centuries ago before man got here!)
“Nice going mom, at least we had this car for six months!”
“Hey, no fair, it wasn’t my fault this time!” Boy was I touchy about my driving skills, or lack of.
No way was I going to swim out to the wreckage and ferret out my purse.
“Scruffy!” Cindy bellowed, startling me and reminding me of our primary mission. No answering shout, er, bark.
“Whose there!” Someone yelled in the distance.
“Scruffy?!” Cindy answered back.
“Cindy, that’s not scruffy,” I explained patiently to my delusional off spring, though I wouldn’t be surprised if that mutt could communicate using the English language. I called out, “Over here.”
Two well dressed men came into view, carrying a duffle bag. Clean cut young men, nice. Maybe they had a cell phone, if I could just ask them nonchalantly to call 911 because we had a thug here, ready to be sent to juvie hall. Hope the reward would cover the cost of a new car. The newcomers had flooded out their engine in a swamped road dip and were trying to find their way back to civilization. Their phones had been incapacitated in the deluge also. Great.
As Dan and Cindy travelled further down the embankment seeking out doggy prints I confided in the two newcomers, “I believe this guy robbed the Pizza Paradise this afternoon.”
“What makes you think that?” The tallest guy asked.
I divulged all my suspicions in as much of a whisper as I could muster, pleased to have the protection of these strong looking young men. Their eyes widened when my scoop culminated with the bundle I saw Dan stuff into a tin can filled with more of the same.
Dan and Cindy back tracked to my little group.
The shortest guy reached into his jacket and pulled out a ….is that really a gun? Wonderfu;l that was better than a phone. I felt much safer now. I grabbed Cindy to my side.
“Mom, what’s going on?”
“It’s alright honey; these guys are going to take care of everything.” I confided while Dan’s eyes popped out of his head.
“All of you, back to the cabin!” Tall Man ordered.”
“Let’s just go to the police.” I suggested, "They have a station down that way.” I waved off to the west, east, north. Oh, heck, I waved to the left. The police station was that way.
“No, you all come with us,” Short Man said, casually waving his weapon about.
“Mom, what’s going on?”Cindy repeated, clinging to Dan who was slowing maneuvering her behind him, presumably to safety. Yea, after the first shot and he falls, who gets to protect the damsel in distress then? Such a last effort show of bravado.
“Your mom just told us how we can diversify our portfolio. Stock from pizzas and now from this guy here. Now move it!” Short Man shoved me with his free hand. Oh, I hate being pushed around.
Suddenly an enormous wet bat dropped out of the sky and latched on to Short Man’s wrist with razor sharp teeth, causing him to release his revolver to the ground with the most painful howl I’ve ever heard. Dan and Tall Man lurched for the pistol. Somehow my foot got in Tall Man’s way sending him face down into muddy leaves. Dan stood up a winner with the trophy. Yea! Or Yikes! Would he use that on the foolish woman who nearly got us killed by jumping to conclusions?
A police helicopter came into view and hovered over us, “Drop the gun and raise your hands!” Bellowed down to us. Tall Man swung the duffel bag into the nearby foliage.
Our hands shot up. Shot up. Good play on words. Instantly police swarmed the vicinity handcuffing suspects and questioning the others. They had received a tip about the thief’s getaway car being located nearby.
The wet bat was now prancing about my feet as I shrieked for help, “Get this thing away from me!”
“Mom! That’s scruffy!” Cindy exclaimed, scooping up the filth plastered love of our lives. After a time of frenzied face lapping, he leapt from her arms and dragged Tall Man’s duffel bag to the police who found lots of dough inside, and not pizza dough.
As it turned out it wasn’t the Pizza Paradise that had been robbed, but Pizza Palace, and the money that Dan had was hard earned working cash he was saving for a better life. The life he had now, he explained, held a father that was a drunken…donkey (or something like that) and a mother that was a cheap…loose woman (or something like that).
I couldn’t apologize enough to Dan, though he claimed he understood and forgave me. He was guided by the police to an organization that helped kids in his situation and could provide running water, electricity, and a dormitory like room for him till he graduated from high school. And he was always going to be welcomed at our home.
After we were deposited at our house Cindy asked, “How do you suppose Scruffy fell from the sky like that?”
“He must have…., well, he could have…maybe…Shoot don’t ask me! That dog has always been strange!”
Scruffy serenely eyed me as he was being petted by his two friends who had pulled him to safety and thrown him like a football at Short Man. The same two friends who had called for Dan to come to our aid and used my (dead) cell phone to tip off the police. The very two who had guarded Cindy and me from our births yet we never aware of. Thank God for invisible friends, er... gaudian angels!.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
the circus is coming to town
The circus is coming to town! Who cares? I haven’t been to the circus since my kids were little. Let’s see, that was twenty five years ago. Twenty five! I ran to the mirror and inspected my face…with a magnifying glass. That was a bad decision, this magnifier would show wrinkles in a baby’s butt! I put the glass down and examined my face a la natural. Not bad. My kids may be older but I survived the nasty tricks of time. I still looked sixteen…minus youth’s nasty tricks of zits.
Now wait a minute; the circus. That did sound fun. This was going to be an impulse thing but …I grabbed my purse and headed to the ticket office. I wanted to get preferred seating. After all why sit in the back when you could buy choice seats up front in advance of the last minute buyers who bought their passes at the door and got turned away.
What a wonderful surprise this will be for my family, I thought as I pocketed the tickets I purchased for my kids and their spouses. I staggered to my car with a lighter wallet after having been mugged by the cashier. I wonder why she wasn’t wearing a mask. She should be afraid someone will follow her to her auto to get retribution. Keep in mind, it has been twenty five years since I bought tickets and inflation hit the circus hard. But after all this was the Shriners’ circus, the proceeds helped underprivileged children so I shouldn’t complain…. much.
When I got home I called my son and daughter to inform them they needed to clear their Saturday calendars for a family outing. I had bought tickets for the circus! I exclaimed, hardly waiting to hear their speechless gratitude. (Hear speechless gratitude?) One call after another left me flabbergasted. My gift landed like a water balloon, splashing all over the ground. None of them could make it. I should have consulted them first, they explained. After all they were married now and couldn’t just make spontaneous plans like that! I was bowled over. (I’m a bad bowler but a good target!) No one was excited. No one could come. No one would come. They could come if they were reasonable. They could change their plans! What appreciation? I was their mother after all, I knew them longer than their husband and wife, I deserved more respect!
What to do now? I called all my friends to offer them free tickets, and a chance to be with me on Saturday morning. No one could come. This was beginning to be outlandish. I never knew so many people could refuse a free ticket, no strings attached, plus the chance of spending time with me in a crowded coliseum with screaming kids waving lighted sticks and eating hot dogs and cotton candy.
After a few hundred phone calls, (I had started calling strangers at random from the phone book; just kidding) I managed to find takers for all but one ticket. That was somewhat of a relief. At least I wouldn’t be alone. (Not counting the countless strangers that would be present.) And I’d had a wonderful time catching up with erstwhile acquaintances.
The night before the extravaganza came to town I went out to eat with an old school buddy. I mean old. She was in her seventies. I did say it was college buddy, not a high school buddy, so don’t assume we’re the same age!
After I recounted my week with her she said the most uplifting thing, “I’ll take the last ticket.”
“Really?” I had never even considered her as a possible candidate. After all at seventy plus she had to have seen more circuses than she’d care too. This was great, I thought I’d have to stand in the courtyard of the coliseum and try to sell the remaining ticket. I had already purchased a trench coat, baseball cap and sunglasses to fit the image of a scalper.
“Yea, I think it would be fun,” my much older friend declared. This must be how she stayed so young at heart despite the ravages of time. (Boy, I hope she never reads this!)
Saturday morning. Gifts for sale. Stuffed elephants and tigers. Laser guns. Coloring books. Junk food. Nachos, funnel cakes (my personal favorite, with powdered sugar,hmmmm!) Children running to bathrooms and sales counters. Parents yelling for junior or missy to come back. Clowns available for picture taking. Shriners strolling about selling catalogs for three dollars. Three dollars! The money benefited the Shriners hospitals. How could I refuse, I bought two and got an appreciative thank you.
We had front row seats and this is where my disappointment came. There were lots of vacant seats. Lots! I could have waited and acquired my tickets today and not gone through the aggravation of finding substitutes for my kids. Well actually I probably wouldn’t have been here today because I would have known my kids weren’t coming. Apparently the Saturday matinee wasn’t a sold out feature anymore. In my day (I’ll just let you guess when that was) the circus was filled to capacity; and of course the outside would have been crammed full with horse and buggies waiting to take us back home!
My friends and I had first-class time (mis)behaving like kids again. Hooting and hollering, oohing and ahhing. I even paid good money for a laser stick to swing around in the dark while eating cotton candy,(after my funnel cakes and nachos!) Good thing my brood wasn’t here to be embarrassed by their old mom. Or maybe they would have embarrassed me with their stick in the mud attitudes. I could hear them whispering behind my back now, debating whether a nursing home was in my near future.
Then came the grand finale. Every act paraded out and circumnavigated the arena. The elephants with slender, barely clad women. Horses prancing and preening, heads held high, their riders standing on them, arms outstretched welcoming the applause. Everything was bathed in lights; lights that blinked, lights that dazzled, lights that glittered. Breathtaking. The performers were dressed in gaudy costumes that barely concealed trim figures.
Suddenly I was blinded. Was there an explosion! I couldn’t see a thing except an intense radiance. An overpowering deafening roar filled my ears. It had to have been a bomb discharging. I gasped, waving my arms about, trying to find my friends in the overwhelming light. Nothing. I hadn’t felt an impact. I felt no pain. I seemed to be whole. I just couldn’t hear or see. I thought, with profound insight, this wasn’t good.
I was deaf but I heard my name being called. That’s all I heard. No one around me was screaming. No one was bumping into me. I felt no mass panic going on in my vicinity. Just mass panic within myself which was enough for me to handle right now. I was sure the world had ended. The circus had for sure!
“Here I am,” I yelled to the invisible voice. Please be someone useful, like a firefighter, I prayed.
Out of the light came, “Marcy, Marcy.” Well, whoever it was knew my name.
“Here I am,” I repeated.
“Marcy, Marcy.” Came the reply again. All right, this could go on indefinitely. I kept my mouth shut this time.
“Marcy, its me.”
“Me who?” I queried, straining to get my vision back. Why do people think squinting does anything but narrow the visual field?
A horse trotted up to me, my vision was returning! A magnificent white horse with a exceptional looking white bearded rider, wearing a white robe. The rider had extraordinary eyes. Piercing eyes. Gentle eyes. Sad eyes.
“Marcy, it’s me.” Okay, by now I was pretty sure he knew my name, but did his vocabulary go any further?
“Yes, it’s you alright.” I declared, concluding the best course of action was to just be agreeable.
“Oh, Marcy. How sad you could spend so much time inviting people to the circus but you find it arduous to invite them to my house,” the bearded rider moaned.
His house? Who is this guy? I tried to pick my brain for recognition. I’ve never seen this man before………..wait a minute. A white horse. A white bearded man. Piercing eyes. Adding two plus two I came up with.. Jesus! I’m not taking anyone’s name in vain, I really mean; Jesus! I was being addressed by my savior!
“Oh my gosh!” Well that was an intelligent response. I’m just grateful I didn’t ask him for his autograph.
“Marcy, your friends don’t have much time left. Invite them to my house, please, for me.” The rider asked. Then with a toss of its magnificent large head, the stallion turned on its heels and sped away (flew, actually), carrying its rider with it.
My vision and hearing were completely restored. The grand finale was still in progress. I hadn’t missed a beat. I turned to scrutinize my companions. They were still enthralled with the presentation; nothing seemed odd to them. They sure didn’t look like they had just witnessed an explosion and heard me talking to a man on a horse. Everything seemed surreal now. Had I just had a hallucination brought on by the nachos, cotton candy and funnel cakes? Why would a grown woman eat like that? I nominated myself the new head of the twelve step program for “Junk Food Anonymous.”
“Marcy, are you alright?” Brenda asked.
I’m getting a little annoyed hearing my name today!
“I’m fine, why do you ask?” I croaked.
“Well, for one thing, you look three shades of green!” Brenda answered.
“She sure does!” My other friends chimed.
“Really, I’m fine!” I asserted, a little to enthusiastically to be truly convincing. Then before I lost my nerve, “I’ve had so much fun with you guys today, why don’t you come to church with me tomorrow?”
All four of them looked at each other for feedback; then, “Sure, we’d love too.” They replied in unison. That was so unexpectedly easy I pondered why I hadn’t invited them years ago.
Sunday morning after services I walked down the aisle to congratulate my friends for making commitments to Jesus. I had four new sisters in Christ. All signed on to God’s kingdom.
Vowing to fill up the empty pews in the church auditorium, I went home that afternoon and got out my address book. Everyone in it was going to hear from me again; then I really was going to start on the phone book! Jesus was right. If I could get excited about the circus, I should get more excited about inviting my friends to join me in heaven so they could witness the ultimate Grand Finale, the New Kingdom in all its glory. After all, these tickets were a free gift, paid for in blood.
My only prayer for eternity: Please don’t serve any funnel cakes, cotton candy or nachos at the celebration feast, in Jesus’s name, amen.
Now wait a minute; the circus. That did sound fun. This was going to be an impulse thing but …I grabbed my purse and headed to the ticket office. I wanted to get preferred seating. After all why sit in the back when you could buy choice seats up front in advance of the last minute buyers who bought their passes at the door and got turned away.
What a wonderful surprise this will be for my family, I thought as I pocketed the tickets I purchased for my kids and their spouses. I staggered to my car with a lighter wallet after having been mugged by the cashier. I wonder why she wasn’t wearing a mask. She should be afraid someone will follow her to her auto to get retribution. Keep in mind, it has been twenty five years since I bought tickets and inflation hit the circus hard. But after all this was the Shriners’ circus, the proceeds helped underprivileged children so I shouldn’t complain…. much.
When I got home I called my son and daughter to inform them they needed to clear their Saturday calendars for a family outing. I had bought tickets for the circus! I exclaimed, hardly waiting to hear their speechless gratitude. (Hear speechless gratitude?) One call after another left me flabbergasted. My gift landed like a water balloon, splashing all over the ground. None of them could make it. I should have consulted them first, they explained. After all they were married now and couldn’t just make spontaneous plans like that! I was bowled over. (I’m a bad bowler but a good target!) No one was excited. No one could come. No one would come. They could come if they were reasonable. They could change their plans! What appreciation? I was their mother after all, I knew them longer than their husband and wife, I deserved more respect!
What to do now? I called all my friends to offer them free tickets, and a chance to be with me on Saturday morning. No one could come. This was beginning to be outlandish. I never knew so many people could refuse a free ticket, no strings attached, plus the chance of spending time with me in a crowded coliseum with screaming kids waving lighted sticks and eating hot dogs and cotton candy.
After a few hundred phone calls, (I had started calling strangers at random from the phone book; just kidding) I managed to find takers for all but one ticket. That was somewhat of a relief. At least I wouldn’t be alone. (Not counting the countless strangers that would be present.) And I’d had a wonderful time catching up with erstwhile acquaintances.
The night before the extravaganza came to town I went out to eat with an old school buddy. I mean old. She was in her seventies. I did say it was college buddy, not a high school buddy, so don’t assume we’re the same age!
After I recounted my week with her she said the most uplifting thing, “I’ll take the last ticket.”
“Really?” I had never even considered her as a possible candidate. After all at seventy plus she had to have seen more circuses than she’d care too. This was great, I thought I’d have to stand in the courtyard of the coliseum and try to sell the remaining ticket. I had already purchased a trench coat, baseball cap and sunglasses to fit the image of a scalper.
“Yea, I think it would be fun,” my much older friend declared. This must be how she stayed so young at heart despite the ravages of time. (Boy, I hope she never reads this!)
Saturday morning. Gifts for sale. Stuffed elephants and tigers. Laser guns. Coloring books. Junk food. Nachos, funnel cakes (my personal favorite, with powdered sugar,hmmmm!) Children running to bathrooms and sales counters. Parents yelling for junior or missy to come back. Clowns available for picture taking. Shriners strolling about selling catalogs for three dollars. Three dollars! The money benefited the Shriners hospitals. How could I refuse, I bought two and got an appreciative thank you.
We had front row seats and this is where my disappointment came. There were lots of vacant seats. Lots! I could have waited and acquired my tickets today and not gone through the aggravation of finding substitutes for my kids. Well actually I probably wouldn’t have been here today because I would have known my kids weren’t coming. Apparently the Saturday matinee wasn’t a sold out feature anymore. In my day (I’ll just let you guess when that was) the circus was filled to capacity; and of course the outside would have been crammed full with horse and buggies waiting to take us back home!
My friends and I had first-class time (mis)behaving like kids again. Hooting and hollering, oohing and ahhing. I even paid good money for a laser stick to swing around in the dark while eating cotton candy,(after my funnel cakes and nachos!) Good thing my brood wasn’t here to be embarrassed by their old mom. Or maybe they would have embarrassed me with their stick in the mud attitudes. I could hear them whispering behind my back now, debating whether a nursing home was in my near future.
Then came the grand finale. Every act paraded out and circumnavigated the arena. The elephants with slender, barely clad women. Horses prancing and preening, heads held high, their riders standing on them, arms outstretched welcoming the applause. Everything was bathed in lights; lights that blinked, lights that dazzled, lights that glittered. Breathtaking. The performers were dressed in gaudy costumes that barely concealed trim figures.
Suddenly I was blinded. Was there an explosion! I couldn’t see a thing except an intense radiance. An overpowering deafening roar filled my ears. It had to have been a bomb discharging. I gasped, waving my arms about, trying to find my friends in the overwhelming light. Nothing. I hadn’t felt an impact. I felt no pain. I seemed to be whole. I just couldn’t hear or see. I thought, with profound insight, this wasn’t good.
I was deaf but I heard my name being called. That’s all I heard. No one around me was screaming. No one was bumping into me. I felt no mass panic going on in my vicinity. Just mass panic within myself which was enough for me to handle right now. I was sure the world had ended. The circus had for sure!
“Here I am,” I yelled to the invisible voice. Please be someone useful, like a firefighter, I prayed.
Out of the light came, “Marcy, Marcy.” Well, whoever it was knew my name.
“Here I am,” I repeated.
“Marcy, Marcy.” Came the reply again. All right, this could go on indefinitely. I kept my mouth shut this time.
“Marcy, its me.”
“Me who?” I queried, straining to get my vision back. Why do people think squinting does anything but narrow the visual field?
A horse trotted up to me, my vision was returning! A magnificent white horse with a exceptional looking white bearded rider, wearing a white robe. The rider had extraordinary eyes. Piercing eyes. Gentle eyes. Sad eyes.
“Marcy, it’s me.” Okay, by now I was pretty sure he knew my name, but did his vocabulary go any further?
“Yes, it’s you alright.” I declared, concluding the best course of action was to just be agreeable.
“Oh, Marcy. How sad you could spend so much time inviting people to the circus but you find it arduous to invite them to my house,” the bearded rider moaned.
His house? Who is this guy? I tried to pick my brain for recognition. I’ve never seen this man before………..wait a minute. A white horse. A white bearded man. Piercing eyes. Adding two plus two I came up with.. Jesus! I’m not taking anyone’s name in vain, I really mean; Jesus! I was being addressed by my savior!
“Oh my gosh!” Well that was an intelligent response. I’m just grateful I didn’t ask him for his autograph.
“Marcy, your friends don’t have much time left. Invite them to my house, please, for me.” The rider asked. Then with a toss of its magnificent large head, the stallion turned on its heels and sped away (flew, actually), carrying its rider with it.
My vision and hearing were completely restored. The grand finale was still in progress. I hadn’t missed a beat. I turned to scrutinize my companions. They were still enthralled with the presentation; nothing seemed odd to them. They sure didn’t look like they had just witnessed an explosion and heard me talking to a man on a horse. Everything seemed surreal now. Had I just had a hallucination brought on by the nachos, cotton candy and funnel cakes? Why would a grown woman eat like that? I nominated myself the new head of the twelve step program for “Junk Food Anonymous.”
“Marcy, are you alright?” Brenda asked.
I’m getting a little annoyed hearing my name today!
“I’m fine, why do you ask?” I croaked.
“Well, for one thing, you look three shades of green!” Brenda answered.
“She sure does!” My other friends chimed.
“Really, I’m fine!” I asserted, a little to enthusiastically to be truly convincing. Then before I lost my nerve, “I’ve had so much fun with you guys today, why don’t you come to church with me tomorrow?”
All four of them looked at each other for feedback; then, “Sure, we’d love too.” They replied in unison. That was so unexpectedly easy I pondered why I hadn’t invited them years ago.
Sunday morning after services I walked down the aisle to congratulate my friends for making commitments to Jesus. I had four new sisters in Christ. All signed on to God’s kingdom.
Vowing to fill up the empty pews in the church auditorium, I went home that afternoon and got out my address book. Everyone in it was going to hear from me again; then I really was going to start on the phone book! Jesus was right. If I could get excited about the circus, I should get more excited about inviting my friends to join me in heaven so they could witness the ultimate Grand Finale, the New Kingdom in all its glory. After all, these tickets were a free gift, paid for in blood.
My only prayer for eternity: Please don’t serve any funnel cakes, cotton candy or nachos at the celebration feast, in Jesus’s name, amen.
the conference
It’s finally gotten here! I’ve been waiting for this weekend for weeks. I started packing seven days ago, for a one night trip. I didn’t want to forget anything! I had so many clothes I wanted to wear, and so few hours to wear them in. I brought changes for the trip down, the evening presentation, dinner, breakfast, the next day’s seminar, intermission, lunch and going home. (Some of these women may never see me again and I wanted them to know the size of my wardrobe!) In addition to my clothes I had to pack the correct makeup colors, and a variety of jewelry and hats to enhance the various looks. We had to rent a U-haul just for my luggage.
At last, take off. Wait! Someone needed to go the restroom first,someone at the back of the van. We had been sitting here for forty five minutes loading up and she just now realized, after finishing off a bottle of water, we’d be on the road for hours. I wanted to ask her her age, she looked old enough to make smart decisions, this is where looks are deceiving!
When we ran out of legitimate delays, we took off. A van full of women on their way to the Women of Faith conference. Praise the lord and pass the blessings. Yahoo. I tried to psyche myself up. I’ve been losing my faith fast lately due to my husband, Fred’s verbal assaults. Every interaction he’d had with me lately led me to believe I was unworthy of his love and attention.
My gosh, if I can’t be accepted by someone that sees me daily, how can a holy God love me? If I couldn’t do anything earthly right how could I do anything heavenly right, like getting saved?
Along the way, we played road games. The best one was the scavenger hunt, looking for items on a list the trip coordinator prepared. We crossed off bridges, farms, silos, men in boots, ponds, road kill, the letter Q on a license plate. We had a hard time finding a police car (we kept our
eyes open for donut shops, isn’t that where they meet for breaks?) Come on, don’t they always single out women drivers! And this was a van loaded with women drivers(one disignated driver and nine back seat drivers)! Surely one would turn on its lights and come speeding after us eventually, with donut crumbs on his chin. Some women crossed “deer” off when they passed John Deer tractors. I went for it. My friend, Giggles, (I hope you can guess how she got her nickname!) was holding out for the real thing. It wouldn’t happen unless a truck passed us with one on the hood.
During the road games when I felt everyone’s attention was diverted I pulled out my reading material. I had been wrong about being discreet because someone yelled, “Woman reading a book!” And everyone read the list to see if they could check off another item. Woman reading a book was not on the list.
I had been hit hard these past few months (two hundred and forty months to be exact) by Satan’s attacks as he used Fred’s body, specifically his mouth, and I needed the encouragement this book advertised. Books offer great sources of economical counseling, providing you get a good one. I had stumbled on this particular book when I was asking God for help (again). I guess I had gone to him so much he had gotten tired of my repeated pleas, pulled me by the leash to the bookstand at the grocery store and, with his hands on my temples, aimed my head and eyes to the cover of this book. Talk about guidance! It was a book about destructive relationships. Oh boy, I knew about destructive relationships, I looked to see if it had been written by me in a previous life. My significant other, had berated me, discredited all my emotions, discounted my existence for years. I hadn’t wanted to upset the boat. During moments of calm sailing I made excuses for his behavior, enabling him to squash my spirit over twenty years. I finally stood up for myself and subtly asked him to leave the house (I had hung his underwear on the bushes in the front yard) When he tried to get in the house, with jockey shorts covered in leaves crammed in his pockets, his key wouldn't work for some reason. I know this because he called me on his cell phone to open the door. I slipped the bill for the locksmith through the window hoping he’d finally get tipped off that he no longer was welcome here.
Despite what I had called a long over do spring cleaning project, Fred had made me feel unchristian, because I wasn't forgiving or long suffering. (He was wrong about that, suffering for twenty years qualified as long suffering and stupid) He made sure he knew I wouldn't make it without him. I wouldn't be able to handle everything on my own. I'd be late to work every day trying to do my chores and his. Well, he was absolutely .....wrong. God had given me the strength to do all things through him, things like getting the trash out, rounding up the dogs, making the bed , washing the breakfast dishes and getting to work on time. I slept and digested my food better. The bags under my eyes vanished. But God hadn’t convinced me he still loved me, that I was worthy to be called a Christian.
When I'd read all I could absorb for the moment I slipped the book, surreptitiously, (yes, that's a word) back into my carry on.
"Can I see that?" my seat partner asked. I was aware of her present circumstances; she had just broken loose from a dominating boyfriend.
"Sure."
Then from the back seat, "When she's done can I see it also." asked a young college student being manipulated by a "jerk". Obviously the thirst for higher learning doesn't always cover wise partner choosing skills. Apparently three of us with issues had all been placed in the same van. Our ages ran from twenty to thirty eight to...to...Okay, I'm fifty two darn it! But I look well preserved; I ought to with all the salt I use. Wrinkles don't show when you retain gallons of water! These two women had been lusting after my book from the moment I pulled it into my lap. They had hurts to heal also. Kindred spirits. I had no idea how wide spread misery was. Abuse is something people endure behind closed doors and fake smiles, in shame.
We arrived at our destination just in time to unload the car and get to the convention center.
The conference’s theme was “Infinite Grace” and it was incomparable to anything secular. Women. Women. Women as far as the eye could see. Down in front of the stage and as far as the nose bleed third tier level balcony. Thousands. And all were quiet. All were listening to the eloquent speakers. Speakers who knew the mind of God. Speakers who had prepared this seminar just for me and two other broken women. I couldn’t count how many times they spoke of verbal abuse and self esteem. How God didn’t wish anyone to be hurt. That he never would abandon his children. Hey, I’m his child. So were my two partners in misery. We were HIS! And he wanted us to be happy! He would never abandon his kids. Man, God had even engineered this conference to be just for us, three wounded prodigal daughters. Healing was starting in my soul as I ordered Satan and his lies behind me. The thousands of other women present had to be green eyed with resentment. I feared retaliation as I tried to hide the glowing crown of “daughtership” forming above my head. No one noticed! They were all too busy paying attention to the speakers, I don’t know why, as obviously the whole message was only for me and my friends!
During intermission we got up to stretch our legs. (And no, I hadn’t changed clothes; you know people always bring to many clothes and not enough money when they travel!)The building was loaded on every level and in every nook and cranny with souvenirs, books and tapes to help me remember God’s love. To lift my spirit even higher,(which is scary since I’m afraid of heights!) I had to have everything. I bought the DVD of the program to play for my dad, daughter, son, anyone who I could hog tie and forcefully expose to God’s wisdom. I bought music CDs. I bought t-shirts. I bought books. The symposium had been affordable but I had to hawk my diamond ring to buy all the goodies.
I lingered over the World Vision display long enough to adopt a little girl from Africa. After all, I had been blessed and it was time to pass it on, not hoard it so it would rust and decay. I was a new mother... at fifty two, and it hadn’t hurt my figure one bit giving birth to a nine year old, (my figure had been hurt way before this I couldn’t blame it on her!). God hadn’t forgotten Mildred, a nine year old in a small remote village at the tip of a small insignificant continent on a small globe hanging in a vast universe. He had put her name and history on a table where I would find it. I even got a free tote for sponsoring her. Just what I needed; another tote. It might be my first gift to Mildred…besides the gift of food, medicine, water and an education. Wouldn’t it be something if she rang my doorbell in nine years after high school? Better yet, wouldn’t it be fantastic to hold her hands as we answered the trumpet’s call to board the train to heaven?
The five hour trip home was more joyous than the trip down. We sang hymns the whole way, except during our dinner stop. Religious women love to eat! I did more eating in two days than I do in a week at home. Next week I start my diet again. (I promise! Really! Don’t look at me like that!)
The waiter at our restaurant could tell we had been somewhere celestial; after all we were levitating above our chairs. That gave us a chance to introduce him to our Father. (Maybe that would eliminate the need to tip! Oh darn, it was calculated into our tickets!)
Back in the van as we sang our way home, Giggles yelled out, “There’s someone walking a dog!” No, that’s not a euphemism for anything, that was on our scavenger list, see, it’s right here in black and white, seventh item down in the right hand column, “someone walking a dog.”
No. As we got closer the dog got bigger. It wasn’t a dog. It was a ….deer! Someone at a rest stop was slowing approaching a deer who was standing at full alert, tail straight in the air, head turned at that angle they do to get things in good view. At seventy miles an hour (ten miles over the speed limit and still no police car) we would never know how long the moment between deer and human would last but we realized Giggles had waited for the real thing and there it was! Not a John Deer tractor, but a real deer. We high fived her. She taught us a lesson. Never settle f or anything less than the real thing. I would no longer settle for Satan’s lies. I had waited weeks for this conference to receive the real thing, God’s truths. And his grace. I could never earn Fred’s grace, but guess what; God’s grace is free, nothing to be earned, to all who believe in him. Infinite grace. Infinite; without end. Grace; unmerited favor. Grace without end. Infinite unmerited favor. How many ways can it be stated?
Please join me in a prayer of salvation………………
Isaiah 49:15
John 10:25-29
Eph. 2:8-9
Eph. 5:25-33
1 pet. 5:8-11
1 John 4:17-19
At last, take off. Wait! Someone needed to go the restroom first,someone at the back of the van. We had been sitting here for forty five minutes loading up and she just now realized, after finishing off a bottle of water, we’d be on the road for hours. I wanted to ask her her age, she looked old enough to make smart decisions, this is where looks are deceiving!
When we ran out of legitimate delays, we took off. A van full of women on their way to the Women of Faith conference. Praise the lord and pass the blessings. Yahoo. I tried to psyche myself up. I’ve been losing my faith fast lately due to my husband, Fred’s verbal assaults. Every interaction he’d had with me lately led me to believe I was unworthy of his love and attention.
My gosh, if I can’t be accepted by someone that sees me daily, how can a holy God love me? If I couldn’t do anything earthly right how could I do anything heavenly right, like getting saved?
Along the way, we played road games. The best one was the scavenger hunt, looking for items on a list the trip coordinator prepared. We crossed off bridges, farms, silos, men in boots, ponds, road kill, the letter Q on a license plate. We had a hard time finding a police car (we kept our
eyes open for donut shops, isn’t that where they meet for breaks?) Come on, don’t they always single out women drivers! And this was a van loaded with women drivers(one disignated driver and nine back seat drivers)! Surely one would turn on its lights and come speeding after us eventually, with donut crumbs on his chin. Some women crossed “deer” off when they passed John Deer tractors. I went for it. My friend, Giggles, (I hope you can guess how she got her nickname!) was holding out for the real thing. It wouldn’t happen unless a truck passed us with one on the hood.
During the road games when I felt everyone’s attention was diverted I pulled out my reading material. I had been wrong about being discreet because someone yelled, “Woman reading a book!” And everyone read the list to see if they could check off another item. Woman reading a book was not on the list.
I had been hit hard these past few months (two hundred and forty months to be exact) by Satan’s attacks as he used Fred’s body, specifically his mouth, and I needed the encouragement this book advertised. Books offer great sources of economical counseling, providing you get a good one. I had stumbled on this particular book when I was asking God for help (again). I guess I had gone to him so much he had gotten tired of my repeated pleas, pulled me by the leash to the bookstand at the grocery store and, with his hands on my temples, aimed my head and eyes to the cover of this book. Talk about guidance! It was a book about destructive relationships. Oh boy, I knew about destructive relationships, I looked to see if it had been written by me in a previous life. My significant other, had berated me, discredited all my emotions, discounted my existence for years. I hadn’t wanted to upset the boat. During moments of calm sailing I made excuses for his behavior, enabling him to squash my spirit over twenty years. I finally stood up for myself and subtly asked him to leave the house (I had hung his underwear on the bushes in the front yard) When he tried to get in the house, with jockey shorts covered in leaves crammed in his pockets, his key wouldn't work for some reason. I know this because he called me on his cell phone to open the door. I slipped the bill for the locksmith through the window hoping he’d finally get tipped off that he no longer was welcome here.
Despite what I had called a long over do spring cleaning project, Fred had made me feel unchristian, because I wasn't forgiving or long suffering. (He was wrong about that, suffering for twenty years qualified as long suffering and stupid) He made sure he knew I wouldn't make it without him. I wouldn't be able to handle everything on my own. I'd be late to work every day trying to do my chores and his. Well, he was absolutely .....wrong. God had given me the strength to do all things through him, things like getting the trash out, rounding up the dogs, making the bed , washing the breakfast dishes and getting to work on time. I slept and digested my food better. The bags under my eyes vanished. But God hadn’t convinced me he still loved me, that I was worthy to be called a Christian.
When I'd read all I could absorb for the moment I slipped the book, surreptitiously, (yes, that's a word) back into my carry on.
"Can I see that?" my seat partner asked. I was aware of her present circumstances; she had just broken loose from a dominating boyfriend.
"Sure."
Then from the back seat, "When she's done can I see it also." asked a young college student being manipulated by a "jerk". Obviously the thirst for higher learning doesn't always cover wise partner choosing skills. Apparently three of us with issues had all been placed in the same van. Our ages ran from twenty to thirty eight to...to...Okay, I'm fifty two darn it! But I look well preserved; I ought to with all the salt I use. Wrinkles don't show when you retain gallons of water! These two women had been lusting after my book from the moment I pulled it into my lap. They had hurts to heal also. Kindred spirits. I had no idea how wide spread misery was. Abuse is something people endure behind closed doors and fake smiles, in shame.
We arrived at our destination just in time to unload the car and get to the convention center.
The conference’s theme was “Infinite Grace” and it was incomparable to anything secular. Women. Women. Women as far as the eye could see. Down in front of the stage and as far as the nose bleed third tier level balcony. Thousands. And all were quiet. All were listening to the eloquent speakers. Speakers who knew the mind of God. Speakers who had prepared this seminar just for me and two other broken women. I couldn’t count how many times they spoke of verbal abuse and self esteem. How God didn’t wish anyone to be hurt. That he never would abandon his children. Hey, I’m his child. So were my two partners in misery. We were HIS! And he wanted us to be happy! He would never abandon his kids. Man, God had even engineered this conference to be just for us, three wounded prodigal daughters. Healing was starting in my soul as I ordered Satan and his lies behind me. The thousands of other women present had to be green eyed with resentment. I feared retaliation as I tried to hide the glowing crown of “daughtership” forming above my head. No one noticed! They were all too busy paying attention to the speakers, I don’t know why, as obviously the whole message was only for me and my friends!
During intermission we got up to stretch our legs. (And no, I hadn’t changed clothes; you know people always bring to many clothes and not enough money when they travel!)The building was loaded on every level and in every nook and cranny with souvenirs, books and tapes to help me remember God’s love. To lift my spirit even higher,(which is scary since I’m afraid of heights!) I had to have everything. I bought the DVD of the program to play for my dad, daughter, son, anyone who I could hog tie and forcefully expose to God’s wisdom. I bought music CDs. I bought t-shirts. I bought books. The symposium had been affordable but I had to hawk my diamond ring to buy all the goodies.
I lingered over the World Vision display long enough to adopt a little girl from Africa. After all, I had been blessed and it was time to pass it on, not hoard it so it would rust and decay. I was a new mother... at fifty two, and it hadn’t hurt my figure one bit giving birth to a nine year old, (my figure had been hurt way before this I couldn’t blame it on her!). God hadn’t forgotten Mildred, a nine year old in a small remote village at the tip of a small insignificant continent on a small globe hanging in a vast universe. He had put her name and history on a table where I would find it. I even got a free tote for sponsoring her. Just what I needed; another tote. It might be my first gift to Mildred…besides the gift of food, medicine, water and an education. Wouldn’t it be something if she rang my doorbell in nine years after high school? Better yet, wouldn’t it be fantastic to hold her hands as we answered the trumpet’s call to board the train to heaven?
The five hour trip home was more joyous than the trip down. We sang hymns the whole way, except during our dinner stop. Religious women love to eat! I did more eating in two days than I do in a week at home. Next week I start my diet again. (I promise! Really! Don’t look at me like that!)
The waiter at our restaurant could tell we had been somewhere celestial; after all we were levitating above our chairs. That gave us a chance to introduce him to our Father. (Maybe that would eliminate the need to tip! Oh darn, it was calculated into our tickets!)
Back in the van as we sang our way home, Giggles yelled out, “There’s someone walking a dog!” No, that’s not a euphemism for anything, that was on our scavenger list, see, it’s right here in black and white, seventh item down in the right hand column, “someone walking a dog.”
No. As we got closer the dog got bigger. It wasn’t a dog. It was a ….deer! Someone at a rest stop was slowing approaching a deer who was standing at full alert, tail straight in the air, head turned at that angle they do to get things in good view. At seventy miles an hour (ten miles over the speed limit and still no police car) we would never know how long the moment between deer and human would last but we realized Giggles had waited for the real thing and there it was! Not a John Deer tractor, but a real deer. We high fived her. She taught us a lesson. Never settle f or anything less than the real thing. I would no longer settle for Satan’s lies. I had waited weeks for this conference to receive the real thing, God’s truths. And his grace. I could never earn Fred’s grace, but guess what; God’s grace is free, nothing to be earned, to all who believe in him. Infinite grace. Infinite; without end. Grace; unmerited favor. Grace without end. Infinite unmerited favor. How many ways can it be stated?
Please join me in a prayer of salvation………………
Isaiah 49:15
John 10:25-29
Eph. 2:8-9
Eph. 5:25-33
1 pet. 5:8-11
1 John 4:17-19
Monday, October 27, 2008
The Heartache
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.
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.
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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