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| ~bedside shelf relieved of piles of stuff |
Funny thing. Ever since our boys came out with the revelations of their living situations, I've drawn away from the ever-present cozy books I've always been attracted to. Now it's more edgy stuff I tend to read. Not always, but I seem to trust it more. Christian books always intrigue me, but not so much nice fiction, but non-fiction. More real situations. The ones where folks share the hard realities. I'm there.
I'm done (for now) cozy and safe, since life isn't that way anymore. For me, at least. I just feel smacked around too much.
More Anne Lamott. Less Emilie Barnes, not that I've read her in years, but you get my drift. I think subconsciously I want to see evidence of folks who are knee-deep in sin who come around to the Lord. I got one book at the library bookshop today written by a self-described atheist lesbian who one day goes to church, receives communion and is changed forever. Snap of the fingers changed. Damascus road experience. I love that, and find hope in it.
And I'm reading Colleen Carroll Campbell's book called My Sisters the Saints and she says, "God does not abandon us in our suffering but uses suffering to draw us closer to him." And she further quotes from the Book of Wisdom in the Apocrypha saying the "souls of the righteous" who "will shine forth" like "sparks through the rubble" because "God tested them and found them worthy of himself; like gold in the furnace he tried them, and like a sacrificial burnt offering he accepted them."
My tears shed over my children can be for good?
When I was out with the girls this afternoon, we passed a corner gas station and saw a young pregnant black girl twirling a hula hoop around her round belly. Dressed in short shorts, and appeared to be either drunk or high. Not what I was expecting to see. We pulled in the opposite side of the street to another gas station, where we were headed anyway. As oldest daughter got her gas, I was able to see an older black woman stop, put on her flashers and go to the girl. They talked. Won't ever know what they discussed, but I had the passing thought that this woman might be on a mission. Maybe she's had a daughter in a similar situation, and while she can't save her own flesh and blood, perhaps she can make a difference to a stranger.
I pray for those individuals who will be able to reach my boys. Oldest son will begin his new position at a different store than he's been the past few years. Advancement placed him in a new location. I shared with a close cousin who lives near where he'll be, and she shops there all the time, so she told me today. A touch from a believer. One who loves him. A word of affection that doesn't want anything in return. Being present for Christ. We're His hands and feet and deliver Grace.
Might sound mystical, but I have a great belief in the physical touch of Him in a life---a silent prayer along with fingers on an arm. The transference of the Spirit. That's why I mark our doors, and am drawn toward things that might smack to some folks of oddness. But you never know.
Sometimes I don't think we engage in the enormity of the task asked of us as believers. We just don't know what difference we'll make in a life. Even a silent prayer over one who resists. Quiet words over a soul. Could any work be more important?
