I’d be the first to tell you I’m not exactly a god fearing
woman. I don’t go to church anymore or even really pray. I mean, outside of
rush hour traffic I was pretty sure that god had better things to do than to
deal with the likes of me. It’s not that I don’t feel that I have a right to
pray or go to service. In fact, I’m luckier than a lot of people out there. I’m
not rich financially but then again, that never really mattered to me. I’m rich
with art, song, and knowledge (or cursed depending on the day). I’m blessed
with the ability to be kind with words and even kinder with a dirty joke. And
when I mean kind on that last one, I typically mean “WAAAAAAAYYYY to generous.” Wait a minute, that’s what SHE said. Hiyo!
Sorry I’m getting off topic. My relationship with god has
been to the very least parental. My feeling are more like than eternal child
glowering at the presence that was there but never truly active. In
retrospective my concept of the functional nuclear family stems from burnable
books born from the Stepford era. I felt isolated but complete in my aura of
incompleteness.
I was nearly twenty minutes early including my needed
cigarette, coffee and a moody soundtrack pulsing through my veins. It was just
a piece of paper and a some copies, why did I feel like I was in mourning? I
butt out my cigarette, adjusted my rear view mirror to practice what fake smile
I would use today and headed to the entrance.
I brush of warm air welcomed me as I walked to the counter
with the Stepford smile on my face. That’s when I noticed her at the
receptionist counters to check people in. A warm greeting floated from her
mouth. She didn’t recognize me but then again of course she didn’t. It had been
many years. And though blind, she had insight that could see sharper than any lenses.
“You don’t recognize my voice, do you?” She tilted her head
and reflected. “It’s okay,” I smiled it’s been a long time.”
“My goodness! I remember! How are you?” We engrossed in a
conversation covering the last 4 years. I had missed her humor and her warmth.
Somehow I felt separated in some cold shell in most situations. For her, she could see no Stepford smile or
the body language I used to disguise how I feel. She reach over the counter and
touched my arm. She told me that she was sorry for what I had been through and
it rang true without question. She told me that I had made an impact of
kindness and that it changed her life for the better.
For the first time in a long time I cried, uncontrollably in
public. She came from behind the counter and held me with a warmly honest hug.
Tears ran down her sweater but they weren’t for sadness or for pity but with gratitude. I
made a difference to someone and in my life that’s all I have ever wanted. At
the end of the day to take a piece of sadness that I know away from someone so
they can know that they are loved. Our
conversation had turned to business as others filtered through the door. I don’t
think I’d ever be so grateful for my glasses tucked in my purse. As I left, I
turned to talk about a mutual friend and she smirked. “Yeah, she got kinda
weird. I left god.” In any other situation I would have had a theological
debate but I turned to her and said, “No, she didn’t forget God. She just
forgot the message.”
As I sat in my car, I thought to myself, Maybe that’s the
point of life. The message; whether there for us, to us or from us it’s easy to
forget the message of life. Maybe it’s time I got back to mine.
