And the Demon Left Her

 

He was a good doctor, the kind who believed more than he had been told. He delivered them all, sick and sane and insane. No one says insane anymore. No one calls anything what it is anymore.

He was uncomfortable that day in his stone-cold, orderly office. He had read the book and put it away. Lunch was soon. Not soon enough. In staggered a helpless soul who needed his help. They exchanged pleasantries as they often did.

“In my life,” the man said, “Something is always holding me down.”

The doctor looked over his chart, noted the common medications, therapy, diagnoses. He nodded.

The man went on, “It’s like I can’t ever catch my breath.”

The doctor nodded again, though he did not agree, understand or anything associated with a nod.

“My spiritual breath,” the desperate patient clarified.

The hair stood up on the doctor’s neck.

He nodded, this time with understanding he wished he did not have.

“Something is with me. I can feel it. It doesn’t belong here.” The patient went on.

“It doesn’t belong here,” the good doctor repeated.

It was true. It didn’t belong. None of this belonged, the ailments, the issues, the longing for freedom, man was made for more. The doctor knew it. He just didn’t know how to get there.

In came the receptionist. She was an annoying woman at best, always going on and on about Jesus. Of course she had come in, of course she felt what was going on or knew it somehow deep in her churchy soul. She must have heard a cry, or the spirit sent her or something.

“Doctor,” she said, “There is a man here to see you.”

He nodded.

When she turned to leave, he stopped her.

“Wait.”

She turned.

“Tell me again the story of your deliverance.”

She was taken aback. Almost everyone in the office had asked her to stop telling them about her deliverance. In fact, she thought it a miracle she still had a job.

She nodded.

“Well,” she began. “J…”

That’s it. All she got out was the beginning sound of the name of Jesus and the demon left him.

Other Freedom

 

Look what you did to my bangs.

This is a terrible haircut!

I should have stopped you. Regret. I should have risen from this swiveling chair and struck you down. Maybe not. Maybe that’s crazy. Instead, I will think of you every time I look at my driver’s license photo and shudder at your ineptitude. How dare you make me look funny?

I really sound like this in my head, but read with sound it sounds… 

How does it sound? I’ll tell you.

To me it rolls back and forth like a tennis game. I should have. She shouldn’t have. But to the Lord? How does this sound to you, Lord? Like praise? No. Like forgiveness? Nope. 

Rage? Yes, rage.

But there’s more.

As I seek the Lord a great grief covers me. This bothers Him. 

The condition of my heart towards you hurts Him.

Take that, Unforgiveness. 

The gift of realizing how painful and heavy this is, was just what I needed to let it go.

Weird, the things that hold us down.

And yesterday I was in that salon again, except now it is a coffee shop. Its name? 

Restore. No kidding.

The Book of Stupid Things

 

To my great-great-great granddaughter, I will not leave this book to you. I pray you never flip through its pages, never draw its words in as a breath, that you live free, freer than me.

The Book of Stupid Things.

She held a book of stupid things.

It held her memories, all the bad ones.

It condemned her and others. It told lies, believe it or not. Some people believe lies as though they are the truth. Forty pages, chapters all, in teeny-tiny font so a million letters fill each verse. A million and one, then more, insisting she should not have done that. It was the heaviest book in all existence. It was a great tomb, uh, tome.

Chapter One: Foolish Words. Why did I say that?

Chapter Two: What Have I Done?

Unforgiveness.

Wasted days.

If only I had done that instead.

If only. If only.

Do you have a well-read book like this?

I remember what you said! At least, I am not guilty like you. Oh, wait. I am too. All the chapters in this book are about me. Ad nauseam.

Condemnation is not the same as conviction. Not even close.

My great-great-great granddaughter, sweet one, holy one, do not confuse the two. Follow conviction and wisdom. Do not write for yourself a book of stupid things.

The Queen of Laundry

 

She found herself there in the laundry, in the folding of towels and tops and tiny socks. It taught her. She learned to pray in these quiet times, in this pause.

She asked the Lord what to do. He said this. Have you ever heard His voice? It is sweet. He said her real job was folding this laundry. Taking care of a family is important. It is essential. While doing that, pray, ask, seek, I hear you.

She folded everything in this grand house. Not a thing was out of her reach or distant from her effect. No whisper unheard, no cry for help disregarded. Each feather floating to the ground, another rainstorm or hushed quiet time, a meal lovingly prepared, a hope unnamed, each thing in this palace was her thing, all the things. Her eyes were on the sparrow and its eyes on her.

The War came suddenly, but she didn’t notice it. Outside the politicians howled like the wind. Inside the hearth was warm and set for bedtime. Outside the armies joined together in an evil embrace. Destruction led them. Inside her home was shalom, peace. Mercy and goodness followed her. The ground shook. The cage rattled. Did you know we are in a cage? She did not. Her bars were bent, her steps secure, her eyes ahead, only ahead. She lived free among prisoners. She sang among the deaf. She spoke and they heard, the people of silence, the people with no recollection of what had just occurred.

She stood at the ready, but no battle came near her home.

Two soldiers approached, each carrying the other. They were from the other side but needed her help. She recognized their flag, though to her it meant only Intercession. It meant triumph of the Spirit and calling out to God. Unknown to these fierce soldiers, this woman had been praying for their well-being for many years, and she welcomed them.

The war was over suddenly. The president shocked everyone, his closest, his farthest, the enemy and his friends. He said he was done, but wondered if he would ever be forgiven.

She forgave him.

Between the Living and the Dead

                                                                       

They flipped through the photo album like it was a holy book.

“I remember this phase,” he said. “You looked like death.”

“As did you,” she reminded him.

They laughed a lot and wept a little remembering the past. So many days wasted.

He turned the page.

“This is when the light came on in your eyes.”

She looked closely. It was. She could see it too.

He continued, “One day we were peas in a pod. The next day you were different.”

She nodded.

He was silent for quite some time, then asked, “Did I ever tell you about my dream?”

No. He hadn’t.

His voice cleared and he told it as if he’d been mulling it over for 34 years.

“You were in front of me, talking about something to do with your kitchen. Just an ordinary day and ordinary words and a folded dish towel you put on the counter. It was sudden, but it wasn’t. Somehow in the dream I knew it wasn’t just you. It was this great cloud. You were gone. They were gone. I was standing alone in your kitchen looking at where you had been. I could see you in the sky, in a way, though you weren’t there either.”

She listened.

He went on, “You asked Jesus not to forget me.”

She was surprised, but not really.

“He didn’t forget me,” his voice cracked. “He froze everything. The sky. The people. You, even.”

“For how long?” She wanted details.

He smiled as he said, “Almost 80 years, the length of my lifetime. He waited for me.”

They wept as they remembered these things.

The Room of Many Gods

 

Her name meant many. She lived up to it. Many embraced the world and all that was in it. She had many friends from many places, multiples and others and more. She took it all in, the whole of existence, the things that are and those only dreamed to be. She filled her home and her heart with them. There was not one thing Many left outside her door. It was all welcome.

In the soul of her home, a small room in the center of it, Mary gathered the gods of the nations. She prided herself in their presence with her. Shelves held those she could not hold in her arms, great sculptures of this and that, twisted bodies and gallant poses, proud faces. Her heart held the mighty, those who were tall or crouched and reaching far and wide, too wide for a shelf. Her floor was filled with them, idols who were idle, unmovable but fierce. She loved them all. They served her, as best they could, in that room, in that one place, without leaving it.

Friend visited her sometimes. Friend’s name meant, well, friend. She stood outside the room of gods but would not go in.

“What do they do?” Friend asked Many.

Many smiled. She didn’t really have an answer, but she liked having them there.

“They don’t have to do anything,” she explained. “I do everything for them.”

Many pulled a small mat from the room into another and offered it to Friend to sit on.

“I cannot,” said Friend with no explanation.

Many smiled again. She was happy with whatever was said to her. A yes or a no, it made no difference to her. She was her own joy and was fine with all else that was someone else’s. Many was like water. She flowed wherever the world took her.

“I was hoping you’d visit today,” she told Friend. “I have something to ask you.”

Friend was curious. She leaned in.

Many gathered herself. Motioning to her room of gods, she addressed Friend with the utmost sincerity.

“I would like a symbol of your god,” she said.

Friend was surprised. Astonished. If Many had known more about her God she would not have asked such a thing. Her God would eat up all the rest. There would be no other gods.

“A symbol,” was all Friend could think to say.

“Yes!” Many was excited, “A cross maybe? Or do you have a statue of Jesus?”

Friend gasped. She didn’t fully understand why that was her reaction, but she had the sense Many was asking for a ball of fire but had no idea. It wasn’t disrespect, but lack of knowledge. Jesus is more than a statue and Many did not know that. Friend had the sudden realization that she had not told these things to Many and so Many did not know.

“I cannot,” was all she could think to say.

“It doesn’t have to be elaborate,” Many offered. “Jesus was simple himself, right? A plain wooden cross, maybe? Small, not too big. I don’t want him blocking out the view of the others.”

Friend nodded. She understood, but Many did not. He would block out all the others. That is what He does.

She repeated, “I cannot.”

Many suggested she could make one herself and put it in the room.

Friend was still.

Unbothered, Many fashioned a small wooden cross out of some sticks from her mantle. Simple, like Jesus, unmoving like her other gods. She placed it in the middle of the room.

“See?” She said to Friend, “Like that. No big deal.”

She asked Friend to bless it.

“I cannot,” came the awkward reply.

Many, always eager to please, took no offense and merely offered to bless it herself.

She said simply, “Jesus…” and her voice trailed off.

She froze. Friend froze. The room changed.

“What has happened here?” She asked Friend.

Friend replied simply, “He’s different.”

Suddenly, Many understood.

Do you know birds?

 

I 

just saw a little bird 

chase off a big bird (not Big Bird...ha ha).

A big bird.

The little bird won.

How did it do that?

Tast and See

 

Forgiveness

tastes better

than doing it right the first time.