Enemy Mine

Lord,
I'm coming to You
With how I feel about
Adalheid's long-time friend
Who's planning to relocate here.

I'm coming to You
Because I'm asking You to
Absolve me of my thought-sins
Concerning this person,
And absorb the anger
That I still feel towards her.

In the Psalms,
The Psalmists repeatedly come to You
With how they feel
About their enemies.
Philip Yancey notes,
"As the books of Job, Jeremiah, and Habakkuk clearly show, God has a high threshold of tolerance for what is appropriate to say in prayer. God can 'handle' my unsuppressed rage. I may well find that my vindictive feelings need God's correction - but only by taking those feelings to God will I have the opportunity for correction and healing." *

Well, then...
Here goes.

I feel violated
By her unprovoked, verbal assault.
How dare she
Talk to me -
No, wait, SCREAM at me
Like that???

I feel enraged
By the accusation
Of willfully neglecting her dog,
Which served as the tinder spark
For her two-day tirade against me.

I feel stupid
For the many times my naive self
Repeatedly commented about
How good it would be
For her to relocate to Arizona,
Not knowing that she was here
For that first month
Helping Adalheid and the king
Set up the house,
All the while commenting about
How much she thought
I disliked her.
Reverse psychology at its finest -
She, in fact,
Does not like me.

I feel insulted
By her accusations of
My being a freeloader,
As though I had invited myself
To relocate to Arizona,
And it hadn't been a joint decision
Of Adalheid and the king
To ask me...
As if I have no love and concern
For the people and creatures
I now consider family.

I feel stunned and stupefied
By her insistence that
She's protecting Adalheid from me.
Because I'm going to ... what?
Hurt someone?
Pluck a bird bald, perhaps?
My thoughts for my future involvement
With Adalheid and her family
Revolve around my ability to
Take care of people and pets
In the long years ahead,
And what steps and lifestyle choices
I must make
Regarding that.
Oh yeah,
I'm plotting.
Here comes Blanca,
Evil plotter extraordinaire!!!

I feel that old, familiar nauseous way,
When I knew someone was scrutinizing me
For my - what? - oddness?...
My inability to fit in to
Normal, regular, everyday life?
I don't know what word to use,
But the one she used to describe me
Probably fits best:
"Weirdo."
I want to shout at her,
"Okay, I'm a weirdo.
What the hell business is it of yours?
Who are you
To judge me?"

I feel bottled up and tense
Every time I realize
That there soon won't be 2100+
Miles between us.
Avoidance and escape plans and routes
Are already forming
In my mind.

Father,
As You can hear,
I'm really bent out of shape about this.
The enmity I feel is tangible, palpable!
Yet,
I am forced to remember
That I still talking about
A member of the human race,
And as such,
A creature fashioned in
Your form and likeness,
An eternal being.
I am also forced to remember
Words by Dietrich Bonhoeffer,
Of which I cannot remember the quote source,
But I remember the gist of it:
As Christians,
We now interact with each other
Through the veil of Christ.
Discipleship to Him means
Viewing all those around us
Through first His eyes, not ours.
And of course,
The Teacher himself
Instructs us to love our enemies. **
Surrendering Himself on the Cross,
He asked You to forgive everyone -
His enemies who had handed him over to death,
And His friends who had abandoned Him to that fate.

[Huge, audible sigh
Inserted here.]

Lord God,
Kindly remember that
From dust I was fashioned,
And to dust I shall return.
I don't wish harm on Adalheid's friend.
I ask that You keep us
Away from each other,
Until such time that
We can treat each other civilly.
If that time never comes,
Don't allow me to be
Embroiled in an argument with her.
I don't know if I posses the restraint
To protect myself without hurting her,
And I'd rather not find out.
But ultimately, Father,
Take these feelings away from me.
I don't want them.
They do me no good.
Only evil will come of them,
And I recognize that.
Fill me with Your Love.
Empower me with the ability
To forgive and forget
With the same lavishness
As You have extended to me...

* Excerpted from The Bible Jesus Read
** Luke 6:35-36

Gladiator Fire (or, A Prayer in the Spirit of Elijah)

Lord,
Elijah prayed down
Fire from Heaven.
He implored,
And You consumed
The offering,
The wood,
The stones of the altar,
The earth around it,
And the water of the trench.

I am praying,
I am imploring,
Nor for fire,
But for rain and damp,
Little to no wind,
Cool temperatures,
And an environment
That will stop the Gladiator fires
From thriving.

Over 16,000 acres
Have already been destroyed.
Residents anxiously watch and wait
For news about their homes.
Firefighters battle.
Wildlife flees.

Lord,
Forgive me my sins,
And harken to my prayer.
I humbly bring before You
The prayers of many
In this part of the world.
Stop the fires from spreading.
Allow for their containment,
And defeat.
Let those in harm's way
Acknowledge and glorify
The saving Grace
Of Your outstretched arm!

A Vigil for Didymus

Didymus.
The Greek rendering
For the Aramaic Tau'ma.
The name has come into English
As Thomas.
The meaning is "Twin."

It's funny, Lord.
I prayed
For someone to come to the job
Who would be similar in nature to myself.
I guess I should have specified
The good parts only:
Caring, compassionate, smart,
Patient, diligent, hard-working.
You sent to me my own Didymus,
A younger, more concentrated form of myself
With my good
AND bad qualities,
Of which the list is long.
Masochistic, brooding, sometimes moody, prone to depression,
Stubborn, too self-critical, needing to learn things the hard way.

(Next time, I'll be more careful
What I pray for!...)

She has surgery in the morning, Lord.
I ask that You keep vigil
Over her tonight.
Give her Your peace.
Remind her that she is Your child,
And that, like a loving parent,
You will remain by her side
While she sleeps,
When she wakes,
When she's on her way to the hospital,
When she's in pre-op,
When they're performing the surgery,
When she wakes up from surgery,
When she comes home,
And when she's recovering
In the days and weeks ahead.
You will be there,
Because You are always there
To aid your children,
Even when we doubt...
Even when we don't feel You...
Even when we question
The purpose for our suffering,
Or the goodness of You.

Father,
I have many requests
On behalf of Didymus.
Please grant her
An uncomplicated surgery
That will alleviate her pain...
Adequate painkillers to take the edge off...
The support of family and friends
As she convalesces...
Patience with herself as she heals...
Wisdom to ask for assistance
If she can't do something...
A gradual weaning off of the painkillers
So that she doesn't like them too much...
(I'm not implying anything,
But we both know
I have an addictive personality.
I imagine so does she.)
A steady, smooth healing process...
And any other things
You can provide her with
That will help her at this time.
Grant that I can become
As good and supportive to her
As I possibly can.

Father,
I feel an odd, close kinship with Didymus
That belies the chronological time we've known each other,
Or the details we possess on one another's lives.
I dare say she feels the same.
I am going to assume that You planted that there,
And I'm going to run with it.
I don't have a clue
Why You dropped this girl
Out of the blue into my life.
I anticipate learning why
In the near future.
I'm a little afraid of the why,
Because I feel the non-random workings
Of You
Behind all this.

You see the big picture.
You know the road ahead.
I trust You to drive...

Gabrielle's Biopsy

Lord,
When Mommie and I
Had one of those conversations
Every kid dreads having with a parent -
The "someday when I'm gone" conversation -
She told me that
If anything happened to her,
She wanted me to take care of Gabrielle.

One dog-knapping
And one cross-country move later,
I am still trying to honor
That promise.

It's rather easy
To want to do.
I love that dog something fierce!

Let's face it:
The term "dog"
Doesn't exactly do her justice.
She is something more...
A mischievous, fun-loving sprite
Living out life in a dog's body
Is closer to the truth.

Please let tomorrow's biopsy
Of her mammary tissue
Come back benign.
I've been hemming and hawing
About this issue for months.
I will at least have either peace of mind
Or more decisions to make
In the weeks ahead.

Father,
Give Gab
A happy, cancer-free retirement.
Give her many more days
Chasing balls and sticks
In Adalheid's backyard.

The Repository of Memory

O Lord,
To You alone
I cry out
And express
The fears
Of my heart.

If the time comes,
Will I be able to stand
As the repository of memory
For her?

Or will I flee,
Playing the part
Of the coward
That I feel
On the inside?

As Ruth clung to Naomi,
So too make me cling.
Make me steadfast.
Make me patient.
Make me strong.
Make me gentle.
Give me peace.

Is it wrong to pray
For a cup of suffering
To pass by?
Is it wrong to pray
For a good death
For a good friend?

You are expansive enough
To know what I mean,
And understand me.
Judge me not harshly.
Consider that I speak
As one who has lost much already.
Could I bear
A parting of that nature?...
A long, wandering walk
Following her in the dark?...

Have mercy, Father...
On the both of us.

Doubting Thomas

It's rough to be remembered
With an epithet
Such as this.
Poor Doubting Thomas.
He only uttered
One of the greatest Christological confessions
In the whole New Testament.
He traveled further afield
Than any of the other Apostles,
And is credited with spreading the Gospel
Outside the borders of the Roman Empire
As far as India.
He died a martyr's death,
Clinging to the brilliant hope wrought
Through his brief moments of disbelief.

Thomas,
Thank you for showing us that,
Despite our moments of doubt,
We can stilled be called to become
Men and women of action.
We are not forever bound to
The mistakes and follies
Of our past.
We are capable of pressing through the doubt
And accomplishing God's plans.

Lord,
Light a fire within me.
Call me out of the place of doubt,
To the place of action
You direct me to,
Wherever that may lead...

The Standard

From Dictionary.com

Standard -

     Those morals, ethics, habits, etc., established by authority, custom, or an individual as acceptable.

     Heraldry. A long, tapering flag or ensign, as of a monarch or a nation.

I was always
A sensitive kid,
And I remember often feeling
That there was much injustice
In the world at large.
I would observe others
Engaged in all manner of activities
My parents insisted
Were off limits to me.
Lying. Cheating. Stealing.
Revenge. Violence. Apathy.
When I was overwhelmed,
I would complain to my mother.
"Why is it okay for so-and-so
To act like that,
But not me?"

"Because we hold you to
A higher standard than that,"
She would tell me.

"Well, that's not fair!"
I would return.

"Life's not always fair,
But it's important to try to do
The right thing."

Why it was important for me
And not others
Always irked me.

It still does.

The Anointed One and I
Were hanging out on the back patio,
Where we seem to meet nowadays.

I was quiet.
He sat in the pre-dusk light
Watching me out of the corner of His eye
From the rocking chair. 
Finally, He asked,
"What's bothering you?"

I told Him about
An incident at work
That had put me in a twist.
I concluded with,
"I don't understand why it's okay
For him to act like that.
If I did something like that,
The Aussie would quickly
Put me in my place!"

"I guess his boss
Doesn't hold him to the same standard
As the Aussie does you."

It was Friday evening,
And the week's frustrations
Were spilling out of me.
"There's no accountability!
He doesn't care,
And that's all right!"

Jesus looked at me.
"You're ruining your Friday night," He commented.

"But I'm so pissed!
Why is it okay
For him to behave like that?
It's not the first time
Something like this has happened.
And I keep saying the same thing
Over and over again,
But it falls on deaf ears.
He keeps doing things like this!"

"Are you upset that he
Can get away with acting like that,
Or are you upset
That you can't?" He asked,
Piercing to the heart of the matter.

"BOTH!" I honestly admitted.

"I can understand why you're upset
About someone else's behavior,
But what does that have to do
With yours?"
His eyes were twinkling.
I felt myself being set up for something,
But I didn't know what. 

"Because it's not fair!"
There. I had said it,
Sounding every bit as petulant and whiny
As I felt inside. 
"It's not fair that we're held
To different standards!"

He laughs.
"Is that what this is about?
Standards?"

"Yes!"
That opened the floodgates
For a torrent of observations
About how messed up
The world at large is.
All the indignation,
The years of observing
Injustice and unfairness,
Spilled out of me in a torrent
That I did not even know
Was within me.

At the end, I stood there,
Shaken and spent.

He got up from the rocking chair,
And informed me,
"Blanca,
You're using the wrong meaning
For the word 'standard'."

I blinked. "What?"

He pointed
Towards South Mountain,
And I looked up to see -

"What is that?..."

At the top of one of the peaks,
I saw something white,
A huge, flowing, undulating shape
That was coming down the mountain,
And as it came closer,
There was a swirling splash of cerulean blue
Running down its center.
I squinted,
And the shape of the white heraldic banner
With the blue cross emblazoned on it
Suddenly became clear to me.

And then I saw
The masses -
Thousands and thousands of people,
All colors and nations and tribes,
Marching in lines over the mountain peaks,
Singing hymns of praise
In every conceivable tongue.
Their voices were coming closer,
A joyful, cacophonous din
Proclaiming God's Everlasting Glory
From one end of creation to the other.
They advanced closer,
Lines merging to form one column following beneath
The single, fluttering standard.
Stupefied, I continued to stare
As they threaded down the mountainside,
Through the Ahwatukee backyards and golf courses,
Through the golf course behind our house,
Through our backyard,
And through the house walls,
To emerge (I imagined)
At the front side of the house.

The last thing I heard is
The rustle of the standard
In the warm, evening breeze.

He was quiet for a moment.
Then he said, "You see,
You do live your life
With a standard before you."
His eyes spoke volumes.
"The Cross is the standard you bear
At all moments,
In all situations.
It is the insignia
Of your Kingdom,
And your allegiance.
You will meet others who occupy
Other kingdoms,
But for the rest of your existence -
And your existence is eternal -
You are a citizen of Heaven,
Bound by its code of conduct,
And consecrated to the service
Of the Triune God.
That's the only standard
You need to concern yourself with.
Leave the judging of others,
And the unfairness of life,
To Me." 

I humbly bowed my head.
"My Lord."
All the heaviness and sacredness
Of a fealty oath
Was expressed in my next utterance:
"My King!"

He walked toward the the side exit,
But before He was out of sight,
He called back to me,
"Remember,
It's a battlefield
On a scale you can't even begin to imagine. 
Your day-to-day actions are
Moves in a long-standing war.
Be armed.  Be prepared."
I was about to say something else;
He silenced me with a wave of His hand,
And quietly slipped out of the yard. 

As I sit here,
Penning this other-worldly experience,
I can't help but wonder
Why He reminded me that we are at war,
And why He told me, "be armed, be prepared."
Don't I always try to be, Lord?
Or is something happening behind the scenes
That You're trying to warn me about?...

My mind trails off,
Seeking a sense of reassurance,
But encountering instead
Only a foggy unease...

Embattled

Lord,
The Aussie, T and I
Are having a really hard time
With the job these days.

We have new staff members
Struggling to learn,
Struggling with stepping into
Huge workloads they're unprepared for,
And battling personal tribulations.

We have people who are out -
Seasoned people who have been
Removed from the playing field
Due to family problems,
Or getting themselves fired. 

We have technology snafus,
Personality flare-ups,
Bad attitudes and blatant disrespect
Running rampant on the floor.

I hear about it second hand,
But it is like I am there in Brooklyn,
Experiencing it. 

Lord,
We need help.
We need you to reach down
And touch EVERYTHING
So that hearts and minds are changed,
So that people stop catching attitude,
So that mechanical operations stop failing,
So that newspapers can start performing
And everyone can get back to the business at hand!

Really, Lord,
We're all stretched too thin,
And we seek You
To alleviate us
Of some of what burdens us.

Please help us,
ALL of us,
As we try to push through
This difficult time. 
We feel threadbare.
O Lord,
Restore us!

She Called

Lord,
My sister called me
Upon receiving my note.

I am equal parts
Relieved and fearful -
Relieved because I want a relationship with her...
Fearful because I don't know
How to navigate it.

Help me.
Guide me in the right way.

You brought us
Into the same family.
Teach us to treat, respect and love each other
In a way that will please You.
Amen!

Sunday Morning Over Coffee

It is early Sunday morning.
We sit outside, watching daybreak.
I am sitting in the rocking chair
That has traveled from the Poconos
To Brooklyn
To its final resting spot in Arizona.
He is walking barefoot in the grass.

"The lawn is coming along nicely,"
He comments.

"Yeah, the king is really great
At making things thrive."

"I know." He smiles.
"I created him that way."

I feel myself being searched
Beneath His gaze.
Finally, He asks,
"Do you want to talk about
What's bothering you?"

"No." I don't, but I know
I will wind up doing it anyway.

He wiggles His toes in the grass.
He walks a little further down the lawn.
He doesn't speak for one minute.
Two minutes.
Five whole minutes.

Finally, I can't take it anymore.
"What am I supposed to do
Now that I'm here?" I ask.

He blinks. "Do?"

"Yes! Do!"
I am exasperated.
Doesn't He understand?

He tilts his head a bit,
Pretending He doesn't.

"Come on, You know what I mean!"
I explain:
"I have no idea
What I'm supposed to be
Doing with my life
Now that I'm here.
I feel like I'm in limbo.
I'm still working for the newspaper
On a contract basis.
I don't know how long that will last.
Because I don't know that,
I don't know when I should start looking
For a new job.
I can't apartment hunt
Because I'm not settled in a regular job anymore.
I'm not even sure
I want to move out
Because I'm happy living here,
But that opens up a whole new issue:
What do I do with the Pugs?
I told their foster family in New York
I would take them back by September.
My brain is starting to spiral
With all the different issues
I have to address, and
I feel betwixt and between
About everything!"

My words hang in the
Early morning breeze.
He quietly considers me for a moment.

Finally, He speaks.
"What has changed so much
Between Brooklyn and Arizona?"
He unexpectedly asks me.

"I don't -"
I am about to finish that with
"Know what you mean,"
But I do know what He means,
And He's looking at me
With that searing gaze
That cuts through all my crap.
I complete my sentence:
"I don't feel You as much here,"
I confess.
"It feels like
I'm looking for You more,
And finding You less."

He smiles.
"There was an extreme level
Of interaction and intensity
As you were preparing your move," He admits,
"But I remain unchanged,
And just because I don't
Divinely intervene visibly
Doesn't mean that I'm not still
Moving and shaking and reordering your life
In the background."
He walks across the lawn
And sits down in one of the patio chairs.
"I seek you," He reminds me.
"I work according to
My own timetables.
I have the larger perspective
Always before Me.
What you ought to do remains unchanged."
There is a change in His tone
That compels me to look at Him.
"Pray," He says.
"You haven't been doing that as much
Since you moved.
I know that when you are stressed,
You tend to pray more,
But you must learn to pray
At all times.
Study," He next says.
"You were reading the Word
Every day.
Now, several days sometimes lapse
Between your picking up the Book.
I know your routine has changed.
You don't have commute time anymore.
Even though we no longer ride the train
Doesn't mean you shouldn't
Make the time for the Word.
Listen - " He taps His ear for emphasis -
"For instruction and guidance.
Don't get so lost
In the sound of your own thoughts
That you don't hear
The still, small Voice of God.
Have faith and be patient,"
He tells me last but not least.
"My Father and I know what you need,
And we know the questions
Behind your questions.
'Will I ever get married?
Will I ever start a family?
How do I serve God with my life and livelihood?
How will I take care of loved ones
In the years ahead?
How will it all someday end?
How will it all someday be renewed and restored?'
We are planning things,
And the Holy Spirit will give you forbearance,
But not everything bears immediate fruit.
Seeds have to germinate.
Everything takes time.
If you would be patient,
Our plans will continue to unfold
And become apparent to you."
He stands up, stretches.
"After all,
You are a participant in a much larger dance.
We do have other people to guide."

"Are You leaving?"

"Yes."

"Where are You going?"

He smiles.
"It's Sunday morning.
I visit the ministers, pastors and priests
Before their services."

"Which ones?" I ask,
Feeling a little mischievous with that question.

His smile broadens.
"All of them."
For further cheekiness,
As He's walking away
I hear him murmur
"Simultaneously."

I laugh.
I can't help myself.
I can feel the impatience and frustration
Lifting from me,
A foggy miasma
Of my own making.

I will pray, and study.
I will listen for the sound
Of Your Voice.
I will be patient.
I know You're at work.
I'm just going to sit here, now,
With my coffee,
And listen to the birdsong of the grackles...