God, we have heard with our ears, our fathers have told us, what deeds you performed in their days, in the days of old. (vs. 1)
The young divorcee lived alone. Found Mac, her husband, one night sitting in the pharmacy where he worked. Arms splayed across the table in the back room where he sat, pill bottles turned over, random medications pink and yellow, sitting in the places where they had rolled in desultory order. A surprise for both. He saw her seeing him through bleary-eyed bewilderment. His rage made her run. But he caught her and beat her and left her bruised and bloody on the floor of their small house. Slammed the door on their marriage when he stormed out.
That was months ago. Mac had since gone off to war. Flossie found a job a short bus ride from her new rooming house. Days went by slowly. Hard to understand the whys of her brief marriage. Talking to her God. Reasoning things out. Feeling alone and lonely. But He was her friend. She woke up to Him and slept near Him. She breathed Him in and found courage to walk out the door each morning.
There was a man at the bus stop on a particular day. Flossie had worked later than usual. Waited for the bus on a bench near the man pacing about with a cigarette between his fingers. Kept looking over at her. She could see out of the corner of her eye his interest. Flossie shifted on the seat, turning her body away from the annoying glance. The whining of the bus as it stopped relieved the awkward stress of the stranger's presence. Up too close behind her on the steps as they boarded the bus, this man's breath was in her hair. Stale cigarettes and dirty teeth. It curled around her. She shivered a little.
Flossie took the first vacant seat beside an older lady and settled herself for the short ride home. The man walked past. To the rear of the bus. Eased her fear a bit. She took a deep breath. Nothing to worry about now.
Minutes later, the bus expelled its gas at her stop. She exited through the front, down the steps, almost home now. But he was there. The stranger. Left through the center doors. Walking fast behind her. Keeping pace with her ever-faster steps.
Oh, God, what do I do?
She was all but running by then. He, following with the brisk strides of pursuit. Her fingers fumbled for the keys in her purse. She could see the pine-knotted door of her room. It looked like a target to which the arrow she had become must fly or die. High-heels clapping the sidewalk. Running as fast as she could. Key out headed for its home. Breathlessly Flossie hit the target, threw open the door, slamming it back in place. The deadbolt clicked against the tyranny that pursued her.
Too much. Mac and now this. It hits her. Grief and loss veering toward her, adding now this fear to its arsenal. With hat still in place, coat and all, Flossie slides down the surface of her door into a heap on the floor. Little sobs at first. Rocking back and forth. Face in hands still gloved. Then all of it. The entire mess of her life washes over her and she cannot control the deluge it becomes. Speaking to her Friend all her pain. Surprised by all the fears she recounts to Him. Then just crying. Until there is relief enough to simply sit there on the floor in front of her door.
Be still. Know that I am God.
Flossie looked up. It was so plainly spoken she thought she would see Him actually standing there.
He knew. He was there crying with her. He had held her. As He would hold her for the rest of her life. Through better and worse.
Mother told me this story many times at my request over the years. I heard her quote this verse in the roughest of times. Even when my father was arrested as a pedophile in 1985. She knew to still herself. To know He is with her....near. That He is greater than our hearts and He knows everything.
Thank you, Mother, for the heritage of your faith that lives on in me and in my children.
The young divorcee lived alone. Found Mac, her husband, one night sitting in the pharmacy where he worked. Arms splayed across the table in the back room where he sat, pill bottles turned over, random medications pink and yellow, sitting in the places where they had rolled in desultory order. A surprise for both. He saw her seeing him through bleary-eyed bewilderment. His rage made her run. But he caught her and beat her and left her bruised and bloody on the floor of their small house. Slammed the door on their marriage when he stormed out.
That was months ago. Mac had since gone off to war. Flossie found a job a short bus ride from her new rooming house. Days went by slowly. Hard to understand the whys of her brief marriage. Talking to her God. Reasoning things out. Feeling alone and lonely. But He was her friend. She woke up to Him and slept near Him. She breathed Him in and found courage to walk out the door each morning.
There was a man at the bus stop on a particular day. Flossie had worked later than usual. Waited for the bus on a bench near the man pacing about with a cigarette between his fingers. Kept looking over at her. She could see out of the corner of her eye his interest. Flossie shifted on the seat, turning her body away from the annoying glance. The whining of the bus as it stopped relieved the awkward stress of the stranger's presence. Up too close behind her on the steps as they boarded the bus, this man's breath was in her hair. Stale cigarettes and dirty teeth. It curled around her. She shivered a little.
Flossie took the first vacant seat beside an older lady and settled herself for the short ride home. The man walked past. To the rear of the bus. Eased her fear a bit. She took a deep breath. Nothing to worry about now.
Minutes later, the bus expelled its gas at her stop. She exited through the front, down the steps, almost home now. But he was there. The stranger. Left through the center doors. Walking fast behind her. Keeping pace with her ever-faster steps.
Oh, God, what do I do?
She was all but running by then. He, following with the brisk strides of pursuit. Her fingers fumbled for the keys in her purse. She could see the pine-knotted door of her room. It looked like a target to which the arrow she had become must fly or die. High-heels clapping the sidewalk. Running as fast as she could. Key out headed for its home. Breathlessly Flossie hit the target, threw open the door, slamming it back in place. The deadbolt clicked against the tyranny that pursued her.
Too much. Mac and now this. It hits her. Grief and loss veering toward her, adding now this fear to its arsenal. With hat still in place, coat and all, Flossie slides down the surface of her door into a heap on the floor. Little sobs at first. Rocking back and forth. Face in hands still gloved. Then all of it. The entire mess of her life washes over her and she cannot control the deluge it becomes. Speaking to her Friend all her pain. Surprised by all the fears she recounts to Him. Then just crying. Until there is relief enough to simply sit there on the floor in front of her door.
Be still. Know that I am God.
Flossie looked up. It was so plainly spoken she thought she would see Him actually standing there.
He knew. He was there crying with her. He had held her. As He would hold her for the rest of her life. Through better and worse.
Mother told me this story many times at my request over the years. I heard her quote this verse in the roughest of times. Even when my father was arrested as a pedophile in 1985. She knew to still herself. To know He is with her....near. That He is greater than our hearts and He knows everything.
Thank you, Mother, for the heritage of your faith that lives on in me and in my children.
No comments:
Post a Comment