a microsecond of time…

….you enter. And, everything changes. The world outside changes. The world inside changes. Time passes without your knowledge. You watch clips of randomly passing lives-

…the old lady who can’t quite keep her teeth in…the old man with sagging pants and a belt flapping down as he walks…the 14 year olds giggling as they pass a boy with the face of Venus, complete with the nearly exploding volcanos…the mother, slouching against the buggy, her eyes tearing, as her two boys run like errant drones into the grocery aisles…the disappointed, hat down, and eyes staring at the floor, glancing up, trying not to make eye contact…and the selfie queen, smiling for her unseen audience, her face painted with too much red, flashing sudden smiles…

and you slow down, because time feels like it has slowed down.

you cross to the right side, passing the corner hospitality cart where a frumpy-but- smiling woman tries to hand you a small plastic container of a mini chicken croissant. she continues, even after  you shake your head, and turn away…an onslaught of clothing carousels threatening, as a faster vehicle rips through the dangling arms and into your way…

…survival. you remember more from “the list,” that crumpled paper lost somewhere in the parking lot…or blown across the berm…until you see…the figure. as much as you desire to look away, you cannot, you must not. like blackened pools with nothing floating on them…they do not stare, they pierce….and you must look, but your mind tells you to turn away…turn away. don’t get involved. this is not my concern.

but it is…you feel it in your gut, the ache, the pain. the well. the tender-pained well. you touch more than a surface. I cannot look away, even if…but you do not want to. you see her for where she is…the tattered threads at the end of her left coat arm, the scraped lip, the eyes that open too wide for just a second…then close to protect…you are near her, she makes no move to look up. you can hear her breathing. you can feel her breath. like stale tuna. you want to look away. you want to escape, you want to find time again. where is time? it is nowhere. she is here and you cannot look away, because she is pleading. but there are no words in her eyes. so you walk, and turn to look, and the figure is not there…she is walking away.

….and you drive back into the sunshine, four grocery bags on the back seat.

as night invites himself in, the lights dim, and you find yourself yawning in the mirror. I have bags under my eyes. my eyes. you notice the gray hair on your shoulder, and wipe it off. time slows. you see beyond the mirror. you see her sitting on that bench, the coat, the arm. you see her walk away, never turning back to look. but you look. in your dream now. in the waking night. in your thoughts now.

I cannot forget.

and as you lay down, curled up in blankets, all alone, you pray…because it is all you can do. and somewhere in the distance, separated by space, not by time, another figure awake on her bed…unseen tears on her face…

in a microsecond of time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Love is a prayer

I remember being unemployed, spending my days and nights looking for work, eating hot dogs and pre-packaged burritos. And, I remember times when I had no money…and times when I felt so broken that my heart pulled inside my chest. And, I remember times when people sought to destroy me because of my faith…and when I was in the midst of these troubles, there were many who told me- “I’ll pray for you-” and never meant it.

It would have been better if they had never said anything at all. For committing to pray for someone requires a conscious effort to set aside time to seek God. That, in itself, is admitting that you are willing to open yourself up to a heart inspection from the Divine. It is a terrible- and a beautiful- thing- to kneel in the presence of an Almighty God- terrible, because nothing is hidden from His eyes, and beautiful, because there are no words that come close to an encounter with the Holy. And it is in this crucible that the fire of prayer for one in trouble rises before the presence of the Creator.

That is, if one actually prays. Anyone can ramble off prayers, like reading soup labels on cans, but they go no higher than the ceiling. They mean nothing because they contain nothing, and represent what prayer is not. True prayer- to God- requires intimacy. It requires the one praying to recognize the real relationship between God and the seeker. We are seeking God and asking from God. We have to be on God’s terms. You cannot tell the one who made you what to do- that is laughable. We seek and ask, in relationship. When we ask in relationship, we seek in love. And that is what “I’ll pray for you” really should mean: “I’ll pray with God for you because I love you and want the best for you.”

So, the next time you are listening to someone pour out their heart to you, and asks you to pray for them, remember what you are really doing. And then, if you are ready to brave that experience, then and only then should you agree to pray for them. And as you continue praying for them, you might  be surprised by the love stirring within you…because praying for someone is love in action.