Prose: Simple-Hearted

In the spring, it became apparent we had lost each other for quite some time. I had become rote in my ability to disappoint. You had become distant before and after discussion on top of discussion. Together we suffered and our affection caught glaucoma. Nearness and touch gave way to a glance that at times was familiar and others was as unwelcome as a strangers gaze.

I placed my baggage on a chair at the table and asked you where you woud like to start. Should we start with mine or yours? Would you like to dump it all out at once and sort through it or take it out one piece at a time until it becomes intolerable?

Desire carried us then to lighten each other’s load

How patient are you now?

I find we both can be patient, depending on how generous we are feeling and if our longing for something else abates in order to notice each others need for tenderness.

Together, yet separately, we crafted versions of one another that were neither true in regard to our selfish motives nor the overtly romantic notions of who we wanted each other to be.

And this too gave way to accepting the imperfect person standing there doing dishes, taking out trash, folding clothes, leaving clothes on the ground, scrubbing the toilet, leaving hair in the sink, crankiness, irritability, depression, with the one whom we chose to at one time make a home with. Whom we recently have forgotten to make a home with. Who will care for us in our neglect?

I have refined you and you me, or at least, we have been useful in the process. It was not our usefulness that made us or kept us face to face. It was our hearts circulating willingess to lay down parts of the self to inherit much of the other, and there we were able to return.

To the smiles, the giggles, to the hands we hold across the table and the breath we both hear and have frequently felt intimately, and it is the many moments in the delight of familiarity that we find each others eyes again and again.

And there simple hearts are known.

Little Hands

I had a profound moment this weekend. I paid a visit to Charleston to see the sun, hang with friends, and attend some sessions of a Missions conference. This past week has been helpful in reflecting about a sense of purpose and what brings me joy. My trip was a nice, not nearly long enough visit and break, but I fit a lot into a lovely weekend. One moment stuck out, not because it was the best moment of the weekend, but it was certainly unexpected.

Sunday morning at the end of church, the entire congregation was called forward to lay  hands in prayer on missionaries who shared throughout the weekend.  I was initially unsure if they wanted everybody to come forward but when it became apparent everyone was, I walked forward and laid my hand as a point of connection on Milton’s (and elder at the church’s) shoulder  to pray. I was standing against the stage and did not have much of a thought about anything.

I pause the story here to say that in all honesty, part of my hope for the weekend was a moment of clarity or revelation regarding next steps in ministry or locale or vocation. I’ve written previously about trying to be an augur to (predict) my future and that trap, but I think this weekend served as a reminder of the will of God (sanctification) and being faithful with what God has already given, being grateful for it, and not demanding something I would deem better. That’s a lot of wonderful things to feel and hopefully hold onto in a whirlwind weekend.

But I want to come back to this one kiss from the Lord.

We are praying. My mind is clear but not focused and suddenly, as my head is bowed eyes closed, standing with arm outstretched, a little hand grabbed my hand at my side without a hint of timidity. I don’t know if there was hesitation, but it felt like the hand grabbed mine so quickly and gently that there was none.

And in that moment, something fascinating happened, for a split second it was curiosity, then a laugh, then a flood of pictures ran through my head. I saw myself praying at a table with I presume, my children. I saw myself reading the bible with them and highlighting the promises of God. I saw eager and excited eyes and was a bit overwhelmed. So, I looked back, almost behind me and saw a boy about 7, holding my hand with his head bowed in prayer.

I smiled, thanked God, and prayed something along the lines of, “Lord thank you for this reminder, please tell me I’m not crazy for wanting to be a dad and having a family.” I mouthed that prayer, but not out loud. Immediately, the little hand gave a little squeeze. Perhaps confirmation, probably coincidence but it felt right, and I felt God’s delight.

I gave God a knowing nod and appreciated the moment as the time of prayer was wrapping up. But then another gift, 20 seconds or so before the prayer was about to end, another even smaller hand slipped between our hands. The little boys presumably 4-year old brother, wearing a backpack, wanted to be connected in prayer as well.

There really isn’t too big of a lesson or metaphor here. After the Amen I looked at a man who I assume was the boys dad and smiled and returned without much of a thought. Thoughts and doubts, you don’t need them when you know you’re known.