Happy ......Easter!

Taking in my surroundings I acknowledge the value of standing in the epicenter of human priority in America. And it's only appropriate that a song from my past is ringing through the supermarket speakers as I work and absorb and write. The seasonal peanut butter eggs sit in front of me with the cigarette case to my back. The tabloids screaming of infidelity and weight loss are placed in 6 strategic 'buyer potential' areas while the daily newspapers are on two racks in the front with me. In a few hours copies of the morning edition will arrive. I'll place them in stacks in a cart by the main walking area and throughout the day the stacks will shrink and disappear as shoppers grab their Sunday paper, milk and assorted necessities and luxuries. They'll read of another country's devastation, as they did last month, and some will skip to the coupon section while others reflect on the tragic loss befalling a distant neighbor, hidden on page 14.


I feel Americans are given an unfair reputation as, I can safely assume, are every other collection of humans identified as a whole by the name of their country. We do this because of the similarities a mass population shares such as language, laws, traditions and social norms. And just maybe we gain a strategic edge by blurring individualistic lines of a potential foe into one regional identity. How much easier is it to sink a distant ship than to drown a man with your own hands?


But I direct this back to the beginning at the mention of the song playing in the background. The lyrics focus on the artist's past addictions. Ironically it's a song from a CD I owned that has long since been collected and passed on to the thrift store with many other reminders of a reckless and senseless time in my own life. This was a part of the 'cleaning of my environment' as it were, to be able to start on a new path, much like the writer of the song was doing as he looked back to the bridge and sung of moving forward. And in focusing on the renewal God has made of my often frivolous and sometimes meaningful existence, I find the value in the concept of individuality.



Working with the public allows you insight into a myriad of individual personalities, which is why I work the night shift. I can only take small chunks of society at a time.


But in these little bursts of customers throughout the dark hours, the differences in their attitudes and overall perspectives of little and large events sneaks it's way through to me.


Some people are optimistic of the future. More seem pessimistic of the present while still others are not aware of anything outside their own sphere of day in and day out living. It seems inaccurate to conglomerate and package together as a mass consciousness these singular perspectives on this piece of land out here to the west.


And of course these individuals in America that I watch shopping in different aisles at 3 in the morning live their own stories. Diapers, organic produce, medications, arms full, baskets full, carts pushed up to the redhead cashier who talks to them as she rings them through. We laugh about the birthday cake for the 2 year old who doesn't even know he's two and I congratulate the lucky mailman who was off for both days the snow storms hit, and my eyes follow the select few who are looking for a clean bathroom and a warm refuge that I allow to walk around the store and pretend they might purchase something.


And as the night continues on, the morning paper makes its way onto front seats and kitchen tables and television stands. Some of the individuals in America will reflect on the individuals that are suffering through the rebellion of our shared planet. Some of these individuals residing in America will call loved ones and cry over a mutual loss traveling abroad. Others will scan the Internet to assess the damage done and any possible route to help alleviate some distant but very real pain. These particular individuals have recognised individuality. How valuable this realization is to them! No longer does the Earth appear insurmountably vast, but is acknowledged as a homestead. Disconnected no more by property lines, restricted air space or unscaleable heights these brothers and sisters of humanity mourn each loss and revel in the victorious stories of lives spared. No country, principality or nation can boast of such an insight being characteristic of their people. Only individuals. A man sitting in his living room, a child hearing the news in school, a woman on a plane passing over a broken world; individuals who decide to share the pain through their mourning souls. I think I may have found the lost species of Human I've heard so much about but have long doubted it's existence.


And as images form of Christ and the angels watching the humans trip over each other in their quest to get to where they think they need to go and survive for the sole purpose of not dying, love must've swelled for their all powerful God. This master Creator doesn't see the swarms of billions of feet below. He knows individuality. He created individuality. And he doesn't have to peek over the clouds to find a man praying; He knows the man and feels his prayer and already has His hand working through this individual's circumstances.
Easter is here again. It's my 35th. I've experienced every sort of candy known to pre-packaged holidays throughout these years and Easter has become my favorite. Chocolate is great. Spring is refreshing and Easter doesn't last 2 months like Christmas does. Fleeting thoughts of the meaning behind the cross I'm eating satiate my guilt for not being moved by 'the true meaning' of Easter anymore. In all my experiences of getting in and out of trouble, praying, thanking God for answering my prayers, getting into trouble again etc... I've allowed my idea of God to become a distant mass of 'Power' and 'Awesome...stuff' and 'Goodness' I think of occasionally when I look up into the sky. How unjust.

Faith goes camping.

.theenemylurks.
Once again night comes creeping up to, over, and beyond where I'm sitting. But I'm not sitting by a window anymore; it's no longer mine to enjoy. And I will not be the fortunate recipient of spontaneous purring; they have laps to warm or crickets to chase elsewhere. They are no longer mine to love. I don't bother bending my ear for the sound of the car pulling up bringing my love to the front door. No motor. No door. They are no longer ours to use. Each aspect and detail chipped away at for months, than weeks, now days. So I sit in silence with Jesus on borrowed camp chairs and use a paper plate to write the musings of a broken woman. And He smiles and corrects my phrasing.

" A chipped woman is not broken but worn," He reminds.

"Good point!", I reply.

A chip from betrayal that no glue can ever properly mend.
One from brokenheartedness at the parting of ways from dear loved ones.
And still another from being dropped when no one was brave enough to reach out and catch.
.theenemylurks.

But then...and unmarred dish is an unused one. An unused dish is merely decoration and I never was much for plates on walls.

And my attention diverts again to where I pretend I can see Him sitting. I study His face and notice that He's chipped too. His brows carry concern for his constanly disloyal children.
His eyes bear the tint of the ever fresh memory of loss. And His shoulders seem weighed down with remorse at the opportunities passed over by those called to serve. We are sorrowful together by the ring from which I can only coax smoke. We share our concerns. And we watch the days approaching when those serving now will confront their own walls of uncertainty only to stand on this side of faith for the rest of their mortal given time.
.theenemylurks.

He reminds me, as always, that sorrow is appropriate but it never walks alone. And He instructs me to look around, as always, and I do. And we smile together at the humble campsite littered with faithfully supplied gifts from a friend most overlook as faithful. And I see the tent that houses arms that grow tighter every night. And I remember the choices and responses that landed us where we are. And I swell with pride and confidence. We did what He taught us to.
.theenemylurks.

A road has been blocked. Our lives are new with possibilities; but I fear the plateau. We are in a difficult place, yes, but it remains at the same difficulty. For the past 7 months we have lost little by little until all but each other and some useless piles of possessions housed in a house of His could be called 'ours'. And now we've leveled out. We didn't lose anything yesterday and it almost frightens me. All we have is each other. Are we being prepared for us to begin gaining again, or the opposite? Are we being prepared for the worst?
.theenemylurks.....but I already know his defeat.