disarming

there was the nicest man in church today. he had that great spirit that made you want to know him. to be in his presence. come to find out, his wife, is a lady who has this same kind of spirit (but it doesn't stop her from speaking truth).

i'm the kind of gal who would rather have a long conversation than talk to a room full of people. i don't talk to many people because these are not the types of conversations many are interested in having. i would rather wait and save all my words and attention for that one person, that one soul, willing to engage than all the mindless prattling in the world. which makes me believe i will never hold any political office, because i can't fake nice. or interest. if i don't care, i walk away. it is a problem on some occassions.

i was talking to my best friend who introduced the concept of not answering personal questions from strangers. i said,

huh. hadn't thought of it that way. maybe it is something i need to employ.

but you see, i wait so long for the right strangers that i don't find their questions much of a problem. because i also answer only the right questions. the sincere questions (you know they are sincere if they let you answer. many are the questions asked, punted out there, and answered by the asker. just hesitate in your reply a few microseconds and you will discover this to be true).

so i'm sitting there, silent. and this man's whole persona is the kind that invites communion. so i ask,

are you an artist?

this question elicits many responses. the most troubling perhaps are those souls who won't don the name from fear.

i write poetry, but i'm not a poet.

okay.

i paint, but i'm not a painter.

okay.

have it your way. i just asked a question.

he dodged out on the question in this way and i let him.

the lovely helen handed me a birthday card she got from her sister (she wanted me to see it and i didn't understand why until i read the first two lines. her sister had composed an imperfect sonnet. imperfect is neither here nor there, but after realizing it was not belabored and precise i merely enjoyed it. one couplet read: i've composed verse for years / now i'm compeletly out of idears. which elicited a guffaw from me and my standard, if you're going to rhyme, do it well speech).

i shared a line from the liturgy that i found striking and had seemingly never heard before. (i'll talk about that another time) and he said,

do you always write notes?

no,

i said,

but i write about the things that strike me.

so we got talking.

his story is so compelling, i shall have to write on that another day as well. but first to his wife.

i met her six months ago, when i also met him and he met my peeps (as he reminded me when we met again at coffeehour). i considered not going to church this morning because, it generally sucks aside from liturgy. forgive me, but it's true. i don't know why i go sometimes. i just go hoping God will show up. and sometimes He does. sometimes i'm too distracted to notice. sometimes, well, you understand.

so the wife talks about all kinds of things from the occult to heavy metal and tattoos. i've been trying to figure out how to explain her buffeting. it was not the storm surge tsunami of conviction, but the gentle sweeping tidal flow that wears down stones. smoothes jagged shells. renders useful myriad sharp and pointy things.

i could feel the conviction growing the more she talked.

all she said was biblical and i've heard it all before. many of my friends have told me these same things. but the diffence this time was my perception of her sincerity. her holiness. i guess you'd say.

i believe my friends holy and sanctified as well, but sometimes they preach at me and i chalk it up to their being nutz. (i'm just being honest. i get off the hook that way because they are fanatical and i'm sane. though, read me any day of the week and you'll likely have a few religious points to make with me. and i will let you make them. but it was different. if there is no weight of life, of presence, of being, no true communion of soul, all the words in the world are just that. mere words. they have no bearing on anything. even though they are the selfsame words i heard today).

before she left, she was so impressed with my listening and interest, i told her,

you've utterly disarmed me. i have no defense for my tattoo, for listening to heavy metal, for writing the things that i do, but i must go home and examine my heart before God.

and she left it at that. she did not say,

i'm God's mouthpiece, repent sinner.

none of that turning the eyes of the sinner toward herself, but left me before the Living God who knows well enough how to deal with me. she left me in utterly capable Hands.

i'm not sure what will come of our talk today. she said so much. i have to let the weight of conviction and grace do their work. have their way. and i must not hide from the source of Light that shone upon me today. though it break me and make me confess all, again. i will confess all again.

i do not know if it will result in a change of writing or living, that remains to be seen. my best friend commented that i'd mentioned changing my actions, quieting my sounds some time ago. and i told her,

my intent stated does not always work itself out so quickly. it needs time.

though i did manage to slip into a church unawares on saturday. my husband would be very proud. but that is another story for another time.