undercover

she knew her life was unusual, abnormal. she knew she was peculiar. for some in her circle, peculiar was an understatement. it didn’t matter anymore. maybe it never did.

she was trained by spirit through many books, many movies.

spirit taught her how to live life undercover, unseen, operating in stealth and hiddenness.

p1010430
photo credit: jane doe

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

one set of books was a mystery trilogy. the heroine was an undercover agent.

she was a subject matter expert in one area, but was often called to work in areas outside her comfort zone.

papa reminded her of the teachings he brought her. he reminded her about the heroine. he showed her scenes from the trilogy when she needed them.

‘i will never ask you to do anything that alex was not asked to do.’

she drew in a breath when papa said it. there was no handbook for this work.

she recalled how alex walked into dangerous situations fearlessly.

she observed the wisdom with which she responded to threats and attacks.

alex always had the right help at the right time. expertise came to her as needed. wisdom was ever present. somehow, she survived every attempt on her life.

alex loved justice. she extended mercy. compassion flowed through her hands and feet.

righteous anger mingled with mercy and compassion in the worst of circumstances.

in one story, she was moved as alex saw the real man inside the russian mobster who’d kidnapped her. that same mobster would make peace with papa on his deathbed in a later story.

alex was there with him. she held his hand and helped him find his way home.

through this heroine’s fictional life, papa showed her his love for others knew no bounds, no limits.

this training groomed and prepared her to perceive and obey the unconventional direction papa would give her in the future.

it was time to be as faithful to papa as he was to her.

she asked him for this level of faithfulness.

her life was not ordinary.

but it was the life she was built for.

(copyright 2016 jane doe)

 

 

Advertisements

the second date

he came to pick her up in his little white car for their second date.

he was happy to see her.

she was happy to see him. she was guarded, too.

they drove out of the town, across the iconic green bridge.

fall was in full swing. it was dark outside.

they drove out of the city lights to a small island several miles away.

p1010833
photo credit: jane doe

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

fear spoke to her, ‘no one will know where to look for you if anything goes wrong.’

she ignored the voice.

the island was dotted by yard lights illuminating single homes, small farms, some businesses.

he unpacked more stories as they drove.

the stories went on and on, one right after the other with no breath or break between them.

some were tragic, some unbelievable. others were simply horrific. silence of the lambs came to her mind as she listened.

she felt his trauma. she sensed the spirit that lingered around him.

pieces of his soul were held tight, locked down in specific places in time.

it was overwhelming, nearly too much to take in.

she was silent as he drove the car out to a fishing pier and parked it.

it was pitch dark.

he got out of the car.

suddenly, she was afraid.

the thought gripped her heart. ‘what if he brought me out here to kill me?’

it was possible. his family history was violent.

no one knew where she was.

he talked as he walked around the car.

a chained fence blocked the road in front of them.

he tried to unlock it, but he could not.

he got back in the car, still talking.

she breathed a sigh of relief as he started the engine.

‘thank god,’ she sighed silently.

streetlights lit their path again as they returned to town.

she relaxed, taking some deep breaths.

she told him she’d been afraid he was going kill her.

in all sincerity, he assured her he would never do anything to hurt her.

he took her home to the stone hut.

she was safe with him.

for now.

(copyright 2106 jane doe)

 

their first date

he called her shortly after their meeting at the food shelf.

he was excited, enthusiastic, like a little child gifted with a new toy.

he rode his bicycle and met her in a public square close to where her clay hut was located.

she observed his gestures as he spoke.

dsc_0962
photo credit: n. leblanc

she listened to his words, the inflection of his voice as he talked about his life.

she picked up different spirits on him. poverty. self-pity and infirmity. the dominant spirit was fear. it controlled the others.

he reminded her of the men and women papa had shown her outside the homeless shelter only days earlier. it has been a set up for this moment with him.

papa had gently asked her to look into the face of each person.

“i want you to look into their faces. look into each person’s eyes.”

“each of them had a family. each of them had hopes and dreams. not one of them ever expected to find themselves here.”

tears ran down her cheeks as she looked into each face that night.

some people engaged her, meeting her gaze with their own.

others stared back with vacant eyes.

some were drug addicts. some were alcoholics. some were mentally ill. some were plagued with all those things.

all of them were tormented and suffering.

those brief encounters with these children of papa had changed her, wrecked her for good. compassion welled up in her heart.

she listened to him talk about his experiences.

she felt his pain, his abandonment, his loss.

she heard the silent questions in his heart.

he wondered what he had done to deserve the things that happened to him.

they conversed opposite each other outside on park benches until it became too cold to endure.

they began the process of saying goodnight to each other.

she walked over to him. leaning down, she gave him a light kiss on his right cheek, kissing the scar located there just above his beard.

it was tender, gentle. a kiss from heaven.

she placed her hand on his heart and asked papa to heal it.

he said he felt something warm wash over him.

it was a tingling in his heart he had never felt before.

she knew what that feeling was. she told him papa loved him.

they made plans to get together again.

(copyright 2016 jane doe)

meeting at the food shelf

she settled in with the small family, spending her days with two little boys, chickens and rabbits.

when she was alone, she would walk the property and sing over it. there was a large stage area in their backyard. it was easy to stand up there and sing to an audience of none, save for a few neighbors, angels and a cloud of witnesses she could not see.

back where she used to live, people she thought she could trust were doing bad things. her belongings, yet to be moved, were methodically taken from what had been her home by the friend she had taken in when she needed a home. the ‘friend’ had turned on her the moment she’d stepped on the train.

betrayal is never easy to process. she defaulted to forgiveness first as she witnessed every word spoken and every act committed against her.

it was not safe to go back to attempt to reverse what was in motion. she sensed it was better to take the losses. papa would restore. he was better at it. might as well let that all go.

she had little cash, so she learned grace in accepting help from others until circumstances changed.

dsc_0990
photo credit n. leblanc

on a sunday afternoon, the lady who owned the stone hut dropped her off at a church with a food shelf. there was a line of people waiting for the doors to open.

he rode up on a bicycle. he was thin, haggard looking, lacking nutrition, lacking love.

he noticed her. she noticed him.

he had a big, brilliant smile. he was charming. he knew it.

he pulled out his pity card out of his wallet right off the bat, showing her photos of his former wife and daughter.

she had his number when he told her they’d left him years earlier.

he told this story to anyone who would listen.

she heard spirit remind her to be ‘wise as a serpent, gentle as a dove.’

she knew. she saw. she had compassion.

they exchanged telephone numbers.

when they each got their share of food, they said goodbye outside the church.

he said he would call her.

she walked down the street pulling the little cart of canned goods and other foodstuffs behind her.

he watched her walk until he could no longer see her in the distance.

she could feel it.

(copyright 2016 jane doe)