the last supper version 2.0

it was monday, the monday before the saturday she’d be flying out. this was not a simple trip home to see family. there was an assignment from father god included in her itinerary. it would require teamwork between an old friend back home and a conference call connecting the new friend in the pacific northwest. they made up a three-fold cord, not easily broken.

her schedule was somewhat set for the week. swim on monday and wednesday, dinner with him on tuesday evening, then manage details and pack for the trip. he called her out of the blue during the day, wanting her opinion on a jeep he was looking at. she didn’t have peace about it, and neither did he after inspecting the engine. he would wait. she affirmed his decision.

still intending to go swimming, she was surprised when he called again, this time to change dinner to that evening instead of tuesday. another clue, filed away with the others. she met him in the parking lot and walked over to his truck. he didn’t see her coming and nearly jumped out of his skin when she appeared at the driver’s door. she handed him an important book, one that could change his life if he took her counsel. he placed it in the cab, and they walked over to the indian restaurant.

she looked at him like a cow at a new gate.

he was extremely nervous. as they reviewed the menu, she commented on her inability to recall what she had the last time they were there. he remembered though, and recited it out loud word for word. she looked at him like a cow at a new gate. what was this? it was way out of character. it was guilt-induced attentiveness, that’s was it was. it’s a thing. she was feeling sick, not sure why, but ordered some falafel. he paid for dinner and they walked to their customary table in the back to wait for their meals.

falafel-1649227_960_720
photo credit: pixabay

shortly after sitting down, he pulled out his phone and showed her a selfie photo of the ‘friend‘ he’d gone to the circus with the saturday past. she waited a polite amount of time, then excused herself to the powder room to compose herself. suddenly, all the clues formed the conclusion. he was seeing someone else, hiding in the safety of his definition of ‘friend.’ it was the woman in the photo, the same woman whose face had appeared ringing in on his phone. she was a nurse, he said. they were just friends, he said.

well then. that explained why he hadn’t responded to her text that saturday morning. hence the dream about the ***hole, too. now safely in the bathroom, trying to contain her emotions, she spoke to father god. “you’d better give me some grace to walk this out, because i’m not feeling it right now.” tears stung the corners of her eyes. how was she going to continue through the meal? grace. grace would carry her.

when she returned to their table, he began to talk about a new place he’d gone hiking. she looked him in the eyes and tested the water. “when are we going to go there together?” he answered her quickly, “when you get back we’ll go.” 

he looked at her across the table. he knew that she knew. steering the focus of conversation back to her, he asked about her upcoming trip. she looked at him again and this time, she spoke with her eyes. ‘i know what you’re doing, turning the focus back to me.’ he could barely meet her gaze. it was a look.

switching back to words, she shared with him how she was excited to see the man who’d given her purpose to live over thirty years ago after a near fatal car wreck. as she described how the doctor used to examine her facial scars, she reached across the table and placed her hands on his cheeks so he could feel the same sensation. he was melting under her gaze of love. she had no idea how she was even doing this without coming unglued. love just came out toward him. just love.

consistent, reliable and stable.

somewhere in the conversation, she reminded him of what father god had spoken to her about him. looking into his eyes again, she said it with her voice. “remember what father said about you. you are consistent, reliable….” he finished the sentence for her, the mirror reflecting on him now. “…and stable.” there it was: consistent, reliable and stable. he was becoming those things, though he was unaware how it was happening. he wanted to be those things, too.

most of her meal stayed on her plate. the falafel was dry. she’d lost her appetite once he’d showed her the selfie of him and his friend at the circus. they left the restaurant and walked back to her car. this time, she didn’t loop her arm through his as they walked.

she got in the driver’s side while he climbed in the passenger side. he asked if she needed anything to calm her on her trip because it was going to be intense. she observed his anxiety talking; it was not hers. in the end, he left her with some prescription meds. she placed them in a cubby, only to flush them down the toilet at a later date.

he was consumed with guilt, convicted at his behavior and deception. he knew that she knew. still trying to redeem himself, he told her to let him know if she wanted to get together one more time before she left on saturday. she nodded slowly. she would let him know.

he knew that she knew. and he did not know what to do.

to her surprise, he leaned over to kiss her on her right cheek. he lingered there, his lips pressed against her skin for a long time. he’d never done that before. finally pulling away, he did something else shocking, muttering the words, “love you” to her as his head hung down. he’d told her he loved her without her saying it first. that was a first. he knew that she knew. and he did not know what to do.

she drove home is a state of semi-shock, trying to believe the best without denying how all the clues and pieces had come together to form a whole picture. the next day, she texted him, asking him if he’d like to go swimming with her on wednesday night. it was the last night she could swim before her flight on saturday. he never responded. when she drove home from the pool on wednesday night, she saw why: his truck was parked at the yoga studio.

he was not worthy of her yet. she could not afford any more distraction or heartache before this trip. it was too important. he called sometime on thursday. she couldn’t talk with him. he did not leave a message.

on friday, he called her phone three times during the day. each time, she looked at it, gently saying, “i cannot talk to you now.” she could feel his panic as it manifested in her own gut, making her sick. she quickly consulted friends and then cut all negative soul ties with him. it stopped the flow of his anxiety into her. she did not own this mess or his actions. it was all on him.

details go sideways when truth is abandoned

she asked father when she should respond to him. he advised her to text him after work was over. as she was nearly ready to text him, he texted her. she could hear his fear and anger in the text. “i am trying to confirm if i need to pick you up tonight and bring you to the airport.” clearly, he was distraught, because he had the timing of her departure wrong. details go sideways when truth is abandoned.

breathing in and drawing on more grace, she responded to him likewise in text, “something’s come up, a change in plans. thanks for offering, but you won’t need to take me to the airport in the morning.” 

he did not ask about the change in plans. he did not respond at all.

he was not worthy of her yet.

copyright © 2017 jane doe productions

turn around, look

the weeks apart turned into months. truth be told, it was not easy. standing and believing took on new meaning. her faith grew exponentially in the process.

day by day, she took communion, prayed and declared over them and their children, mixed lot that they were. when she prayed, she saw things and then she would speak them out. in one vignette, she saw him with his head resting on father god’s chest, hearing the heartbeat of the one who made him.

in another, she saw father god building a new bridge between him and one of his children. they approached from opposite ends of the bridge, getting closer to each other every day. in the moment they met in the middle, they entered into a brand new beginning, one that would make up for the lost years.

Footbidge
photo credit: pixabay

she knew he was getting closer. father gave her dreams to encourage her to keep doing what she was doing. he was so close, she could feel it. when the breakthrough began, she would see him coming to the house to get her, standing at the front door ringing the doorbell.

other times, she would see him at her work. memories of them working in the conference room together would flood back to her mind. they were precious, sweet and painful at the same time. their foundation together had been good, but now it would be strong, solid, immoveable. father said so.

several friends knew this road they were walking out. their prayers were impactful, clear, declarative, filled with power and love. praying together, they moved things that had blocked and hindered, clearing a path for his healing, freedom, future and calling.

on the day she cut a cord of control and witchcraft, one friend observed it would take him a few days to get his bearings. this action was critical. the ties that held him captive held him no more. now, he was able to move freely like never before.

and then, days later, father let her see him walking free. on a thursday night after work, she headed to the pool for a swim. it was the same pool where they’d met a year earlier. it was the same park they walked and talked around many times.

the sighting

she was parked on the street sitting in the car talking to another friend. their conversation went all over the place, rabbit tracks in every direction. they were still getting to know each other. there was a lot of ground to cover – and not. conversations were rarely short and this was no exception. she opened the car windows to keep from melting from the heat. she rolled down the passenger window and looked to her left. what she saw stopped her talking in mid-sentence.

there he was, walking on the path. she looked again, hard. yes, it was him.oh, my god, he’s here, ****’* here!!! he’s about twenty feet away from me walking on the path around the park. what do i do?!?!”

‘”what is the lord saying to you to do?” “i don’t know! my heart is beating so hard i can’t think.” she stopped talking to listen, to feel and know what to do. then it was easy.

“i’m not doing anything. i’m not going after him. he still has to come for me when he’s ready. i just get to see him.” crying, she continued, “he looks good. he’s standing taller. and his gait seems more purposeful, like he’s freer and sorting things out.”

she waited to see if he went into the pool building. he did not. he kept walking. “okay, he’s out of sight now. i’ve got to get in the building while he’s on the other side of the park.” they postponed their remaining conversation until later.

she went on to swim. what was normally relaxing was anything but after the excitement of the ‘sighting.’ she kept an eye on the men’s changing room to see if he’d walk through the door.

when later came and their conversation resumed, both women agreed how special it was for father to let her see him. she knew a few more things now, with certainty: he was healing. he was free. he was stronger. and he would be coming for her soon.

the next morning, another friend messaged her. she asked if something had happened with him due to her post the night before: “tears of joy, peace, contentment, high expectations and a pint of organic vanilla ice cream drowning in chocolate sauce. it was a grand day. ♥”

this friend had surmised correctly, and she had some encouragement to bring, as well. she offered what father showed her:

“it’s not a long road between you two,” father says. “turn around, look.” she continued. “i see things in pictures mostly. so i saw the path being swept, and you a short distance away waiting. father is saying turn around and look. maybe an encouragement to see what father is doing.”

yes, it was an encouragement. yes, yes, yes! she mulled over the words again. “it’s not a long road between you two. father says, “turn around, look.”

she turned around to look.

psalm 37:4 the voice

take great joy in the eternal!
his gifts are coming, and they are all your heart desires!

(copyright © 2017 jane doe productions)

unpacking old bags

she was just a young girl when the other three girls showed up for a month-long visit. they were close to her own age. her mother called them her stepsisters. this was new information. what was a stepsister and why did her mother have three of them? and who was this other ‘momma’ the four of them referred to? was that her other grandmother?

Luggage Old
photo credit: pixabay

the girls’ arrival opened up the past, like old luggage surfacing at will after having been buried on purpose decades earlier. as the bags were opened and unpacked, the walls of the old brick farmhouse became privy to long held secrets. nothing would ever be the same. tensions flew between elder relatives. conversations were held in hushed angry tones while pointy fingers accused and placed blame. her mother and stepsisters were caught in the crossfire.

years had passed since that fateful visit. she hardly remembered any of it now, save for the trauma of her infant brother rolling off of the bed onto the floor. she’d spent the better of part of the past thirty years (the last five in earnest) trying to piece together the events of her mother’s life. she hoped to better understand why their relationship played out like it had. sometimes it helped to have understanding of the timeline of physical events to see the spiritual cause and effect – and vice versa.

clarity made it easier to forgive, to discard unreasonable expectations. the two went  hand in hand, both were necessary for emotional, mental and physical healing to occur.

it was time for another epsom salt bath, seeking more revelation. that was generally how it worked. the combination of the salt and soaking music opened up her vision like nothing else. holy spirit showed her stuff.

this bath led to a new ‘seeing’ of her mother. an old familiar black and white photo came to focus in her mind’s eye. she saw herself as an adorable toddler holding on to the edge of her pretty dress standing by what might have been her grandfather’s fancy car. in a moment, the little girl in the photo took on the face of her mother at that age.

this image of her mother was not easy to see. she was a little girl, vulnerable, born into a family of broken adults. she knew what happened to momma at that tender age. it was as though she’d been thrust into the part herself. she had asked to see what happened and here it was.

there were issues. momma’s own daddy was broken and drank a lot. momma’s momma was young and her momma said she was too young to be tied down with a baby and a husband. this piece puzzled her greatly. what was going on between this mother and daughter and why would a grandmother reject her little granddaughter? how far back did this root of rejection go?

her memory went back to a phone conversation she had with her momma on a lunch break walk. momma recalled their house in portland, sitting in the breakfast nook eating  with a view of mount hood out the window. she knew if momma remembered mount hood, she remembered other events, even if she didn’t speak of them.

back in the past, divorce proceedings took place in court. after that, her momma’s daddy took his little girl away from her momma across the country. she would never see her momma again. her heart was broken.

this explained in part why she had been unable to love. she’d been torn from her own mother when she was just a baby. that trauma alone kept her stuck emotionally. she’d had no tools to heal, no one to share her grief with. she got stuck there.

and then there were the letters. that is another story.

love your momma even if she can’t love you back.

(copyright © 2017 jane doe)

 

 

bicycles

it was good then.

so good.

it was not perfect. it didn’t have to be.

he had a bicycle before she came.

she was gifted one by a lesbian couple.

that is another story.

they went everywhere.

bicycles-red
photo credit: pixabay

he was the tour guide, the protector, the man.

she was the perpetual tourist in this new land.

he was bigger than life.

he told crazy stories that made her laugh until she doubled over.

they masked the pain of the stories that were not funny.

she listened when he told those stories.

she saw his tears, felt his pain.

he listened to her stories.

he saw her tears, felt her pain.

even in that, there was nothing but open road before them.

it was good then.

so good.

(copyright 2016 jane doe)