It was evident that May hit the four month language slump when small Arabic words such as “warda”, which simply meant “rose”, tempted her mind into thoughts about the bookstore she wanted to open one day. She imagined the flower stand outside the store that would sell Chrysanthemum, Amaryllis, and Birds of Paradise, along with an array of others. Her mind walked through the doors of the bookstore and journeyed around shelves and amiable book displays. It stopped at the register counter where the different brands of the coffee, she would offer her customers, shadowed the pastries that would be served alongside freshly squeezed juices and homemade breads.
She heard the sound the tin lid made while being twisted off the thick, glass candy jar that contained dozens of lemon drops and sat next to the “save the manatees” pins near the cash register. Illogically, her next thought was the joy she would find swimming with the manatees one day. With her thoughts once again happening upon the bookstore, she realized that she never really decided on the actual books that would be on the shelves.
There was no controlling the randomness to her thoughts during this day’s diversion from studying. May wondered if her plans matched up to His and whether or not she would get to run the orphanages in Haiti and Africa that she wanted to build. She wondered if she would ever give a little more then she got. She always thought she would give more than she would get, but somehow managed leaving places getting so much more than she ever gave. That thought always baffled her and she wished to eventually give more than she would get. Her mind moved onto playing “airplane” with the orphans and twirling them in endless circles. She felt the dizziness.
She wondered when she would get the slight gap that sat comfortably between her two, center, bottom teeth fixed. She wanted to ballroom dance in the sand at the beach while the sun was setting and to own a long red coat and stylish black boots (neither of which she owned), just to be fashionable in cold weather somewhere one day. She wondered when she would be able to drop her middle name and move her last name to its’ spot and add another last name – she secretly hoped it would start with an “M” so her initials would squiggle “MMM”. Her mind drifted further off…
It wandered onto the things she wanted to “do” in her life. She thought about the kinds of marble and wood she would choose for the handmade backgammon board she would make her father. She wondered why she did not bring all the scrap pieces of material she had cut off from old prom dresses, basketball jerseys, and graduation caps to sew together with strips of material from aged tee-shirts that had significance and pieces of clothe she had purchased from different countries she had traveled. She wanted to sew together a “life” blanket that she expected to give to her kids one day.
She thought of all the things she wanted to learn. She wanted to learn to play the guitar (or just one song), surf, publish a book, make tasteful pottery bowls, run a marathon (preferably in Florida during one of the cooler months), earn a doctorate (she had no idea what in), throw a huge surprise party (she had no idea who for). She even thought about what name she would give the golden retriever and black lab she wished to own one day.
She did not realize she was strolling down Distraction Lane until a half hour passed and she felt a drip of sweat nonchalantly roll down her cheek, drip onto her forearm, and awaken her to the slightly smudged flash cards that she held in her moist right hand. There she was, sitting in the bamboo chair with pastel clothe cushions, amused by her mind’s ability to jump from “warda” to the entire rest of her life, some ideas more shallow than others. May flipped to the next flashcard hoping her dreams would one day become more than paragraphs on the paper narrative of her life.
Friday, August 24, 2007
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Chapter 21 "Beggars at the Gate"
Faded rags covered the slender arms that reached up, open palms, toward May as she walked up the steps and through the gate to the ch*r*h. She turned her head slightly to the left without slowing her stride toward the open door. Beggars had become common. They had become nothing more than broken bodies covered by filthy rags. They had no past, no future, no children, no friend, and no one that missed them. Their eyes were no longer slits that told stories of struggle and sacrifice or of misfortune and sadness. She had begun to ignore each person that asked for money. She did not realize she had gotten to the point of dehumanizing the very people she came to love, until she sat down in the church pew and thought about the man on the ch*r*h steps.
Her heart was confronted with the “giving” issue again, as it had been a few nights before when convicted by wisdom that came through one of the brother’s words. She knew her “giving”, or lack of it, needed changing. She reached into her purse. As her fingers clenched onto the gold rimmed coins that lay hidden at the bottom, she thought about the dozens of times she did not put change into the beggar child’s sweaty hands, into the lame man’s tin cup, or into the woman’s thin fingers that reached through the amjad’s window.
She had been stuck in “thinking” about giving long enough. As with everything in her life, when she let herself be stuck in the “thinking” part, the doing part usually lagged behind. She contemplated the “how much”, “when”, and “who” questions. The stereotypes that often kept her from giving money, but rather food in the US, happened to be the same stereotypes that kept her fingers locked together in Africa. Embarrassed by other culturally embedded thoughts, she came to the conclusion the street beggars with half burned bodies, or missing limbs, or puss filled eyes, and eight year old orphans probably would use the money for food or shelter, not for addictions. This day, bigger thoughts came to her mind as she pulled her copper filled hand out of her purse.
May wanted a heart that did not fear not having things. She wanted a heart that longed to do more then empty the loose metal in her pockets into the hands of beggars. She wanted a heart that answered, “I’ll give them my bills and when I run out of bills I’ll give them the clothes off my back,” when her mind wondered what she would do if she ran out of loose change. May wanted a heart that desired to give everything to the poor and that did not worry about student loans and more education and material things. She did not have that type of heart yet. She wanted the inner chambers of her heart to desire to give what she had…religion that G our Father accepts as pure and faultless is to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.
She pulled out the small handful of coins from her purse and sat in the pew understanding grace deeper then before. She deserved nothing more then to be a beggar sitting on the steps of Heaven’s door, arms raised pleading to be let in the gate. It was by His Sacrifice she would be allowed through the gate, and by His grace that He did not ignore her or make her beg to enter. May walked out of the church to the beggar and dropped the coins into his hands, this time she saw his eyes. She saw a purpose and a future for this man. She wondered what these slender arms covered by faded rags would look like one day, palms lifted toward the S*vi*r, and she whispered for his soul.
Her heart was confronted with the “giving” issue again, as it had been a few nights before when convicted by wisdom that came through one of the brother’s words. She knew her “giving”, or lack of it, needed changing. She reached into her purse. As her fingers clenched onto the gold rimmed coins that lay hidden at the bottom, she thought about the dozens of times she did not put change into the beggar child’s sweaty hands, into the lame man’s tin cup, or into the woman’s thin fingers that reached through the amjad’s window.
She had been stuck in “thinking” about giving long enough. As with everything in her life, when she let herself be stuck in the “thinking” part, the doing part usually lagged behind. She contemplated the “how much”, “when”, and “who” questions. The stereotypes that often kept her from giving money, but rather food in the US, happened to be the same stereotypes that kept her fingers locked together in Africa. Embarrassed by other culturally embedded thoughts, she came to the conclusion the street beggars with half burned bodies, or missing limbs, or puss filled eyes, and eight year old orphans probably would use the money for food or shelter, not for addictions. This day, bigger thoughts came to her mind as she pulled her copper filled hand out of her purse.
May wanted a heart that did not fear not having things. She wanted a heart that longed to do more then empty the loose metal in her pockets into the hands of beggars. She wanted a heart that answered, “I’ll give them my bills and when I run out of bills I’ll give them the clothes off my back,” when her mind wondered what she would do if she ran out of loose change. May wanted a heart that desired to give everything to the poor and that did not worry about student loans and more education and material things. She did not have that type of heart yet. She wanted the inner chambers of her heart to desire to give what she had…religion that G our Father accepts as pure and faultless is to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.
She pulled out the small handful of coins from her purse and sat in the pew understanding grace deeper then before. She deserved nothing more then to be a beggar sitting on the steps of Heaven’s door, arms raised pleading to be let in the gate. It was by His Sacrifice she would be allowed through the gate, and by His grace that He did not ignore her or make her beg to enter. May walked out of the church to the beggar and dropped the coins into his hands, this time she saw his eyes. She saw a purpose and a future for this man. She wondered what these slender arms covered by faded rags would look like one day, palms lifted toward the S*vi*r, and she whispered for his soul.
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