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.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Chapter 20 "Day Dreaming"
May awoke early on Tuesday, as she did every Tuesday regardless of whether or not she wanted to, she slipped into the tattered skirt and long sleeve shirt that would block the sun’s attempt to darken her already lightly tan body. As she ate a filling breakfast of grain and yogurt accompanied by a sweet, warm, cup of coffee in her enchanting green kitchen, she daydreamed of places far away from The Sandbox.
She gazed out the kitchen window and pictured the fixer-upper house she wanted to own someday. A great, big, fixer-upper house that sat close to the water and who’s stained, glass, windows shaded the grass, clouds, and water different tints. She imagined the sizeable old fashioned tub that would be the focus of the bathroom and the crown molding that would bring character to the living room. She even thought of what rooms would be scented by which Yankee Candles. Surely, each room should have a sweet smelling scent in which to be recognized.
May thought of the snug office, that she would call a “study” merely because it sounded better. The study’s walls would be just big enough to fit a poster displaying photographs of different sushi properly named in the caption below each picture. It would be accompanied by framed photographs of different restaurants she visited around the world. Her favorite part of that room was the dark, mahogany wood, chair with cumbersome cushions that swallowed anyone who sat in it and perfectly accented the dark picture frames on the desk.
She imagined the flower garden in the back of her house. She saw herself walking down the red and yellow tulip and white daisy path to the, freshly white painted, swinging chair that faced the water. She looked forward to curling up on it and swinging in the breeze while being carried away in whatever book she was reading at the time.
May thought of future summer vacations to Cape Cod and the Jeep Wrangler that would get her there. She thought of the gigantic, black, boots she would wear Cole-hogging and how good Cole-hogs tasted with a smidge of horseradish on them. She thought about jogging on the Cape’s shores in the early morning and jumping in the ocean to cool off after a good workout. She imagined Christmas Eve’s by her Grampa’s old fireplace. She pictured playing in the snow and feeling the crispness of the air on her cheeks. She could feel the winter’s numbness on her hands and feet as she dodged snow balls in the woods behind his modest house that rested, between curves, on her favorite hill on the Cape.
She wondered whom it was she would share the beautiful house with and who would accompany her on her vacations to the Cape. She awaited the days when she would admire and be admired by the same person. She did not think of what he looked like or where he was but of quaint little things. She thought of the pleasantness it would be to have someone to take care of her when she had a cold, to reach the high places in her house, or to sway with on the white swing. She thought that whenever the Father blessed her with him, she would take him back to her little hometown in Connecticut and walk down all the roads she walked down single, thinking of who he was and how they would meet. She thought she would bring him to the little fishing lakes, the ocean and the bay, in Florida, where she used to jog and fish and do all those things as a “couple” that she once did as a “single”.
May finished the last sip of her coffee and swallowed the last spoonful of grain that nearly escaped her mouth. She took a deep breath in and warm air filled her lungs. It was another Tuesday morning in northern Africa.
She gazed out the kitchen window and pictured the fixer-upper house she wanted to own someday. A great, big, fixer-upper house that sat close to the water and who’s stained, glass, windows shaded the grass, clouds, and water different tints. She imagined the sizeable old fashioned tub that would be the focus of the bathroom and the crown molding that would bring character to the living room. She even thought of what rooms would be scented by which Yankee Candles. Surely, each room should have a sweet smelling scent in which to be recognized.
May thought of the snug office, that she would call a “study” merely because it sounded better. The study’s walls would be just big enough to fit a poster displaying photographs of different sushi properly named in the caption below each picture. It would be accompanied by framed photographs of different restaurants she visited around the world. Her favorite part of that room was the dark, mahogany wood, chair with cumbersome cushions that swallowed anyone who sat in it and perfectly accented the dark picture frames on the desk.
She imagined the flower garden in the back of her house. She saw herself walking down the red and yellow tulip and white daisy path to the, freshly white painted, swinging chair that faced the water. She looked forward to curling up on it and swinging in the breeze while being carried away in whatever book she was reading at the time.
May thought of future summer vacations to Cape Cod and the Jeep Wrangler that would get her there. She thought of the gigantic, black, boots she would wear Cole-hogging and how good Cole-hogs tasted with a smidge of horseradish on them. She thought about jogging on the Cape’s shores in the early morning and jumping in the ocean to cool off after a good workout. She imagined Christmas Eve’s by her Grampa’s old fireplace. She pictured playing in the snow and feeling the crispness of the air on her cheeks. She could feel the winter’s numbness on her hands and feet as she dodged snow balls in the woods behind his modest house that rested, between curves, on her favorite hill on the Cape.
She wondered whom it was she would share the beautiful house with and who would accompany her on her vacations to the Cape. She awaited the days when she would admire and be admired by the same person. She did not think of what he looked like or where he was but of quaint little things. She thought of the pleasantness it would be to have someone to take care of her when she had a cold, to reach the high places in her house, or to sway with on the white swing. She thought that whenever the Father blessed her with him, she would take him back to her little hometown in Connecticut and walk down all the roads she walked down single, thinking of who he was and how they would meet. She thought she would bring him to the little fishing lakes, the ocean and the bay, in Florida, where she used to jog and fish and do all those things as a “couple” that she once did as a “single”.
May finished the last sip of her coffee and swallowed the last spoonful of grain that nearly escaped her mouth. She took a deep breath in and warm air filled her lungs. It was another Tuesday morning in northern Africa.
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Chapter 19 "Dancing with the Father"
May excitedly strapped her mosquito repellent, Tylenol PM, towel filled bag on her back. It was move in day. As she and Red approached the rickshaw that would bring them to the house May would stay at for the next two months, she heard her phone ring. She answered and the “yes, move in” turned into a “no, wait”. She learned a long time ago, His timing was always better then hers but, she could not help her eyes from watering and her heart from feeling let down. After an encouraging hug from Red and the comment that made her giggle, “TIA…this is Africa”, May begrudgingly got into the rickshaw and went to The Smith’s house to tutor their children rather then to move in with a family.
The following days, as she rested her head on her soft feather filled pillow in the blue room, many insights were exposed about the previous week. The week prior to the inevitable phone call, her dance with the Father had drifted into nothing more then a monotonous shuffle. A hint of homesickness mixed with a dash of “BSDs” (bad single days, as her friends referred to them), added to an overuse of the internet was multiplied by the lack of sleep she had gotten because of her nervousness about the future. The other side of the equation showed, a tired “wanna-be” servant who let the world’s music clash with the Father’s.
May was thankful, even when she let the dance dwindle, He kept the pace. She was thankful, when she stepped on his feet and messed up the rhythm, His mercy and grace kept their hands intertwined. She was thankful that He was her partner in this waltz because she knew He would not let it end, even when she was distracted by others spinning around them. She was thankful for the “no” and “wait” answers because they taught her to keep her eye’s locked on His, the leader of the dance who knows the next step. The more she thought about it, the more grateful she became. She knew she used to be like many of the people she encountered every day, deafened to the music and completely unaware of the dance that was in front of them. She was all the more appreciative that she was subject to the Father’s lead and she waited patiently on His next step.
The following days, as she rested her head on her soft feather filled pillow in the blue room, many insights were exposed about the previous week. The week prior to the inevitable phone call, her dance with the Father had drifted into nothing more then a monotonous shuffle. A hint of homesickness mixed with a dash of “BSDs” (bad single days, as her friends referred to them), added to an overuse of the internet was multiplied by the lack of sleep she had gotten because of her nervousness about the future. The other side of the equation showed, a tired “wanna-be” servant who let the world’s music clash with the Father’s.
May was thankful, even when she let the dance dwindle, He kept the pace. She was thankful, when she stepped on his feet and messed up the rhythm, His mercy and grace kept their hands intertwined. She was thankful that He was her partner in this waltz because she knew He would not let it end, even when she was distracted by others spinning around them. She was thankful for the “no” and “wait” answers because they taught her to keep her eye’s locked on His, the leader of the dance who knows the next step. The more she thought about it, the more grateful she became. She knew she used to be like many of the people she encountered every day, deafened to the music and completely unaware of the dance that was in front of them. She was all the more appreciative that she was subject to the Father’s lead and she waited patiently on His next step.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Chapter 18 "Window Views"
May enjoyed “people watching” during breaks from learning Arabic. She sat in her sturdy, brown chair, in McCaine’s room and peered out the soiled, paint speckled, window. She peeked through the barbwire fence that stood two feet high, unevenly concreted into the brick wall. The breeze permitted a dusty, light orange bag to wave to its’ companions who were attached to the rusty yellow tractor, that sat peacefully among four filth covered iron beds, amidst the dirt field.
May was not sure if the family below hung their sheets and their small articles of clothing on the tractor to air out or to dry from their submission to the rain the night before. A rug, covered by the same amount of dirt that lay beneath it, sat draped over the hot pink, broken slide that leaned on the metal frame beds. The sounds of amjads and rickshaws penetrated McCaine’s room through her newly painted white frame window.
May gazed out the window for an hour wondering the character each person acted in life as they walked by that warm afternoon in June. She imagined the man dressed in a white jalabia, carefully walking through the trash lined paths, to be a local store owner or an amjad driver who had taken the day off from work. She wondered if the woman whose dangling earrings, gold wrist ringlets, and clean healed shoes, was on her way to visit friends or to buy baby food from the local pharmacy for her child at home.
She could not imagine why some men wore blue jeans and long sleeves shirts as they walked down the road in the 120 degree heat and she found the men wearing hats rather bizarre. May noticed a man riding an old fashioned bicycle. The small mango filled box attached to his seat swayed as his feet pushed the pedals forward. A donkey driven, flat carriage, passed as its’ owner whipped its’ pelt in an attempt to motivate it to a faster speed. A woman, carrying a baby who swung from right to left mirroring the stride of her feet treading the sand, stopped to fix her rustled auburn tobe.
May noticed dozens of people solemnly marching in the direction of the giant oval mouth that sat atop the local mosque. The voice was a small murmur but could still be heard in the blue room a half mile away. She watched local business owners and random commuters alike begin their zombie-like shuffle towards the giant msqe. It was the second call to wrshp that day.
May was not sure if the family below hung their sheets and their small articles of clothing on the tractor to air out or to dry from their submission to the rain the night before. A rug, covered by the same amount of dirt that lay beneath it, sat draped over the hot pink, broken slide that leaned on the metal frame beds. The sounds of amjads and rickshaws penetrated McCaine’s room through her newly painted white frame window.
May gazed out the window for an hour wondering the character each person acted in life as they walked by that warm afternoon in June. She imagined the man dressed in a white jalabia, carefully walking through the trash lined paths, to be a local store owner or an amjad driver who had taken the day off from work. She wondered if the woman whose dangling earrings, gold wrist ringlets, and clean healed shoes, was on her way to visit friends or to buy baby food from the local pharmacy for her child at home.
She could not imagine why some men wore blue jeans and long sleeves shirts as they walked down the road in the 120 degree heat and she found the men wearing hats rather bizarre. May noticed a man riding an old fashioned bicycle. The small mango filled box attached to his seat swayed as his feet pushed the pedals forward. A donkey driven, flat carriage, passed as its’ owner whipped its’ pelt in an attempt to motivate it to a faster speed. A woman, carrying a baby who swung from right to left mirroring the stride of her feet treading the sand, stopped to fix her rustled auburn tobe.
May noticed dozens of people solemnly marching in the direction of the giant oval mouth that sat atop the local mosque. The voice was a small murmur but could still be heard in the blue room a half mile away. She watched local business owners and random commuters alike begin their zombie-like shuffle towards the giant msqe. It was the second call to wrshp that day.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Chapter 17 "The Aftermath"
May was nervous sharing this type of chapter in her journey. She tended to minimize situations in her life but was nervous that the stranger encounter would appear over exaggerated to the ones she loved or that they would be genuinely upset about the circumstances. She had been enlightened by the Father and she hoped they may be awakened in some way too.
May was a person to them, she was tangible. Some knew her blonde hair, her blue eyes, and her smile. Some knew her pranks that, humorously, never seemed to go right. Others knew her through conversations or interactions they had along the way regardless of how shallow or deep. May had a voice. What about their voice? What about the women who were raped on their way to get water? What about the women whose homes were just burned down by the rebels? What about the orphans whose parents were murdered by the rebels? She thought, when was the last time she or any of those who knew her journey got angry for them…they have a voice too…
May’s voice quivered to a similar rhythm of her hands trembling against the Smith’s wooden table while she explained the events of Tuesday afternoon. A piece of her dignity had been ripped from her and she had lost her sense of security. The experience resembled a deep flesh wound, hurting more as the adrenaline dwindled and the shock wore off. The drive was a knife digging into her skin, but the pain felt deeper in the hours that followed when the bruising fear of traveling alone and the tenderness of shaken faith set in around the puncture.
The incident changed her. She did not want to admit, even to herself that it changed her, but she knew it did. The days following the incident, May found it hard to give anyone the benefit of the doubt. The men of the Sandbox were no longer individuals to her and each one of them resembled the disgusting man who jumped into her rickshaw, put his arm around her, and asked her obscene questions until she finally could escape. They were the despicable driver who knew the entire plan and would not listen to her demands to end the excursion.
May had considered situations like these before she left the states. She knew they were possible; however, considering the future and actually living a consideration were different from each other. Did she truly trust Him with her whole heart? Did she truly believe He could take “bad” moments and use them for his glory? May wondered how she could bring Him glory through this circumstance. It would be absurd to think the only events that could bring glory to the Father were the ones the world deemed “good”. As the days passed and a new week approached May spent much of her time asking Him to reveal the “good” from this encounter and for a deeper faith that she could bring Him glory through it.
During the hours of fear and sleepless nights May clenched His book of promises and searched it for answers. She played, and replayed, the situation over in her mind as she thought back to the moments in the rickshaw. She could see the battle being fought between good and evil, she could feel it. She saw the moments when the evil one was attacking and she saw her Father with a sword and a shield protecting her, and she felt Him holding her right hand. She had never considered the different roles He had in her life. This was the first time she realized and believed that He was her warrior. The Father was her warrior and she was thankful that He proved mighty in battle.
She began to sleep again, she slept covered in the promise that he was her warrior and that he would meet all of her needs. The following morning she awoke to the Father questioning her…Do you trust me, no May do you trust me? Do you believe I love you wider then you can reach wide, higher then you can see high, and deeper then you can feel deep? I love you more. Do you consider everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing me as your Father, not some things May, everything?
May read more from the book and she felt more in her heart…I did not tell you to rejoice on just the easy days May, I told you to rejoice always. Get up and rejoice in me, not because I saved you from the hands of this present evil but because I am your Father eternal and because I gave my Son for you – I gave him for you in the moments that do not hurt and for you in the moments that do. Get up and sing praises to me, rejoice in me. I told you to give thanks in ALL circumstances. You have not thanked me for this, thank me. I told you to consider it a pure joy whenever you face trials of many kinds. Consider it a pure joy. Love me and know that I love you and find joy in this trial, May. I want to prove you genuine – your faith is of greater worth then gold and I want to prove you genuine, let me.
Her heart found peace in this conversation with the Father and she lifted Him high, thankful for His mercy and grace. She was nervous sharing this type of chapter in her journey with the ones she loved because she knew some of them would be genuinely upset about the circumstances. She knew she would share the story and she hoped they would see the deeper meaning behind it in their lives. May was a person to them, she was tangible. Some knew her blonde hair, her blue eyes, and her smile. Some knew her pranks that, humorously, never seemed to go right. Others knew her through conversations or interactions they had along the way regardless of how shallow or deep. May had a voice. What about their voice? What about the women who were raped on their way to get water? What about the women whose homes were just burned down by the rebels? What about the orphans whose parents were murdered by the rebels? She thought, when was the last time she or any of those who knew her journey got angry for them…they have a voice too. Her five minutes of fear was nothing compared to the life of fear these women live.
Whose interests are you looking out for? Look out for the interests of others. You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes – there is not enough time to dwell on this and to overanalyze this – I want your heart completely and soon enough you will dwell in my house- do not waste the time I have given you dwelling on the trials you have-for they to are a mist within the mist and are not worth more thought then the moments of sheer joy and happiness I give you-do not act like they are.
The following Tuesday most everything was back to normal for May in the Sandbox. The Father’s healing had restored May’s faith and she thanked Him.
May was a person to them, she was tangible. Some knew her blonde hair, her blue eyes, and her smile. Some knew her pranks that, humorously, never seemed to go right. Others knew her through conversations or interactions they had along the way regardless of how shallow or deep. May had a voice. What about their voice? What about the women who were raped on their way to get water? What about the women whose homes were just burned down by the rebels? What about the orphans whose parents were murdered by the rebels? She thought, when was the last time she or any of those who knew her journey got angry for them…they have a voice too…
May’s voice quivered to a similar rhythm of her hands trembling against the Smith’s wooden table while she explained the events of Tuesday afternoon. A piece of her dignity had been ripped from her and she had lost her sense of security. The experience resembled a deep flesh wound, hurting more as the adrenaline dwindled and the shock wore off. The drive was a knife digging into her skin, but the pain felt deeper in the hours that followed when the bruising fear of traveling alone and the tenderness of shaken faith set in around the puncture.
The incident changed her. She did not want to admit, even to herself that it changed her, but she knew it did. The days following the incident, May found it hard to give anyone the benefit of the doubt. The men of the Sandbox were no longer individuals to her and each one of them resembled the disgusting man who jumped into her rickshaw, put his arm around her, and asked her obscene questions until she finally could escape. They were the despicable driver who knew the entire plan and would not listen to her demands to end the excursion.
May had considered situations like these before she left the states. She knew they were possible; however, considering the future and actually living a consideration were different from each other. Did she truly trust Him with her whole heart? Did she truly believe He could take “bad” moments and use them for his glory? May wondered how she could bring Him glory through this circumstance. It would be absurd to think the only events that could bring glory to the Father were the ones the world deemed “good”. As the days passed and a new week approached May spent much of her time asking Him to reveal the “good” from this encounter and for a deeper faith that she could bring Him glory through it.
During the hours of fear and sleepless nights May clenched His book of promises and searched it for answers. She played, and replayed, the situation over in her mind as she thought back to the moments in the rickshaw. She could see the battle being fought between good and evil, she could feel it. She saw the moments when the evil one was attacking and she saw her Father with a sword and a shield protecting her, and she felt Him holding her right hand. She had never considered the different roles He had in her life. This was the first time she realized and believed that He was her warrior. The Father was her warrior and she was thankful that He proved mighty in battle.
She began to sleep again, she slept covered in the promise that he was her warrior and that he would meet all of her needs. The following morning she awoke to the Father questioning her…Do you trust me, no May do you trust me? Do you believe I love you wider then you can reach wide, higher then you can see high, and deeper then you can feel deep? I love you more. Do you consider everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing me as your Father, not some things May, everything?
May read more from the book and she felt more in her heart…I did not tell you to rejoice on just the easy days May, I told you to rejoice always. Get up and rejoice in me, not because I saved you from the hands of this present evil but because I am your Father eternal and because I gave my Son for you – I gave him for you in the moments that do not hurt and for you in the moments that do. Get up and sing praises to me, rejoice in me. I told you to give thanks in ALL circumstances. You have not thanked me for this, thank me. I told you to consider it a pure joy whenever you face trials of many kinds. Consider it a pure joy. Love me and know that I love you and find joy in this trial, May. I want to prove you genuine – your faith is of greater worth then gold and I want to prove you genuine, let me.
Her heart found peace in this conversation with the Father and she lifted Him high, thankful for His mercy and grace. She was nervous sharing this type of chapter in her journey with the ones she loved because she knew some of them would be genuinely upset about the circumstances. She knew she would share the story and she hoped they would see the deeper meaning behind it in their lives. May was a person to them, she was tangible. Some knew her blonde hair, her blue eyes, and her smile. Some knew her pranks that, humorously, never seemed to go right. Others knew her through conversations or interactions they had along the way regardless of how shallow or deep. May had a voice. What about their voice? What about the women who were raped on their way to get water? What about the women whose homes were just burned down by the rebels? What about the orphans whose parents were murdered by the rebels? She thought, when was the last time she or any of those who knew her journey got angry for them…they have a voice too. Her five minutes of fear was nothing compared to the life of fear these women live.
Whose interests are you looking out for? Look out for the interests of others. You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes – there is not enough time to dwell on this and to overanalyze this – I want your heart completely and soon enough you will dwell in my house- do not waste the time I have given you dwelling on the trials you have-for they to are a mist within the mist and are not worth more thought then the moments of sheer joy and happiness I give you-do not act like they are.
The following Tuesday most everything was back to normal for May in the Sandbox. The Father’s healing had restored May’s faith and she thanked Him.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Chapter 16 "The Stranger"
It was a blissful day, clouds draped against the blue sky. May and Red had successfully completed another day of language study, and were encouraged by an outing with their language helper. They went to the cheapest vegetable stand in town and stacked up on fresh potatoes, tomatoes, and cucumbers. May was elated that she would soon be in her comfy apartment where she could shower and rest after the long morning. Red was looking forward to teaching the Smith children the difference between adjectives and adverbs, as she regularly taught them English on Tuesdays.
The sisters parted for the afternoon, or at least that is what they thought they were doing. They divided the small bills amongst each other in order that neither sister would have a hassle with the rickshaw driver over the correct change. May entered on the right side of her rickshaw, leaving Red talking to a man standing on the left side. May’s driver started the rickshaw, the sound of the engine signaling the man talking to Red to jump in the back with May. The driver pressed the gas and before May could even decipher what was happening or why this stranger had jumped into the back of her rickshaw, they had taken off down the road leaving Red in a daze of dust and confusion.
May shimmied as close to the right side of the rickshaw as she could. Her right hip and shoulder pressed into the metal side. In decent English, the stranger told May he spoke French, English, and Arabic. She avoided eye contact and simply said, “that is good”. The driver asked May where she was going. May found this question to be odd as she had already told him the street name before she got into the rickshaw. She repeated the answer.
The stranger asked May where she was from. May, avoiding eye contact and trying to be as short as possible, answered, “America”. The stranger told May she was beautiful. May knew this was not a good situation and she turned as far to the right as possible, squeezing her bag of vegetables tighter. The stranger asked May if she lived with anyone and if there was anyone at her house right now. May knew she was in trouble and waves of helplessness began to wash over her as there was no one to turn to for help. She contemplated not saying anything but wondered if that would upset the stranger. She decided stating she had roommates waiting for her to get home would stop the stranger from trying anything.
Fear began to overwhelm her because she knew neither of the sisters were home and she did not want the stranger to know where she lived. May knew if the driver did take her home she would be in serious trouble. Remain calm, think of what to do next, remain calm, now is not the time to panic, remain calm May, remain calm…she repeated to herself.
It seemed like the ride was faster then any other rickshaw ride she had been in, she felt like she was in the buggy of a roller coaster wishing she could get off before she was overwhelmed with fear. Vegetables stands and buildings were passing by her quickly. She saw the bright orange and blue building a hundred yards in front of her approaching rapidly. The stranger continued telling her she was beautiful as he slid closer to her. She became nauseous. You can jump out May, you can jump out of this rickshaw and it will not hurt that bad.
She knew if she passed the orange and blue building she would have no other choice but to go home or be taken to somewhere she did not want to go. The right hand turn at the blue and orange building, opened the opportunity for her to go to her boss’s house and she knew Red would be taking that route so if she jumped Red would see her.
“Hena yameen (turn right here).” May loudly told the driver. “Hena yameen, hena yameen, hena yameen… right here, right here, right here.” The driver pretended not to hear her. May slapped him hard on his arm and screamed at him to turn right, she could not think of the word for “stop”. The stranger quickly said something to the driver in Arabic and he turned right, barely missing the turn and just barely avoiding the car turning left. That was the moment May understood she was by herself against a team and they had their plan from the beginning. Three minutes May, three minutes. You will be there in three minutes and you will get through this, if you get closer to Mr. Smith’s house you will have a better shot at safety.
The stranger moved his body up against the right side of May’s body. She was already pressed hard against the side of the rickshaw she could not move over anymore. The stranger put his arm around May. He began speaking obscenities to her. She could do nothing. She could not turn any further away. You will get through this May, you will get through this but you must do something right now before he touches you, you must act. You have got to do something right now. Jump or say something or scream or hit him or hit the driver. Do something!
She began to talk to him calmly and without looking at him. All she could muster was to tell him he spoke English well. May asked him how he had learned the language. He answered her and then continued telling her things he wanted to do to her. The next turn was approaching quickly. “yameen hena” she yelled at the driver. He was not going to stop. She had one foot out of the rickshaw and was ready to do a jump and role. She smacked the driver again and yelled “hena yameen” he skidded and turned. Is this really happening? The stranger pulled his arm tighter and she said no, no, no. You must jump out – you must or you will regret it later. Just jump – you will be okay.
“STOP,” she yelled at the driver. “Stop here, stop now, HENA!” May jumped as the driver began to slow down. She was in shock, still hugging the vegetables, she ran to her boss’s doorbell and rang it thirteen consecutive times, afraid the stranger was following her. Red’s rickshaw pulled up a minute later. May continued ringing the bell. McCaine opened the door. The sisters entered and closed the metal door. The clang of metal door hitting the lock rang safety to May’s ears.
The sisters parted for the afternoon, or at least that is what they thought they were doing. They divided the small bills amongst each other in order that neither sister would have a hassle with the rickshaw driver over the correct change. May entered on the right side of her rickshaw, leaving Red talking to a man standing on the left side. May’s driver started the rickshaw, the sound of the engine signaling the man talking to Red to jump in the back with May. The driver pressed the gas and before May could even decipher what was happening or why this stranger had jumped into the back of her rickshaw, they had taken off down the road leaving Red in a daze of dust and confusion.
May shimmied as close to the right side of the rickshaw as she could. Her right hip and shoulder pressed into the metal side. In decent English, the stranger told May he spoke French, English, and Arabic. She avoided eye contact and simply said, “that is good”. The driver asked May where she was going. May found this question to be odd as she had already told him the street name before she got into the rickshaw. She repeated the answer.
The stranger asked May where she was from. May, avoiding eye contact and trying to be as short as possible, answered, “America”. The stranger told May she was beautiful. May knew this was not a good situation and she turned as far to the right as possible, squeezing her bag of vegetables tighter. The stranger asked May if she lived with anyone and if there was anyone at her house right now. May knew she was in trouble and waves of helplessness began to wash over her as there was no one to turn to for help. She contemplated not saying anything but wondered if that would upset the stranger. She decided stating she had roommates waiting for her to get home would stop the stranger from trying anything.
Fear began to overwhelm her because she knew neither of the sisters were home and she did not want the stranger to know where she lived. May knew if the driver did take her home she would be in serious trouble. Remain calm, think of what to do next, remain calm, now is not the time to panic, remain calm May, remain calm…she repeated to herself.
It seemed like the ride was faster then any other rickshaw ride she had been in, she felt like she was in the buggy of a roller coaster wishing she could get off before she was overwhelmed with fear. Vegetables stands and buildings were passing by her quickly. She saw the bright orange and blue building a hundred yards in front of her approaching rapidly. The stranger continued telling her she was beautiful as he slid closer to her. She became nauseous. You can jump out May, you can jump out of this rickshaw and it will not hurt that bad.
She knew if she passed the orange and blue building she would have no other choice but to go home or be taken to somewhere she did not want to go. The right hand turn at the blue and orange building, opened the opportunity for her to go to her boss’s house and she knew Red would be taking that route so if she jumped Red would see her.
“Hena yameen (turn right here).” May loudly told the driver. “Hena yameen, hena yameen, hena yameen… right here, right here, right here.” The driver pretended not to hear her. May slapped him hard on his arm and screamed at him to turn right, she could not think of the word for “stop”. The stranger quickly said something to the driver in Arabic and he turned right, barely missing the turn and just barely avoiding the car turning left. That was the moment May understood she was by herself against a team and they had their plan from the beginning. Three minutes May, three minutes. You will be there in three minutes and you will get through this, if you get closer to Mr. Smith’s house you will have a better shot at safety.
The stranger moved his body up against the right side of May’s body. She was already pressed hard against the side of the rickshaw she could not move over anymore. The stranger put his arm around May. He began speaking obscenities to her. She could do nothing. She could not turn any further away. You will get through this May, you will get through this but you must do something right now before he touches you, you must act. You have got to do something right now. Jump or say something or scream or hit him or hit the driver. Do something!
She began to talk to him calmly and without looking at him. All she could muster was to tell him he spoke English well. May asked him how he had learned the language. He answered her and then continued telling her things he wanted to do to her. The next turn was approaching quickly. “yameen hena” she yelled at the driver. He was not going to stop. She had one foot out of the rickshaw and was ready to do a jump and role. She smacked the driver again and yelled “hena yameen” he skidded and turned. Is this really happening? The stranger pulled his arm tighter and she said no, no, no. You must jump out – you must or you will regret it later. Just jump – you will be okay.
“STOP,” she yelled at the driver. “Stop here, stop now, HENA!” May jumped as the driver began to slow down. She was in shock, still hugging the vegetables, she ran to her boss’s doorbell and rang it thirteen consecutive times, afraid the stranger was following her. Red’s rickshaw pulled up a minute later. May continued ringing the bell. McCaine opened the door. The sisters entered and closed the metal door. The clang of metal door hitting the lock rang safety to May’s ears.
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