Whispered prayer…

    *"Now the day is over,
Night is drawing nigh,
Shadows of the evening
Steal across the sky.
Now the darkness gathers,
Stars began to peep,
Birds and beasts and flowers
Soon will be asleep."

    I knew her when she was little.  Did I ever mention that?  I recall her standing there on Easter Day in her hand-me-down frock and paper Easter hat she had made in Sunday School, later walking in the children’s hat parade, even later sitting alone by a bench in the sand picking at the worn ruffles in her hand-me-down socks.  Deep, murky green eyes concentrating on the loose strings that poked up here and there – quiet as a church mouse all the day.  I sat with her a bit and shared my plate and she never said a word.  Or, if she did, it was only to her Carly baby that she kept clutched at her side.  Over the next year or so I would see her now and then, infrequent at best, and always with her Carly baby.  Then she was gone.

    It was probably two years later that I saw her again being drug along with a gaggle of other children, tagging slowly in the rear as if she hoped that they would somehow speed up and just leave her behind.  Soon they stopped to sit and she went back to picking the stray strings off of well worn frilly socks.  Something compelled me to go sit with her and it wasn’t long before I asked, "Honey, where is your Carly baby?"

    A tear welled up in the inside corner of a green, green eye and a bottom lip began to quiver as she whispered, "Lama, she’s gone."

"Jesus, give the weary
Calm and sweet repose;
With thy tenderest blessing
May our eyelids close.
Grant to little children
Visions bright of thee;
Guard the sailors tossing
On the deep blue sea."

    Behind me, in the file cabinets that serve as a credenza, I have their thick files.  I’ve known for some time most of where they have been and what has happened and, I’ve suspected much, much more.  Secrets so deep that the most important questions were not asked, the most awful fears were not acted upon.  Bandaids on boo boos, ribbons on boxes, quiet and hush now for it is of these things we do not speak.  The punishment for doing so was, of course, swift and harsh.  It was all they knew.

    I don’t believe I have words that could ever adequately convey my utter loathing for drugs and alcohol.  You might say that I am narrow minded about the subject to which I would reply, most certainly yes.  Unmoving, unyielding, uncompromising…yes, yes, yes.  To the zillionth degree, yes.  Yes, because of the babies that are sold as sex slaves, yes.  Yes, because of the young teen near my house who lost his life in a hit and run, yes. Yes, because of my dear friend who watched her son being arrested today for that young boys death, yes.  Yes, because of Pam who left us this year after killing her body slowly for so many, yes.  Yes, because once the girls began talking I have not stopped throwing up, yes.  Yes, for my gal lying in the hospital, too fried to remember who beat the hell out of her, yes.  Yes, because it is always a game that cannot be played, the devil does not honor moderation.  Did you know that the word for "occult" in the Bible is pharmacia?  Yes, it is.

"Comfort every sufferer
Watching late in pain;
Those who plan some evil
From their sin restrain.
Through the long night-watches
May thine angels spread
Their white wings above me,
Watching round my bed."

    It is an odd dance I have now.  One foot in the field, dirty and filth ridden, and one foot here at home where cookies bake and smell goods thrive and little hair bands forever jam up the vacuum.  The girls know what I do and they quietly pray for me while not saying too much.  I don’t bring it home anymore, I couldn’t make that work.  For a while I wondered the reason, drawing me off the field full time like it was and truly, I struggled at times, biting the bit probably much more than was necessary.  But soon, I relented and waited for I know above all else that my purpose is solely with God and right now, God is working here.  Our door, always open, now always opens to children and the gooey and sticky and precious sounds of guinea pig squeals and squawking babies.  This season, I think, smells like butter cookies.  I think, I’m pretty sure, I’m being given a season of renewed hope.  I suppose I needed it too.

    Christmas was….paper chaotic!  Ooohs, and aaaahs, quite a few delightful outbursts, paper being torn and tossed and ribbons flying!  If you don’t have children around at Christmas, good heavens, go rent you a half dozen – I promise, you will thank me for the advice.  Lama Look!  Mommy!  Papa, put this together!!!  Even Noah, who has never actually sat down in his life, stayed put with four candy canes in his mouth while he ripped paper for treasure.  Sitting there buried under a mound of flying paper, trying to catch what flew by and tuck in a garbage bag, I thought this just might be the best Christmas I have ever had.  If not the best, pretty darn close.  Then…..then I heard a little girl crying……

    I scooped my now big little girl up in my arms and asked, "Carlybugg, what in the world is wrong, Honey?"

    "You found her!  Mom, you really found her!  She looks just like me!"  I peel back her arms to find the Carly baby clutched so tightly against her chest.  "Momma, I’ve missed her so much!"

"When the morning wakens,
Then may I arise
Pure and fresh and sinless
In thy holy eyes.
Glory to the Father,
Glory to the Son,
And to thee, blest Spirit,
Whilst all ages run."

<span style="font-size: medium”>    I peeked in on her last night before I went to bed as I usually do with the girls.  Her aquarium light off the pink rocks makes a wonderful nightlight and the soothing hum of the filter is….it is just as fine as I hoped.  Her room, always neat, is little girl pretty and dotted with dolls and monkies and pillows and blankies…picked free of any loose threads I assure you!  In the middle of the pink pillows and pink blanky lays my pretty girl all cuddled up with her Carly baby – and – looking back up at me.  "You okay, darlin’"  I ask as I lean down to kiss her forehead.  

    "Don’t worry, Mom, I was just thinking good things."  She giggles. 

    "Okay, Honey, I’m just checking." 

    "Hey, Mom?"  I stop at the door and turn back.  "It’s okay, the nighmares are all gone now." 

In Jesus name, I pray.
Amen.

 Lama

*"Now the Day is Over" by Sabine Baring-Gould