I’m sitting in the parking lot, my car running, the heat blasting; it’s the first time I’ve been warm all day. I have my phone plugged into the cigarette lighter because I need a steady stream of current in as I run that battery down.
How long can it take a woman to get celery and creamer at the grocery store? It depends on how many children she has loved on all day. When I left, there were six children playing smash-toes on the trampoline. I am unfamiliar with this game, but the title promises it will end with tears.
My mentor is on the other end of the line. And we are laughing about how coffee-mate will kill us, and how we should quit. And I am telling her what I am afraid of with this new project–how I’m scared my work won’t matter. Like always, I am trying to fit too much into one conversation and I can hear her talking, responding, but I am only half way through this problem I am having. I finally stop to take a breath and listen.
“What’s that you said?”
Did she really just tell me my coffee mate was an idol? I laugh. She might be right.
And then we talk about my fears. We speak of the Lord’s power and how His provision dwarfs my needs. How His message echoes without static and that if I am part of that message, then He will carry the words.
I inhale. I exhale. I almost forgot.
I am focused on the being known instead of on the knowing. So I wrote this as my prayer last night:
My life of infamy
Has been a dark hall never-ending
Lined with locked doors seldom budging
I saw faces criticizing
My life of infamy
Has been lonely for the living
Empty while I keep filling
Arms full of wealth decaying
And I stand before my reflection
And me is all I see Lord
I’ve taken hostage of Your likeness
Black out the mirror—Set me free
Lord, I want to make you famous to the nations
Lord, whisper your name in the ears of children
Lord, blind me by your glory – only glory
Let your glory humble me.