Mishalariah paced the narrow space between her couch and the blue velvet chair. Eight strides right. Turn. Eight left, turn, just as Spirit entered the chamber door right behind her.
She spun around holding up the Ayin for him to see. “Did you see that?!”
Spirit towered over her. “Of course I did.”
She tilted her head back as far as it could go. “She told her patient that you would draw her blood gas!”
Spirit smiled down at her. “Yes.”
Mishalariah turned, took a few steps, then stopped in her tracks. “She looked that patient right in the eye and said, ‘Watch how God draws a blood gas.’"
Spirit stood motionless in front of the doorway and said nothing.
Mishalariah swung back around to face him. "She didn’t even flinch!” She went to her couch and plopped down, hard. “She knows she is good at drawing blood gases, but how could she be so certain it wouldn’t hurt this one time?”
Spirit did not move. “Were you sure I would not hurt her?”
Deep lines furrowed Mishalariah’s brow. “Well, yes." Then she pursed her lips. "But she doesn’t know you like I do.”
Spirit smiled. “Not yet.” He moved towards her and placed his fingers gently under her chin, lifting her face upwards, towards his. “But she is getting to know me, slowly but surely, all because of you.”
If you have just joined us and are wondering what this story is about, start from the beginning. I promise it will all make sense.
A Speculative Memoir
In a 1989 journal entry, I poured out my dashed dreams to God. Those few precious moments became a watershed event in an unfolding narrative that began ten years before when I turned my back on God. Turning my back on God did many things, most of them sad, but foremost it made me forget who I was. But there was someone who never forgot. Someone who neve…