Mishalariah looked up, her eyes sparkling with delight. “How is it every time I want to talk to you, you are right there at my door?”
Spirit flashed her a brilliant smile, then sat down in the blue velvet chair. “So, what do you want to talk about?”
Mishalariah lingered briefly, taking in the joyful vibes rising from the Ayin. “Are you making her dreams come true? Or are you just helping her help herself?” She shrugged her shoulders. “You know, God helps those who help themselves.”
Spirit flinched. “That is a good question. What do you think?”
Mishalariah answered without looking up. “Well, you forgave her and gave her not only a second chance but a third chance at marriage. So now she doesn’t have to struggle with sexual immorality. Was that the only thing holding her back?”
With a deep breath and slow exhale, Spirit settled back into the plush velvet chair. “She will continue to struggle with sin for the rest of her life.” His eyes narrowed. “In truth, she made a serious blunder not too long ago.”
Mishalariah blushed. “I forgot about that.”
“What did she do when she realized her folly?”
Mishalariah gazed into the Ayin. “It wasn’t long before she came looking for you. She missed hearing your voice.”
“And what did I say to her when she found me?”
Mishalariah paused for a moment and then laughed. “You told her to start over. And you were quite demonstrative in her new beginning.”
Spirit leaned forward, his smile playful. “Show me.”
Mishalariah swiped her finger across the Ayin until she found the scene. “Here it is. Look. She is walking to work, hears you say ‘Start over’ and then asks, ‘You mean, be baptized again?’”
“And then I said, ‘Yes.’”
“Then she looked down, ‘In this puddle?’, just before walking right into a tree branch full of water from the morning rain.”
Mishalariah laughed, and Spirit laughed with her as he swung his knees back and forth. Then he stopped, leaned forward, and smiled. “The water drenched her in forgiveness. Did you feel it?”
“Yes!” Mishalariah held up the Ayin. “Look at her dancing under that tree!”
Spirit took the Ayin from her, placed it on the couch, and then grasped her hands in his. “It is pretty simple, isn’t it? Mess up, no matter how bad. Ask for forgiveness, and I will grant it—” He formed his hands into a cup beneath hers. “In the same measure given, I measure it out.”
Mishalariah’s brow furrowed as she shook her head. “I don’t know. She should have to do more. You know, give to the poor. Take care of orphans and widows—”
“Mishalariah.”
She glanced up. “Yes, Lord.”
“She is poor. Her children are like orphans, and she may as well have been a widow herself. Twice abused. Twice abandoned.”
“But—”
“I asked her to show me her love, and she has.”
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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…