Mishalariah, hunched over and cross-legged on her couch, glanced up from the stack of placards, and noticed Spirit waiting patiently at the door. She stretched, her slim shoulders arching as she rubbed the back of her neck.
“She’s trying to decipher the name.”
Spirit took a slow, deep breath, entered the dim chamber, and took his seat in the blue velvet chair.
Mishalariah plucked a card from the top of the stack. She held it up for Spirit to see. "This one is from August 4, 2001."
He leaned forward. "She only got the first two letters right."
Undeterred, Mishalariah presented the next one. "Well, what about this? She wrote this on September 1, 2001."
Spirit nodded. "That is a much closer."
"Aren't you concerned?"
"No. Remember. I told you. Some get their new names before the end of the age."
Mishalariah shook her head. "But is she ready?"
Spirit swiveled back and forth. "No. It is not her time, yet."
Mishalariah pouted. "Well, what about this one? She wrote this on August 3, 2003."
Spirit swiveled in silence as his hands slid up and down the soft velvet arms.
Mishalariah leaned forward. "She's researching Hebrew names! That is how she found out about the names Mishala and Misha. Now she hears you say them, and she writes them down."
Spirit stopped. "Is that not a good thing?"
"I don't know. I’m so confused." She reached for the next one. Her hand shook as she held it up for him to see. "She calls herself, Misha!"
Spirit swiveled back and forth. "What is the meaning of the name Misha?"
Mishalariah pouted. "It is a variant of Michal. It means, who is like God."
"Who is like God." Spirit nodded and smiled. "In what way are you like God?"
"She—I mean, we—we want the same things you want."
"Very good." Spirit smiled. "What does Mishala mean?"
Mishalariah squeezed her forehead between thumb and fingers before answering, “It’s derived from the Hebrew word Mish’alah which means request, petition, or desire.”
"Very good." Spirit leaned forward. "So, what else is troubling you?"
Still pouting, she snatched the next entry. "This! What is this? She wrote this on October 24, 2003"
Spirit tilted his head to one side. "She does work for me, and she will teach my sheep."
"You want her to teach?" Mishalariah's eyes widened. "She is nowhere near ready to teach. She'll just confuse people."
Spirit said nothing as he swiveled slowly back and forth.
Mishalariah's shoulders slumped and her eyes filled with tears. "Every time I speak with her, I cry. She is so full of pride. If she discerned the name now, it would be like eating fruit off the tree of life in a fallen state."
Spirit’s eyes glazed over as he stared out the door. "I know."
Mishalariah handed him the most recent entry. "This is what she wrote on November 3, 2003."
Spirit studied the placard, stroked his chin, and said nothing.
Mishalariah sighed, uncrossed her legs, and hung them over the edge of her couch. "The name Mishalara is not a Hebrew name. She is getting too close."
Spirit settled back into the plush folds of the blue velvet chair. "Trust me, Mishalariah. She will not discern the name before the set time."
If you have just joined us and are wondering what this story is about, start from the beginning and use the next button at the bottom of the post to move forward through the story. 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…