“Something remarkable happened.”
Spirit, still standing in the doorway, cocked his head playfully to one side. “What happened?”
Mishalariah pulled a small bundle of rectangular-shaped placards from under her couch. “We wrote the letters1,” she said, holding them up for him to see. “And sent them. Look.”
Spirit took the bundle, sat down in the blue velvet chair, and fanned them out like a deck of cards. “How did you get these?”
“There is a print function on the Ayin.”
“Oh, you found that, did you?”
Mishalariah nodded shyly, then her words rushed out to identify the recipients. “There is one for her Mom, her sisters and brother, and most of their children.” One finger wavered at two sticking out at the end. “Here is one for the girlfriend who introduced her to her husband, and another for the woman who’s renting their house in Avalon.” She stood on her tip-toes to peer over them. “Each one expresses your truth for them.” She dropped promptly to her heels with her shoulders folded inward. “To the best she could discern.”
Spirit’s eyes shone. “Well done,” he said.
Mishalariah put the letters back where she got them, paused, and then took a deep breath. “Something else even more remarkable happened.”
Spirit leaned forward, his eyes still glowing. “What?”
Mishalariah’s trembling fingers touched her mouth. “I spoke through her.”
Spirit leaned way back, sinking deep into the soft blue velvet of his chair. His slight smile grew broad as he swiveled slowly, back and forth. “What did you say?”
Mishalariah lowered her eyelids, and behind them, her pupils darted back and forth. “She was singing in church with her choir, and tears were streaming down her face. There was so much emotion in her voice—I could feel it. Her heart was beating fast, and her breathing was so deep, it stretched her diaphragm as far as it could go.” Mishalariah’s eyes opened, and they were gleaming. “I found a way in through her praise.”
Spirit continued to swivel. “What did you say?”
Mishalariah’s eyes closed again. “She knew she was losing control. It was not the first time it had happened, but it was the first time in a public place.”
Spirit shook his head and chuckled.
Mishalariah’s eyes flew open, but she quickly glanced away. “She ran out of the choir loft and into the back room. When she opened her mouth, only my words poured out.”
Spirit leaned forward, his voice tender but firm. “What did you say?”
Mishalariah shrugged. “She didn’t understand what I was saying, and neither could anyone else who came to help.” She glanced up at Spirit, her lips pursed and pouting. “There was no one there to interpret.”
Spirit nodded. “You say it was not her first time.”
Mishalariah retrieved the Ayin and gazed into it. “It happened once before when she was home alone, listening to a TV evangelist. He was teaching on spiritual tongues. Her willingness to the experience gave me a way in.” She glanced up at Spirit. “I think I took her by surprise, though.”
“Tell me.”
“There was a Bible lying on the floor in front of us, so I picked it up and held it to her chest. I told her I wanted to know what was in it. I pleaded with her through my tears to open it and study it.”
“Did she understand your words?”
Mishalariah placed the Ayin on her pillow, then looked up into his eyes. “She didn’t understand my words, but she understood my actions.”
Spirit leaned back. “What did you say to her in the church?”
“I—” Mishalariah twisted her fingers around and around. “I don’t know.”
Spirit stopped, leaned in close, then brushed the tips of his fingers across her forehead. “Sometimes the words pass through so deftly that only the residue remains.” His eyes glowed in the semi-darkness. “How did you feel afterwards?”
Mishalariah clasped her hands and kissed them. “Elated! Exhausted! Her eyes were shining like eyes that had seen God.”
Spirit leaned in even closer, so close his mouth nearly touched her ear. “Yes, but beware. Even the pure in heart can choke on thorns.”
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…
Twenty-five years later, I still have digital copies of them on my computer.