Three years (+/- a few days) ago, a Maundy Thursday, an man placed his right hand on my left shoulder, leaned forward so close out hair and foreheads lightly touched. He prayed for me. Or, is it ‘over’ me? It was, without a doubt, about me. I had spoken few words to this man and certainly none that would have given any insight to me, my head or heart. (Yes, I admit I have one. Let’s not bring it up again)
That event, not too long after I has started taking communion again, was life changing. It was an affirmation of sorts. Yes, there is more than meets the eye. Something else is out there, in charge. It created, it has a plan and I am included. I choose to call it God and I choose to believe in the Christian belief system, Protestant style. I also struggle daily with the lack of proof, the logical imbalance and all the other non-believer things that make it hard to believe. Faith. I struggle with my faith.
Thursday, Maunday Thursday I once again participated in all the ritual that my church puts together. This time however, unlike the last two years, I was placed in the path of a different pastor. Had the big dawg last two times. This again is a person I have had only the lightest contact with. Conversations that would not even qualify as perfunctory, “How’s the weather?” sort of stuff. Just hello and how are you.
I was still giggling inside about eating the bread, the wheat thing entertains me. She came and laid hands on my shoulders, behind me. I recoiled inside and out. My doubt and anger and fears have been on high last few weeks. Her touch hurt me in a way I cannot find a proper description for. Not like fire or stabbing, another kind of pain. Physical in it’s form yet not in it’s beginning. I have to believe she felt it too. Quickly removing one hand as she began to pray. It was a scripted, for everyone prayer when she started. Just as quickly as she had removed her hand she replaced it and stopped speaking. A moment later she began again. Every word she whispered near my ear, to God, for me, about me, was as if I had told her what I had not been able to say for weeks.
Psalm 46:10 – Be Still and Know that I am God. By far my favorite of biblical writings. The hardest thing for me to grasp. My AADD makes the very thought of still a joke. Yet, when I need, I can for briefs moments feel it, the way it is written.
When Pastor Patti said to God, for me, “Let him be still”, it broke my heart. How she could know and how I could still, at that moment, be in doubt?
Holy week has been more of a hell week for me. More so than the last three that have pretty much sucked out loud anyway. I am detached. I have lost something that this time I am sure will never come back. My faith is wandering and my heart (my heart, can bring it up whenever I want) is empty, black. My head is a maze. Those things that should not touch are touching and they do not mix well.
Isolation is a step in the worst of wrong directions. Easy to say and see but not so to stop or reverse. Quickly attempting to replace all human contact with lessor animals. “The Little Bastard Ranch” is what I call home now. Just my luck. Mean or Anti-Social everyone of them. And they get to eat wheat.
I want to make a phone call that I know will never be answered. I kinda want to cry but am afraid it would take up the rest of my day.
Going to go back to my list. Start and see what happens. Unfortunately I have nothing but time. Years I could just as well do without.I should be celebrating, exalting my God and thankful for what Easter means to me. All I want right now is to know it’s true. That really scares me too.
Peace?
Ant-Knee
The Gori Details 
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