“Oh child of God. Ohhh, child?” mellifluous, her words reverberate.
Me? I think as I point at my chest.
She nods from across Church Street, through the masses, atop the hand-laid bricks that tumble below our feet—it is I she seeks out, and it is I who listens.
“Here, here my wonderful,” she says, gesturing for me to near. “He has plans for you, a path to follow. Will you? Will you walk the way of light? Will you heed his plans?”
I cross the street, taking every step carefully, making every move cautiously, He is watching after all.
“Good, good,” she says without rest. “My heaven send soul can understand your wariness, but relax. No harm shall befall you now. You see, not so much younger than you now Satan too shrouded my judgment. My soul has dealt wickedness that only He above has the love to forgive.”
A wave of nausea came over her. She sits back in her chair, she’s been tabling all day. I read the sign draped over her table, Celebrate the Passover to Escape Disasters!
“Child of God. Oh child, do you wish to join hands with the Almighty? Do you long for the utter acceptance that He has to offer? His touch is the sunrays you feel on a chilled summer morning. His sight extends to every wavelength, past every layer. He hears of all your deeds and pleas, all understood, all accepted.”
She must have noticed something in me. Did my eyes dart down? Did my face tense? Did my body shift? I do not know, but this is what she said:
“Are you lonely, my child? Do you feel your broken parts shift about? Are you tattered with overgrown scars? I don’t blame you for having a troubled mind. It’s not your fault. Really.”
I must confess, at least to you, her questions struck me. Her demeanor was determined. Given another circumstance, she would likely be bedridden. I watched sweat drip off her forehead, I noticed her slight bodily shake. But that did not stop her. Her mission, her preach, takes eternal precedence.
I asked, “I’ve struggled and struggle. That is the way. But my pain, my regrets, who else do I blame?”
“Their’s! There are too many paths only etched out at night. So many bow to fear, scrutinize peace, resist rest. They are to blame. Them who follow Satan’s hiss!”
I stayed quiet, maybe I nodded, I don’t know.
She said, “I, as the lesser mind, am sometimes tempted to wish upon their downfall. ‘Allow them to descend,’ I would tell God. Do you know what I mean, child? Sometimes I wish He would extinguish their pain, eradicate their kind. You see, child of God, He is just. He brings no harm. It is only the bewitched who brew their own pain. Then these abominations project the venom they create, turning the world unruly.”
She goes faint again. Taking a sip from her bottled water, she looks me in the eyes and I back at her. Her hair is white, skin white, clothing white. Did He make her like this—absent?
“Child of God, part of the stitch he sows, let in the love you fear. Let him heal you with acceptance as he’s done for me. Child, oh child, please. Because He lets you drown if you never call for help.”
“Do you fear God?” something I asked, something I’ve always wanted to ask.
She said, “No! I am worthy of salvation. After the second coming, on the day we shall call the end, he will judge. He will see all the destruction of the land. He will scoff at the scorn, the lacking of faith, the malice dealt to others, the hate for siblings. He’ll see it all, judging our end of days. He’ll let loose the legions of despair, he’ll erode everything from under our feet. But I shall be saved. I worship, I pray, my faith is infallible. I celebrate Passover! I am pure.”
I asked, “What is Passover?”
If she was surprised by my question it didn’t show. She handed me a brochure, asking me to read it aloud.
I said, “The Passover was established about 3,500 years ago. God brought ten plagues upon Egypt where the Israelites were slaves. Before God brought the tenth plague to kill all the firstborn of Egypt, He told the Israelites to slaughter the Passover lambs and put some of the blood on the sides and tops of the doorframes of their houses. God said to the Israelites, ‘The blood will be a sign on the houses where you are; and when I see the blood, I will pass over you. No destructive plague will touch you when I strike Egypt.’ All the first firstborn of the Egyptian houses that didn’t celebrate the Passover were killed. But the Israelites who obeyed God’s word and celebrated the Passover were saved from the plague.”
I said that I don’t have any sheep.
She only laughed.