Reflections of Kindness
The trouble with doing something that gets noticed is that it gets noticed. I will always remember the results of what happened after my grand tagging, but I didn’t have a clue what would happen before. For some reason it never occurred to me to think about exactly what the results would be. Perhaps God keeps results hidden from those of us who are chosen to do great things because we wouldn’t go through with things when we knew exactly what the results would be. I certainly wouldn’t have.
It seems like such a long time ago that I stood in not quite the corner and avoided being noticed by fellow students. Long ago because now I cannot even begin to think that I’ll ever stand in a room and not be noticed. I have learned to keep someone by my side that is good at conversation and understands me, because I am not good at small talk and many people seek to talk to me about inane things. Well, I guess they aren’t inane to the people that want to talk about them, but I can’t say my patience extends to the point where I can see the person’s viewpoint after the first two people that I talked to that day.
It is during these times that it also seems like not so long ago that I could stand anywhere and not be noticed at all. Without any effort I remember the time I spent in space. The peace that extended through all that I did because I had not conflicts with anyone. However it seems in my remembrance, I know that it wasn’t ideal. There is much that was not good about that living even though I don’t remember it. I should remember and I chose not to.
Looking back I had no plan and no chance of succeeding. It is a good thing that God wanted me to do it so he smoothed my path. I wonder what sorts of things happened that I didn’t know needed to happen and still don’t know about. Did the Israelites ever realize how many times God interfered with events. The story of Balaam and his donkey was known, but how many other prophets from other countries were unable to curse the Israelites?
I write as a sanctuary from people now. It used to be that I wrote in space to connect with people, I suppose. Now, I have way too much contact with people and so I write to connect with myself. What I wouldn’t give to be able to go back to my quiet, but brief life at Mrs. Flaminkoh’s cottage. I miss her dearly, she understood me so well that even now I yearn for her encouraging silence. Her words were never excessive, as if she understood that I preferred brevity above all other things.
People are the most difficult thing of the preceding times. I yearned to help them, but I did not truly understand what helping them meant to my life. It seems that God could have chosen a better, more socially adapted vessel to present her truths. Perhaps Bishop Steadfast. On the other hand, maybe God needed someone who had spent thirty years away from everyone and so I could see further outside the box than any person who was living on the earth during those times. In talking with others about what I did, nobody would have ever guessed to do something like what I did. They would have never thought it to have any impact nor to have even thought to espouse such a blatant attack on the brainwashing that the government had achieved.
When I read through my comments on the past year, I most clearly see how unfit I was for the results of my actions. Despair frequently stares out of every word I wrote, even when I wrote that I was happy my handwriting betrays the fact that I am lying with every letter. I wanted out of the spotlight so desperately but could see no way out. Crowds hemmed me in on all sides, even when people weren’t actually around. I flailed and the gurgled in gulps of the water of people and would have drowned in their sea if not for God. She knew when I could bear it no longer and presented me with a brief respite. A field of ripening corn that I could walk through by myself for hours on end. An empty trail leading through a tall forest that presented an escape. An alcove in a large house that was abandoned by people but populated by books and a chair. A cat to curl on my lap while it snowed outside.
My second trial before the council and my escape are particularly poignant in my memories. It was so painful a time that I could not write of it in my journal and even now my hand shakes as I think of it while tears prick the corners of my eyes. It did not matter that the people were mad at me in the council room, nor even that I had to speak publicly. Those are things I can deal with. What I could not deal with was the abandonment of guidance from friends and being completely unfamiliar with what was going on. I entered the room with Bishop Steadfast, but the council quickly had him removed. Another council was assigned to me but I did not know him even remotely. He stood next to me but gave no support. Then the proceedings began. They were not as ordered as my first trial; in fact there seemed to be no order or only enough order to make my speaking out of turn when I tried. If I could have run I would have, but my feet were glued to the ground. I do not know what the final decision would have been for sure, but in all likelihood I would have been burned at the stake. Yet another social situation where I was the center of attention, but not in a way that I could have dealt with. I suppose that God knew that the looks of people would have been more painful than the flames and the combination would have torn me spiritually apart so he sent my escape.
Even the escape was not comforting. I walked with a group of pilgrims that protected me from the sight of the authorities after daring disruption of my trial by some of the members of Martha’s convent. But they were people I did not know and so every question they asked me and every comment they offered in comfort was like a knife through a tendon. I knew they meant only kindness, but I did not have the energy to make my will bend to see their kindness; I could only see the glint of cold steel in their words and danger in their actions.
I do not know what God has in store for me now that the government has essentially fallen and I no longer have to run for my life nearly every day. I can only hope that she will give me a quiet place with few, but good people. Then at the end of my days I hope to die quietly, in such a way that nobody must travel for presence at my last illness. Give me solitude with you dear Lord, solitude.
It seems like such a long time ago that I stood in not quite the corner and avoided being noticed by fellow students. Long ago because now I cannot even begin to think that I’ll ever stand in a room and not be noticed. I have learned to keep someone by my side that is good at conversation and understands me, because I am not good at small talk and many people seek to talk to me about inane things. Well, I guess they aren’t inane to the people that want to talk about them, but I can’t say my patience extends to the point where I can see the person’s viewpoint after the first two people that I talked to that day.
It is during these times that it also seems like not so long ago that I could stand anywhere and not be noticed at all. Without any effort I remember the time I spent in space. The peace that extended through all that I did because I had not conflicts with anyone. However it seems in my remembrance, I know that it wasn’t ideal. There is much that was not good about that living even though I don’t remember it. I should remember and I chose not to.
Looking back I had no plan and no chance of succeeding. It is a good thing that God wanted me to do it so he smoothed my path. I wonder what sorts of things happened that I didn’t know needed to happen and still don’t know about. Did the Israelites ever realize how many times God interfered with events. The story of Balaam and his donkey was known, but how many other prophets from other countries were unable to curse the Israelites?
I write as a sanctuary from people now. It used to be that I wrote in space to connect with people, I suppose. Now, I have way too much contact with people and so I write to connect with myself. What I wouldn’t give to be able to go back to my quiet, but brief life at Mrs. Flaminkoh’s cottage. I miss her dearly, she understood me so well that even now I yearn for her encouraging silence. Her words were never excessive, as if she understood that I preferred brevity above all other things.
People are the most difficult thing of the preceding times. I yearned to help them, but I did not truly understand what helping them meant to my life. It seems that God could have chosen a better, more socially adapted vessel to present her truths. Perhaps Bishop Steadfast. On the other hand, maybe God needed someone who had spent thirty years away from everyone and so I could see further outside the box than any person who was living on the earth during those times. In talking with others about what I did, nobody would have ever guessed to do something like what I did. They would have never thought it to have any impact nor to have even thought to espouse such a blatant attack on the brainwashing that the government had achieved.
When I read through my comments on the past year, I most clearly see how unfit I was for the results of my actions. Despair frequently stares out of every word I wrote, even when I wrote that I was happy my handwriting betrays the fact that I am lying with every letter. I wanted out of the spotlight so desperately but could see no way out. Crowds hemmed me in on all sides, even when people weren’t actually around. I flailed and the gurgled in gulps of the water of people and would have drowned in their sea if not for God. She knew when I could bear it no longer and presented me with a brief respite. A field of ripening corn that I could walk through by myself for hours on end. An empty trail leading through a tall forest that presented an escape. An alcove in a large house that was abandoned by people but populated by books and a chair. A cat to curl on my lap while it snowed outside.
My second trial before the council and my escape are particularly poignant in my memories. It was so painful a time that I could not write of it in my journal and even now my hand shakes as I think of it while tears prick the corners of my eyes. It did not matter that the people were mad at me in the council room, nor even that I had to speak publicly. Those are things I can deal with. What I could not deal with was the abandonment of guidance from friends and being completely unfamiliar with what was going on. I entered the room with Bishop Steadfast, but the council quickly had him removed. Another council was assigned to me but I did not know him even remotely. He stood next to me but gave no support. Then the proceedings began. They were not as ordered as my first trial; in fact there seemed to be no order or only enough order to make my speaking out of turn when I tried. If I could have run I would have, but my feet were glued to the ground. I do not know what the final decision would have been for sure, but in all likelihood I would have been burned at the stake. Yet another social situation where I was the center of attention, but not in a way that I could have dealt with. I suppose that God knew that the looks of people would have been more painful than the flames and the combination would have torn me spiritually apart so he sent my escape.
Even the escape was not comforting. I walked with a group of pilgrims that protected me from the sight of the authorities after daring disruption of my trial by some of the members of Martha’s convent. But they were people I did not know and so every question they asked me and every comment they offered in comfort was like a knife through a tendon. I knew they meant only kindness, but I did not have the energy to make my will bend to see their kindness; I could only see the glint of cold steel in their words and danger in their actions.
I do not know what God has in store for me now that the government has essentially fallen and I no longer have to run for my life nearly every day. I can only hope that she will give me a quiet place with few, but good people. Then at the end of my days I hope to die quietly, in such a way that nobody must travel for presence at my last illness. Give me solitude with you dear Lord, solitude.
posted by Unknown at 1:11 PM
<< Home