Angel of the Lord

I've fallen into a bit of an existential crisis of late. This happens from time to time, it's nothing new and I know it'll pass.

My existential crises contain certain givens. I will worry about my True Calling, whatever that is. I will ponder my mortality. I will agonize about the power of money and the control it has over me. I will fret over how I might make a difference on this planet. I will contemplate my many health issues and the toll they take on all aspects of my life. And I will encounter a holy person.

Always, in the midst of an existential crisis, when I already feel like I've barely got a grip, a holy person will enter my world and shake it completely up. I marvel at the predictability of this and wonder how it is possible.

A couple of days ago a man named Jamaal came through my line with a case of dates. Fifty-some dollars worth of dates. I asked if he was about to through a party. He replied that he was in the midst of fasting - I don't remember for how many days - but he would break fast with dates and begin each day before sunrise with dates. I asked if this was Ramadan. He said, "You know about Ramadan?" I said I know some about Ramadan. But obviously I don't know when it occurs. He explained that this particular cycle is not Ramadan but another period of fasting with different fasting rules. I commented that this must require a great level of discipline. He said that "it builds discipline."

Jamaal told me that he is willing to give up food for the Lord. "And you know I love food!" Jamaal is an amiable man with a broad smile and kind eyes. And his robust body indicates he does indeed love food. He tells me that he would not give up food for his best friend. Not even for his mother. But for the Lord, yes.

I was taken aback by the level of devotion in this man's being as he spoke these words. I felt oddly underprivileged. I offered that I do not have that sort of relationship with God. I did not offer that I have never felt that degree of devotion to God.

Jamaal looked at me, smiling, and said, "Why not!?" I felt my eyes filling with tears, my chest constricting. "Kathy, why not?" He placed his hand on his chest and said, "This heart, every time this heart beats, God does that! Every breath you take, God does that! God gives you everything!"

I was momentarily stunned. What a staggering notion - there is some mysterious force at work inside this frame of flesh, blood and bone that we call "life" but could just as easily be called "God." Because it is just as mysterious. I mean scientists understand a good deal about how the body's systems work separately and together. But I venture to guess that they don't understand why a body works. What is at one's very source that causes the heart to beat and the lungs to respire?

And imagine for just an instant that God is the source of life in me. It would follow, then, that God is the source of life in everyone. So in each heart that beats, there is God. A generous, magnanimous entity in us all that connects us.

It was too large a concept for me to ponder for very long.

I thanked Jamaal for this reminder. I told him that I often forget these things. He said he will come see me every day to remind me if I need him too.

I was moved beyond measure. This stranger wants to come see me every day to give me a bit of magic? To stitch a thread of hope into the warp and weft of a dismal brain?

I felt a bit like the Grinch, whose heart grew three sizes at once.

In my existential crises, I lose God. I rarely have a firm sense of the presence of God, but I do have a spiritual nature. I do feel verklempt while watching "A Charlie Brown Christmas" when Charlie Brown throws back his head in despair and asks for the meaning of it all and Linus, in a pristine voice of childhood wisdom, says this:

And there were in the same country Shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them, and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, 'fear not, for behold I bring you tidings of great joy which will be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a savior, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you. Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes lying in the manger.' And suddenly, there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying 'glory to God in the highest, and on Earth peace, good will toward men.

Maybe it is Linus' voice. Maybe it is the atmosphere created by Linus standing alone on stage in a follow spot. Maybe it is the familiar cadence and evocative language of the King James bible. Maybe it is Vince Guaraldi's soundtrack. But no matter how many times I watch this scene, no matter how old I am, I find myself suddenly filled with wonder and joy.

Jamaal instilled in me a distinctly Charlie Brown moment. I would have cried if I had allowed myself to.

Whatever is touched on in moments like this, it is real. I cannot label it, nor do I care to. Sometimes our daily grind becomes such a chore that we lose moments of wonder, moments of brilliance and magic. Whenever I am in one of my existential crises, I am completely removed from the wonderment of living - which simply is. It simply exists. And it need not be analyzed.

How tremendous was this encounter with a holy person in the check-out line at Planet Care during one of my most pronounced existential crises! I am overwhelmed with gratitude.

Joe

B.B. Russell shot himself in the heart. His wife found him in the back yard before he'd fully died. Joe received a call and went straight over. He arrived to a circus of emergency vehicles, police officers and Laurie standing in the middle of it, in shock.

Another of Joe's friends slit his wrists this week. He was found lying in a pool of blood on the bathroom floor. He survived his attempt to end his suffering. If you can call that survival.

Joe's Dad is in the hospital. Whatever he's got, it's serious. Joe's family is waiting. Waiting for test results. Waiting for a diagnosis. Waiting for a prognosis. Waiting for some certainty.

Certainty never comes.

In the midst all this, Joe was abandoned by the woman he loves.

Joe is my friend. I love him beyond measure. He writes songs that pierce your heart and sings like it's his last day on earth.

Joe and I have a lot in common. We constantly fuck up. And then we spend a lot of time and money trying to recover from our bad choices and depression-induced avoidance of material world obligations. We are both too sensitive for our own good. We perpetually try to make sense of senseless matter and drive ourselves mad doing so.

The first night Joe and I hung out together was the sort of all-night excursion that takes on epic proportions. I worked at The Garage back then and usually wrapped up my evening around 4 a.m. Joe tended bar across the street at a joint that happened to have a pretty nice coffee machine. I would often stop in to grab a cup of coffee to help see me home. One night, Joe needed a ride home and so I offered my services.

That night I learned that something as simple as a trip from point A to point B turns into a labyrinthine adventure with Joe. We wound our way through the countryside surrounding Walkertown, dropping by this place, checking on that, talking til dawn.

A silvery mist rose in the predawn light as I navigated curvy country roads. The asphalt's mundane aspect took on a mystical sheen. And suddenly, we came upon a magnificent hawk standing motionless in the middle of the road. I slowed my car nearly to a halt and inched ever closer to this creature. It stayed fixed atop its fresh kill - a large rodent. I finally stopped my car completely. Joe and I stared in silence at this tremendous bird, standing so close we could see its eyes, its talons, the texture of its feathers.

Joe finally broke the silence.

"It's a hawk!"

I corrected him. "It's a magical hawk!"

Joe agreed. "It is a magical hawk! I wonder if it'll let me pet it!"

"I don't know, Joe. He might think you're after his food."

"I want to touch him!"

Joe reached for the door handle. And as soon as he did, the hawk flew away, carrying his kill in his talons. Joe and I sat in stupid silence for several minutes. There. In the middle of the road. At the break of day. We had just seen a magical hawk.

I reminded Joe of this story tonight as I tried to comfort him. I told him that in the Native American tradition, Hawk carries our messages to Great Spirit and Great Spirit's messages to us.

Joe feels abandoned by God. I told Joe that he doesn't have to believe in God. But the magical Hawk is real. He can hear Joe. And he can carry his messages on his wings as he soars through the sky.

I don't know how to help my friends when they've reached their limit. I know how it feels to reach that point. And still, I don't know how to help others once they've reached it. All I know to do is hold them, either in my arms or in my heart. Just hold them.