I'm sitting on the edge of the bed
when Sophia steps out of my closet.
"Prayer time?" she asks, cheerfully.
"Ha!" I say,
"I'm getting used to your sudden appearances.
I barely jumped this time...
and why are you wearing my sweatshirt?"
"Just came from the tropics--
much colder here.
Do you mind?"
"No," I answer,
and to be truthful,
there is something comforting about
seeing her in it.
"Prayer time?" she asks again.
"Yes," I say.
"I was going for silence,
open space, resting in God.
Holding the world,
releasing it to...er...you all."
She smiles.
"Sorry to interrupt."
The irony of this sinks in:
how can the Source and Goal of prayer
interrupt prayer?
"So," she says, "subject change...
well, not really,
more like location change."
"Yes?"
"Let's continue in your closet."
"Say what, now?"
"Let's go into your closet to pray,
you know, like Jesus suggests."
"I remember what he said,
I just never took it literally."
"Well, let's try it!"
She holds out her hand.
"Come with me," she says.
I stand, take her hand, and follow...
...into the closet.
This is weird, I think.
I reach for the light switch.
"No," she says,
"let's keep it dark."
"Um...okay."
We stand together in the center.
It is dark.
I can't see anything.
Her hand feels comforting.
Why am I feeling anxious?
It's just a closet...my closet.
I'm in here all the time.
Yet the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
"You know what you find in closets?"
she asks.
When I don't answer, she whispers, ominously:
"Skeletons."
"Skeletons?"
"Yes, everyone has skeletons in their closets."
"Again," I say, "literally?"
"Well, let's find out.
You see, Jesus knew our closets hold our skeletons.
Being silent with the Source of Peace
is the best way to meet them."
"This is creepy."
"I know, right?
But you're not alone.
The Light in you
is brighter than the darkness that haunts you.
You just need to be quiet enough
and open enough
to let them emerge--
all those dark parts of yourself
you prefer to deny."
I sense movement in the clothes hanging around me.
I hold her hand more tightly.
"Ouch," she says.
"Sorry, but..."
"I know. I'm here."
An eerie green glows from the corners.
Boney fingers part my shirts.
And so they emerge--
and, yes, it's painful--
until it isn't,
until that Light shows them for what they are--
mistakes, regrets, selfishness, anger, prejudice.
Skeletons wanting to shame me, discourage me,
make me despair and give up.
Strange this:
skeletons are far less frightening
when seen in the Light of God's love and gentleness.
They shrink;
some dissolve.
I inhale deeply,
exhale slowly.
And again.
And again.
The unpleasant green glow
gives way to warm amber,
and we are alone in the closet,
still holding hands.
"You okay?" she asks.
"Surprisingly, yes."
She leads me out
and releases my hand.
The bedroom looks...so normal.
"Did that just happen?" I ask.
"Yes," she says,
"and with grace
it will happen again
as long as you remain open,
trusting, growing, healing."
I sit again on the edge of the bed.
She places a hand on the side of my face.
"Time for sleep," she says.
I nod.
"And I will."
And, like usual,
she is gone.
Text and image © 2023 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.
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