John meets an angel
Last week, we reported on Satan Sightings. Several readers asked for Angel Sightings, for “balance.” To that end, here’s an excerpt from a letter written by our friend John. (Have you seen an angel? Your contribution would be quite welcome.)
Last Wednesday, a woman came into the gas station where I work the register.
She was horribly disfigured. Burn scars, no nose, fingers burned off. White scar splotches all over her face. Wavy scar tissue where eyebrows should have been. Hands just stumps with little nubs that were once digits.
She introduced herself as Michelle, and told me that the other guy named John who works here, and Larry, the manager, help her pump gas. She asked if I would please help her.
We went out to the pump because she couldn't key-in her card data on the pad, or even remove the pump handle. I began helping her and sobbing inside of me.
I asked her what had happened, and she told me in her raspy voice how she had been burned over 80 percent of her body. She has had dozens of reconstructive surgeries, and faces many more.
We talked some more, and I asked her how she kept on going. She said she used to see herself as others may see her: a monster, a disfigured, inhuman thing.
At one time she would be utterly destroyed as she watched people's reactions to her physical appearance. Then later, when she looked at herself in a mirror, she would see that monster -- not the woman she was or is inside, but the monster others saw.
Then, she said, the Lord came to her. Tom, she looked directly into my eye and told me: “I trust in the Lord, now, and I see myself as I am on the inside ..."
"I trust in the Lord." That phrase is on the prayer card from Sister Faustina of Poland, and the constant message of our Jesus. It's what Chapter 2 in the Book of Sirach is about ...
I quickly realized an angel had been sent to me from Jesus on Wednesday ...
Your brother John
The visitors from Hell
In the 20 years Laura and I have been in the leather business, we’ve only excused four people from the showroom.
In the food service business, the slang phrase is “86.” As in, “You are drunk, sir. You are eighty-sixed from the bar.” So we’ve “eighty-sixed” a total of four leather store visitors.
One was a long time ago, a drunk woman who was knocking things over. I was afraid she was going to be sick and ruin something, so I put my arm around her shoulders and gently guided her out the door, which I then shut and locked.
Years later, a big bruiser of a biker type guy wanted to put up a poster in our front window promoting the “Catholic School Girls Run.”
It’s a motorcycle event in which the women riding along are to dress up in school “uniforms” but are expected to behave in a very sleazy un-Catholic manner.
The guy – and the event – are offensive to me. Having no inhibitions whatsoever, I told this giant bruiser exactly how I felt. One thing led to another, and eventually I excused him. Again, after he was out the door, I shut and locked it.
He soon returned with two “backup” brothers, but I declined to open the door and eventually the “gang” went away.
Last week, a car drove up in front of the store. For some reason, I looked out and noticed the Nebraska license plates.
In came these two people. Persons. A man and wife team, it appeared.
Unlike last week’s report, there didn’t seem to be any Satanic involvement. They were just two plain folks from Nebraska.
“Do you have Tandy tool #L-948,” the man asked. “Yes we do,” I answered. The woman, who had ambled to the other end of the showroom, said “Well at least we won’t have to buy THAT from Tandy.”
In my best explanatory teaching tone, I responded, “It is a Tandy tool, and we are a Tandy dealer, so you really are buying it from Tandy.”
“Well,” said the man, “We are through with Tandy. You know, they put a $12 shipping surcharge on our order the last time we bought from them.”
I explained that if the shipment contains something deemed “dangerous” by UPS, a surcharge will be put on it. “Dangerous” would be contact cement or acetone, maybe leather dye.
But I got nowhere. The folks from Nebraska could not seem to understand that UPS and Tandy are different companies with different purposes, and to blame Tandy for something UPS did doesn’t make sense. They were so angry they couldn’t listen.
There were further exchanges, and Laura and I kept trying to be helpful and kind. But the harder we tried, the more angry they got. Honestly, folks, I did not jump into the fray and try to whip them into a frenzy.
They whipped themselves into a frenzy.
Finally, they became so abrasive, abusive, aggressive and pissy that I knew I would have to take action. The woman said something particularly unkind to Laura while Laura was trying to help, so I went into action.
“You see that door? The one you came through?” I said. “Use it again. Now.”
The rage continued. Finally, I said “I have my finger on the alarm button. Leave now or I’m calling the cops.”
They left, grousing all the way.
So much anger. So much rage. We didn’t have it coming.
So Mr. and Mrs. Nebraska became numbers three and four. I just despise sending people away. I am a natural-born merchant, which means I take a lot from some folks to make a buck.
But I do have my limits. And, looking back at it, ejecting four persons in 20 years isn’t a bad track record. Must be I have pretty wide limits.
Word of the week: Sobriquet. It comes from Old French, soubz briquet, a chuck under the chin. In contemporary English, it means a nickname or even an assumed name. My sobriquet is “Tommy.” What’s yours?
Next week’s word: Anathema.
Gripes? Complaints? Whines? or Comments? Adoration? Puppy love? Reciprocal rant? Feel free to express yourself below!
(Look for the teeny tiny word below, “comment.” Click and you’re in.)
Puppy Love? A phrase that I truly have never come to understand. I can recall the first time hearing it used in a song sung by Donny Osmond. I was visiting my relatives in Riverside, California. Finding myself, stuck for too long a moment in a room. A large room with eight beds and teen beat posters. That my eight female cousins (ages 7-17) shared. Me, all of twelve years of age, red checked and shy. Being subject of and subjected to fawning and blitheness.
ReplyDeleteThe road to hell is paved with good intentions. My good intention is to praise your writing. Having read your latest blog, I’m compelled by a feeling of eagerness and sorrow, to respond. An eagerness to imbibe the wisdom. A sorrow for knowing this wisdom, and not already representing it. Perhaps, time passing and a month of Fridays will provide a benefit.
Yet, I am an individual the religious authority, the societal leadership and aristocracy curse and denounce. My closest friends know “me” as well as they know a character portrayed on the favorite prime time show.
A fiction of friendships, a leper to love, soulless to a Godly nation. Still, I speak my honesty despite their spite.
That God takes up his cause, as I am expected to take up mine. That I can stray no farther from His path with my free-will, by means of the very nature that God has created me. That I can not bow and kiss the ring of Man. That I can not spite another for doing so. That I can not provide respite or reprieve for the service of Mammon. And in the end. I will be no more a memory, then was I living in the mind.
In form, I am AnonYmouse.
My sobriquet is “Lennie.”