Hump Day lunch with my prayer posse is the highlight of my week. I’m late. I snag the parking space closest to the restaurant front door. Sweet. My thoughts ping to the blessed favor of the Lord as I slide out of my car and take a step toward the door.
Yep, going down. Hmmm, taking awhile. Thwack, my bad knee meets concrete. Why doesn’t it hurt? Must be a dream, because I’m still on my way down. I wonder, should I use my hands or roll to the side?
Now I feel the knives in my knee and wonder what else is going to hurt when I finally make full body contact. White hot flashes form concentric circles in my line of vision. The circles swirl into a tunnel. Dizzy.
The restaurant door opens. Sweet and sour chicken fragrance wafts into the tunnel. Two grown men walk out the door and look at me. Their mouths move. Distorted sounds reach my ears. Toothpicks bob up and down.
I’m almost to the concrete. How embarrassing. At least there will be someone to help me up when this eternal floating finally stops. The heroes are so close I can see the whites of their eyes and smell their oily work clothes.
Thud. Sprawl. The tunnel swirls faster and changes colors. I wait a bit for my heroes to assist me. My eyes play tricks. The heroes get farther away, not closer. I’ll just wait a second more, get my bearings. How will I ever thank them?
No. They walk away. Saunter to the end of the tunnel and disappear. I’m laying on the concrete. A hurt rushes in, but it’s not my body. Anger joins with the white hot flashes. I pick myself up.
Father God? Am I that worthless? So without value that men walk away from my accident?
Shake it off. Father God loves me. My knee will heal. I’ll go in to the comfort of my friends. I count my blessings.
Father calls my spirit vision to the tunnel, which now swirls black. A frigid wind whips me unsteady. All ages and gender walk toward me from some dark place. Haunted red eyes pierce me. Sad, slumped shoulders bend frail bodies. Fear leaks from their pores. Their hunger pounds in my ears. Why are they looking at me? I reach out my hand.
They’re looking for Me. Will you light the lamp for them? Will you be my arms of comfort? Tell them they’re worth more than sparrows? That I died for them?
“Ma’am, are you all right?” A woman in cartoon scrubs picks up my purse. The sound of her voice sucks away the vision.
Be the light.
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