Still Teaching Me to Pray

I write at a kitchen table.  But there are times I leave the table and go out into the world.

It was one of those glances, the kind of thing that happens in the twinkling of an eye or two, but then lingers.  Daylight was finally surrendering to dusk and I was headed to the gas station. As I drove down the street, I looked over and she was standing at her kitchen window, working hard at something in the sink with a wax on/wax off motion.  Let's say her name is Victoria. About the time I noticed her, she looked up and noticed me.  She stood out against the lengthening shadows in her white; Victoria was washing dishes in her bra.  This was all of about four seconds.

You might think a forty-two year old man seeing one of his neighbors in her bra about dusk would elicit arousal; that's fair, I am a man like other men and don't pretend to be otherwise. You could think this a scene out of some Victoria's Secret catalog, but this time you'd be wrong. In that spot of time, I felt tenderness to the point of tears.  What I saw in those three or so seconds was framed exhaustion, a woman bone-tired, weary-eyed.  I don't know this lady real well; only as a neighbor.  I do know she has a husband, two kids in grade school and one on her hip not a year old, a dog to wrangle, I'm sure all kinds of laundry and homework to do, and evidently some dishes requiring a fair amount of elbow grease to clean.  As far as I know, there are no flashing runway lights in her house, she doesn't have big angel wings sprouting from her back, no high heels or pouty lips.  No, based on what little I know, I'm guessing this Victoria doesn't have too many secrets these days because there's not many moments to herself and when she does find one she's so worn out she can't think straight.  One of her secrets was that somedays around dusk she says shucks, I'm just gonna wash dishes in my bra.  But I know that one now.

What I witnessed that evening was a woman knee-deep in the things of this earth; a lady that works at her marriage and makes sure the children are fed and taxied hither and yon and labors so that everybody's clothes are washed-then-folded and remembers to feed the dog.  And the dishes?  Well, sometimes the stains are too stubborn for the dishwasher, so she pulls out the sponge and strips down to her bra and sets to work. In a very real sense, women like her, like Victoria, keep this old world spinning and turning; without them...I'm not sure I want to think about that.  Still, I wonder if she sometimes thinks Dear Godis this it?  It's not that she's ungrateful, it's just that she's so blooming tired.  Maybe she does wish for some of those glossy catalog wings, not so she could strut a runway, but so she could fly, fly away and take a break or a load off or a nap and dream like she did when she was a little girl, back before dishes stained with dusk. 

I saw Victoria that evening and now I see her differently.  As I am learning to pray for the little boy, Icarus, who jumps so high on his trampoline not far from me, I now also am learning to pray for Victoria-of-the-one-less-secret who lives close by.  I don't know if anyone else on the planet is praying for these people, remembering them in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  I'm trying.

I write at a kitchen table.  But there are times I leave the table and go out into the world.
                    

10 comments:

  1. Dear God, please bless Victoria & Icarus, & all the plodding on-ers & hanging on by the skin of their teeth-ers.

    I felt her weariness in my bones,John.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Good post John. I'm forwarding this one to my wife. Cause that's who I saw in the window.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Very moving post, John. I'll join you in praying for Victoria and Icarus. Glad she's one of your neigbors. Hope that the Lord will give you opportunity to reach out to her in the days ahead.

    ReplyDelete
  4. i'm think'n dusk is the right time ... perhaps even the best time ... for seeing where Abba is at work.

    that time in between *now* and *not yet* when folks think they're most invisible.

    i'm think'n there's a whole lot of story out in the world, John. pages and pages of story just waiting to be brought back to the kitchen table and the bowed heart and the clasped hands in prayer.

    i'm think'n how grand it is that you were given that spot of time to taste the salt streaming from Abba's eye.

    i'm glad you write at a kitchen table, John. Gladder still that you leave the table and go ...

    ReplyDelete
  5. Oh heck, This is the Shame so why not. I pose a different picture for speculation while drinking a sudsy cold one. Why couldn't this lady just be part of the "I don't give a damn--I like running around in my bra" Why make her a tragic figure? Maybe she was celebrating her bra-ness and glad you peeped in for a second? I don't know, but the day is heavy and the night cometh. I say bring on and cheer with a vengence anyone throwing off the shackles of the prescribed world. I think you should high five her when you see her next time. That's just me and the world I choose to see today. I may be seeing something else tomorrow. Here is a toast to all the open windows with women standing in their bras!!

    ReplyDelete
  6. This comment has been removed by the author.

    ReplyDelete
  7. I'm loving the "teaching me to pray" posts. They remind me that life is more about getting from Point A to Point B. I want to be more aware of all the people between that I'm missing on the way to my destination.

    ReplyDelete
  8. I love the way you see people. I mean really see them. It's a gift, and to be able to recount your visions with such clarity, is even more so. Keep it up, John.

    ReplyDelete
  9. The miracle of noticing. And caring after you do. Thank you God for letting us see sometimes.

    ReplyDelete
  10. She was probably just trying to save time since she likely had one more task to complete after finishing the dishes...having sex with her husband.

    :-)

    ReplyDelete