After especially hard days, I take a little extra time to gently tuck myself into bed. Sleep well, little one, I say, imagining The Within speaking in a tender voice. I fluff the pillows and give thanks for my great good fortune. I am safe.
But often, like tonight, a wave of guilt hits. Images of war, earthquakes, uprisings, floods, mud slides, fires, and refugee camps take over. No one is ever entirely safe, but everyone wants to be. We steal safety from each other. And the cost of this selfish, temporary safety runs into the billions. With a loaded pistol, I could shoot my way out, right? With enough money, I could build a fortress and save myself. Ha! Fools. We are all safety-seeking fools.
Yahweh clears her throat.
“Oh, hi,” I say sheepishly. “I was just tucking myself in for the night.”
“Hmmm. Is THAT what you were doing?” she asks, glowing orange from the corner.
“No,” I admit. “I was mocking the notion of safety. I feel a little frightened sometimes so I make fun of people who think they can make themselves safe.”
“I like it when you’re honest,” Abba God says. She wraps herself in my spare blanket and lays down beside me. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to feel safe.”
“Yeah, but…”
“I know,” she interrupts. “It can go too far. Safety, sacrifice, and suffering are contentious triplets, progeny of a brief affair between acceptance and agency.”
What now? I think. “I’m way too tired to talk about this,” I say.
“Me, too,” Asherah God says. “There’s a lot going on. I’m exhausted.”
“I bet you are.” I slip my arm over her shoulder and whisper, “Sleep well, Eternal One.”
She closes the eyes that never close. The breath of Allah is deep and regular, but mine is shallow, and I feel anxious. I remember a prayer I was taught as a child.
Now I lay me down to sleep.
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
If I should die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take.
Whoa! No wonder we’re all so frightened. What child wants to die in the night and have their soul taken by a mysterious, possibly nefarious God?
If anyone’s taking anything in the night, it’ll damn well be me, I think, watching the rise and fall of the chest of The Infinite beside me. Then I relax and smile at my hubris. I don’t even own a gun.
Short visits with an honest God 