Previous Challenge Entry (Level 2 – Intermediate)
Topic: Encouragement (among believers) (11/08/07)
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TITLE: Laura, With Bells | Previous Challenge Entry
By Harriet Sabatini
11/13/07 -
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“Please stop the ringing,” I begged.
A cool wash cloth bathed my forehead, “It will in a little while. Try to bear it.”
Restive, I shook the cloth off my head, “Where are the boys?”
“I’ve got them coloring,” came the answer. I thought I could detect, amidst the blur of my confusion, amusement. It made me angry.
I tried hard to focus my eyes at the blurred figure over me. It sat there patiently and reapplied the cool cloth. It felt wonderful on my burning forehead. The figure resolved.
“You?” I asked, stunned.
Her smile lit up her anxious face, “Yes. Me. Surprised?”
“You shouldn’t be here. You can’t be here,” I protested through gasps.
She shrugged, “Well I am, so deal with it! You’re sick, so rest a little while I get the kitchen cleaned up.”
The hole she left was bottomless. My shame tumbled down the abyss, never to be reclaimed. It filled the hole and mocked me. I tossed from side to side. The bells would not stop ringing! The nausea would not abate! Yet my shame eclipsed both. The very woman I had chastised! The very woman I had so neatly judged. She was cooking my dinner, watching my boys, bathing my brow. No! It couldn’t be! It shouldn’t be!
“Laura! Laura!” I called out as I thrashed against the bells.
“Hush, Jody,” she was immediately there, “It is part of the flu – the doctor said it would be. It will pass. Let’s pray you can get through it, okay?”
“You’d – you’d pray with me?”
She smiled, “Even though I wear jeans in God’s house?”
“I guess I’m rather shallow,” I answered.
Silence reigned for a moment. Then the cloth wiped my brow again. Oh the relief!
“I guess you should have come to me,” was the hesitant reply, “Anyway, let’s pray.”
The prayer was simple. I barely remembered it. Foggy memories of a vacuum running, boys chattering happily, and my husband coming home to peace and order were all I could summon. Was it a dream?
Later, when I saw Laura again I had to ask that question.
“No,” she grinned, “You were pretty sick. I don’t blame you for not remembering anything.”
I couldn’t meet her eyes. I felt her fingertips on my chin lifting it, “Don’t dismiss me.”
“Am I? How could you come and – do all that stuff – after what I said about you?” I choked on the words.
“Let’s start over,” she said, “With friendship. With understanding.”
“Will you forgive me for judging you?” I asked.
She giggled, “I thought I had already done that!”
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