April 02, 2006

In God's Office

"Hi," I begin awkwardly as I step inside. It's like a job interview, and I walk across the room quickly and expediently, but nervously, trying to get down to business, wanting to get it over with. I cross my legs in a chair across from the desk.

"I'm having kind of a tough time." I take in a deep, shuddering breath. "I did something stupid yesterday. I don't know how to explain it. I just fell. I thought I was doing better, I really did. But I fell."

I'm not sure what I expect Him to say here. There is only silence. I don't lift my eyes above the desk in front of me, which is completely bare and reflects the blank white light from the window.

"What do You think I should do? I've been trying to play this all out in my head from everyone else's perspective. I want to do this right, but I don't know what the right thing is, and I just feel like everyone's watching.

"I guess, if I was being honest, I'd say the real reason I'm here is because I want to make sure this never happens again. Just cut my losses, and do better next time. So I guess I'm hoping You could just fix me somehow. I..." here I wince and massage my temples. "I don't know. I just don't know."

Another span of silence, during which I keep staring at the ridge of the desk. This room is so empty.

"Jessica?" Hearing my name cuts me. It's wonderful and horrible, because I hate my name, hate everything it represents. I look up slowly, my eyes reluctantly crossing the desk to the desk chair, toward a face. But He's not at the desk chair.

"Jessica." This time, the word is not a vocative. It's a sentence, a statement about knowing and being known. And, following the voice, I relaize that He's not at the desk because He's in the chair beside me. And that's where He's been the whole time, even before I walked into the office.

The office is empty because He doesn't live here. And maybe we will talk some more about yesterday and today and tomorrow, but for right now, hearing my name from two feet away is worth a thousand years of advice.