Please Respond

Please Respond

(“For once you were full of darkness, but now you have light from the Lord. So live as people of light!” Ephesians 5:8)

Did I say something wrong, did I stay too long;
Were my words too pointed, or too blunt. Disappointed,
I text and message and check the results; the electrons which
carry your response are sadly inactive. As I understand it, only two reasons
would cause such a thing: Either we are now buried in the next great ice age,
freezing electronics in their circuits. Or more likely, it is only your shoulder has grown cold,
over something I said wrong or pointed, blunt or (I hesitate to suggest it) but,

Anointed.

My words have stumbled like sandals in the darkness, stubbing table legs and
leaving me with a yelp that woke the dog, then woke my wife, then the children,
then the neighbor’s dogs, then their children, until I was afraid the neighborhood
sounded like the entire fire engine company racing to squelch a fire no one had reported.

My words, mumbled quickly, and impatient to scrutinize your understanding, have
caused fires that consumed nothing, and left others wondering what I meant (the best
of many bent responses), or interpreting my gurgled stubbing, report to your
immediate friends that I am not nearly the gentleman you assume me to be.

The anointing is no longer inspected.

May I suggest something, without appearing innocent and faultless, (well,
I know what I appear like from the glances of the handful who have tickled their ears
or turned away when I wasn’t exactly what they expected); so, far being correct,
or even desiring to correct you, I do want you to

Hear my words, at the very least, without thinking I am…Well, you see, that right there
is the problem. I have no idea what you are thinking because you haven’t done the
second thing I desire.

Hear my words, at the very least, and respond, can we say, within the time it takes
for you to read them twice? “I got your note, and I’ll get back to you” is human and
makes me think the shoulder is not so cold after all. But when I know, you’ve read
my note, and weeks plod across the river and back twice or more, with no electron
lettering on my oh-so intelligent phone’s text display, I am put off, and try to write
another day. Only with weeks between my first and second and next hopeful text,
zeros after zeros are the only reply.

You and I were both in the darkness. We once could say words like daggers.
But, if I’m right, we’re both in the light, and words are medicine that heals us,
and food that transcends our death-clutch on the desire to be right. No, the light
dispenses with taking sides and showing might.

Let me know, won’t you, if I’ve said something wrong, stayed too long,
assumed too much, forgot to bring lunch, shook your hand too soft, hugged your wife
too much, or ignored your dog while it stalked me like its next romantic encounter.

I am worth the failures, but I am better than the false assumptions. Words are our
healers that fill in the damp and ugly places that the darkness fills with silence.