The Shortage of Pillows

The Shortage of Pillows

(“And Jesus said to him, ‘Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.’” Luke 9:58)

Without a moment to spare I caught up with
the prophet who had exited through the double maple
doors.
An entourage surrounded him; suits, but no guns.
And I was afraid I might have to run to the end of the
parking lot to catch him.

Instead, I found him winded as I,
I looked in his eye and asked,
“Do you have any word for me?”

I had been in tears. I had pledged to follow the
Human One
years before and wandered from California to
Spokane, from San Jose to
Oklahoma, from Sacramento to
North Dakota and to the west coast again.
Every time I was certain (sometimes with deserved pressure
to go somewhere and do better);
every time I was certain I was following a divine plan
that would make my weeping cease and wring every selfish
craving from my tongue.

And so, a pastor on the plains, I was pulled by self-interest,
echoes of successes, and words in books that made it look like
the Spirit would bowl me over if I only lost my footing. If I
only scraped my knees long enough on silent tear-stained carpets.
I sat, mostly. Got bored, mostly. And never met the expectations
from holyghost shouts and unhinged inner dialogue. I could not
breathe without crying.

“Do you have any word for me?” I asked.

He was Italian, I think, and stretched his neck as he talked.
He glanced at me, stood straight and, without a moment’s pause
said,
“You will open a Christmas present soon.”

I had flown across the country (pastors often confer in
other cities to be anonymous and hope to be refilled)
and flew home two nights later.

I looked in my closets, I looked in the back of my jeep,
I read every letter, I prayed every steep and graded hill, but
never found gift wrap or ribbons. And my hope for
beatific visions
faded into dark February.

II.

I wish the
Human One
had answered me.
I wish I knew better how to follow.
The lonesome road can be the
closest thing to pristine joy
and needs no prophetic imagination or
central affirmations.

I wish I
knew earlier
about birds and foxes
and the shortage of pillows.

Today, my feet are in sandals,
my heart enjoys rambling (more
than ever before)
and I do not have to wait for a
published author
or a windy spirit
to knock me on the floor.