THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Saturday, December 17, 1994 TAG: 9412160088
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E5 EDITION: FINAL
COLUMN: Religion
SOURCE: Betsy Wright
LENGTH: Medium: 90 lines
``DO YOU HAVE a minute?'' hesitantly asked the familiar voice.
It had been months since I'd spoken to this reader. The last time she called, there'd been a death in her family, preceded by a long, spiritually and financially depleting illness.
``I want to tell you about a dream I had last week,'' she said, ``but first I need to tell you that since we last talked, I really hit bottom.''
She went on to explain that her college-age son had nearly flunked out of school, while a 16-year-old daughter she'd always been close to had become surly and distant. The family's financial problems were still an everyday hassle. Worst of all, at age 52, the woman had begun to fear that her 30-year marriage was falling apart.
``One night last week, I woke up in the middle of the night,'' she said. ``I was alone and just sick and tired of it all. I remember crying out to God, `I'm so tired of living like this.' ''
The woman said she drifted back to sleep but moments later felt herself crashing through her bedroom window. Some unseen hand had plucked her from her bed and was carrying her high over the city.
``I remember telling my guide that I didn't want to fly this high, and so it gently lowered me closer to the earth,'' she said.
The woman's ``guide'' took her on an unforgettable trip. Invisible to those on the earth, she was taken into some of the poorest homes in America. In Norfolk, she saw an elderly woman eating cat food. In Buffalo, N.Y., she saw five young children left alone by their cocaine-addicted mother.
``Their apartment was filthy. It had no heat, and I could actually feel the cold those children felt. I could smell the urine. I could feel the hunger of their their hollow bellies. I felt their fear.''
There was more. The guide showed her the rat-infested home of a Native American family living on a reservation in New Mexico. In Los Angeles, she saw hundreds of homeless men and women living in boxes beneath a highway overpass.
Then the guide took her abroad. She flew over Africa and wept at the sight of mutilated children killed in a tribal war. In India, she flinched as a rat nibbled the foot of a sleeping boy. A mother in Bosnia buried her only daughter, killed by a sniper, and the woman thought about her own teenager.
``The worst thing was looking into their eyes,'' said the woman. ``I tried to look away, but I couldn't. All I could see in their eyes was fear and death, but worst of all, hopelessness.''
Then as quickly as it had begun, her trip was over. She crashed once more into her bedroom window - this time from the outside - landing on her bed. Sitting up, she tried to calm her pounding heart. She was wet with sweat. She was exhausted.
``And then I heard this voice . . . really heard it,'' she said. ``It very clearly said to me, `Don't tell me you're tired of living like this.' ''
The phone was dead silent for at least 30 seconds.
``That's it?'' I asked, thinking there must be more, thinking the voice must have offered more wisdom.
``That was it,'' she said, ``but that was all I needed. You know how you're always saying, `Snap out of it?' Well, that voice was God saying to me, `Snap out of it!' God was telling me to quit the pity party. Count my blessings. Shut up and take a look around.''
That call came several weeks ago, and I still can't let go of this woman's dream. Why? For me - a Christian - it captures the real meaning of Christmas.
Nearly 2,000 years ago, God came to Earth. For eternity, he had been surrounded by angels and majesty but then chose to abandon his throne and enter the world as a scrawny, crying baby. He could have been born in plush surroundings, but God chose to make his entrance in something less than a barn.
It always humbles me to know that the first breath God drew on this Earth was filled with the mingled stench of urine-soaked hay, fresh dung and the blood of his young mother's womb.
Such was the entrance of God into the world. Such was God's love for us.
What does God ask in exchange? God asks that we make ourselves as vulnerable as a baby. He asks us to snap out of it. Quit our pity party. Count our blessings. Shut up and take a look around.
God asks us to open ourselves to the pain and suffering of others, responding with love and relief, and all the while enduring our own pain and suffering, however great or small.
To all my readers and especially to that lady with the dream . . . God bless you and Merry Christmas.
MEMO: Every other week, Betsy Mathews Wright publishes responses to her
opinion column. Send responses to Issues of Faith, The Virginian-Pilot,
150 W. Brambleton Ave., Norfolk, Va. 23510; call (804) 446-2273; FAX
(804) 436-2798; or send e-mail to bmw(AT)infi.net. Deadline is Tuesday
before publication. You must include name, city and phone number.
by CNB