Prayers for a Zombie in the Midst of an Apocalypse pt. 2

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

It was time for newbies to mingle. Putting my game face on, I slipped into the venue taking little comfort in knowing I would recognize a few faces. Truth be told, I went to the social because I figured I owed it to my brother-benefactor to squeeze every ounce I could out of the conference. My heels left tread marks on the carpet between my room and elevator given the force required to get me there.

Noise square-danced around the multistory atrium as it echoed and bounced round and round and up and down. Have hotel architects never heard of sensory processing disorder? I'm neuro-typical and was becoming dizzy with the effort to make sense out of the cacophony of sounds. Between noise and nerves, I was nauseous.

I wandered aimlessly through the hall bobbing and weaving, speaking and nodding but not lighting anywhere. Finally settling into a chair near an animated group of trendy gals, I strained to hear their conversation. We made chit-chat about who was from where and regional accents. I began to feel like the invisible grandmother in the room.

Courtesy D. Scott

I soon realized I had plopped right down into the middle of a group of women who had business relationships and were ecstatic to see one another since they lived in far flung places. Ooooooops! I watched them for a bit admiring their hipness and energy. Again, I wondered, “What am I doing here?” As quick as I could, I made excuses and wandered some more thanking the good Lord that supper was about to be served.

So it was I began to pass my time going from break out session to meals and back to my room. Here and there I snatched comfort at seeing a familiar face who knew I was a fraidy cat in the midst of a life altering apocalypse. In those moments, I could be real: real vulnerable and real transparent instead of trying to be the trendy grammaw in the room full of hipster blogging moms.

I was doing o.k. really. I was meeting and mingling without anyone running away like her hair was on fire. I even managed to be glib enough to elicit laughter when I felt I needed to. No one knew my real life, the one I left behind at home, had fallen apart only days before my plane took off for Allume. I was safe behind my mask. 

Mary DeMuth's break out session filled quickly. I arrived at the door and stumbled to the front. It was standing room only. I slumped against the front corner wall with a bird's eye view of the speaker and slid down to the floor. It was a good thing because I was gonna need that line of sight when she started to pray. And, it was gonna be a good thing I wasn't standing because I might have fallen down in shock.

Courtesy and in Loving Memory of Christina Jones Hooker

The wall behind me hummed from the energy building in the room. I wondered how she'd speak order into the building chaos. Magically, the room fell silent. She made a few jokes about being a writer who'd never published a best seller and asked us to join her in prayer.

I don't promise that the following words are verbatim, but they are as close as I can recall given that my mamma taught me you can't take notes while someone is praying.

Mary's voice was feathery around the edges as if she was just nervous enough to make her voice all but quake. Either that or she'd just run up a flight of stairs to be on time. But, this is what she said:

Dear Lord,

I am praying for the woman whose life has recently been affected by trauma and for whom words have been destructive. I pray that you would break the power of those words and help her know she is not defined by them.

It's a good thing my mamma wasn't there and that the good word says "watch and pray" sometimes because my head snapped up, and my eyes popped open. I kept watching Ms. Demuth to see if she was gonna return my open mouthed stare.

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

Common sense told me I wasn't the only one in that group who found her words uniquely personal, but my heart said she was gonna open her eyes, look to her right, and point directly at me as she continued to pray. I heard what she said after that, but I didn't really take it in because God took up where my ears left off understanding her words.

It was as if he said:

I see you. I see you right here in the middle of all these cool young women. You are right where I wanted you, and I gave Mary these words because I wanted you to know I care enough about you to have a total stranger pray for you and not even know it. I am going to break the power of the trauma of your separation and the words that triggered it. You are not defined by those words. I defined you before I threw the stars in space. I brought you to this place in such an unorthodox way because I didn't want anyone or anything else to confuse my point.

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

I see you fraidy cat, and he does too. I know the power of traumatic words that define your days and tell you who you are and what you cannot be. You are defined by the God who created you not the angry words banging and clanging in echoes throughout your heart and soul. He wants to break the power of those traumatic words and set you free.

I had to get on a plane and fly to Allume to hear God's voice. I hope you heard it right here on this page in this hidden corner of cyberspace. Come back again and walk with me a while? You are gonna be amazed at who I met and what I heard the rest of the weekend. It sure amazes me! 

Courtesy B. Creasy - 2010

Psalm 40:5 (Amplified Bible)

Many, O Lord my God, are the wonderful works which You have done, and Your thoughts toward us; no one can compare with You! If I should declare and speak of them, they are too many to be numbered.