The Bible was especially scary given my struggle through TAAS and Miss Rose’s Reading class. TAAS graded my reading comprehension and Miss Rose asked three blackboards worth of questions about thick novels she assigned. My grades reflected my honest struggle in reaching for above average. I think Spelling and Anatomy and Physiology were my strongest subjects. I won my fourth grade spelling bee, and my professor asked me to tutor my classmates.
Regarding the spelling bee, if I had not been given no choice by my two fourth grade teachers who believed that strongly in me, I would have never known the victory. I do not think I studied for both of my board examinations harder than I studied for the spelling bee. I think my forehead grew a full inch preparing for the spelling bee.
I overheard one of my fourth grade CCD classmates ask her mother, “Why is Emily’s head so big?” A mother’s answer, “Because she has a big brain.”
I never forced myself to open the Bible, even when my coworker persisted in asking me to join a group she was hosting. It was a program outlining the entire Bible in so many days. Afterall, I agreed to join. I read as many pages I had capacity for, and it was not much. I appreciated she never asked me if I really read all the assigned pages before the meeting, and I never admitted to the truth. I just struggled through the questions. The issue was not whether my answer would be right or wrong, rather, the issue was my desire was not in sync with the time. I did not want to read the Bible methodically, and I could hardly comprehend the questions in the workbooks. I was relieved when the gathering ended.
It was not until I confronted my deep grief in my early thirties, I felt my desire align with the time. My mom eased the pressure I can easily put on myself by encouraging me to approach it intuitively. She advised the Bible is simply a reference tool for the truth I already know. I went within. I remember a day I opened the pages to a verse all by myself. I was feeling overwhelmed by my grief and ultra sensitive, and the intensity in the verse frightened me. I had comprehended the verse literally. I called my mom in fear of where I was. I was sitting alone in my bed. My mom eased my fear. I did not open my Bible again until I felt in better touch with myself. I came into touch with myself by journaling my own present understanding.
I still read from my childhood Bible. The sentences are simpler, and the presence of pictures help.
I reopened my Bible a time after, but I read it with a new approach. I did not read one word after another. Rather I read each word after the other with the hope the Holy Spirit will reveal the encouragement I need in that moment. Sometimes the meaning I receive is just a feeling of a hug from someone who does not let go first. Sometimes it is a feeling my discouragement is not in vain, it is a nudge forward. [1/19/22 I was listening to a talk about the life of St. Faustina on my drive tonight, and I came across this excerpt in her diary of writings, and it reminded me of my entry, here. St Faustina wrote: “The greatest obstacles of holiness are discouragement and exaggerated anxieties. These will deprive you of the ability to practice virtue.” The random moments when I find my own words were #reaching is a very powerful feeling.] Sometimes there’s nothing to receive but an introduction to the verse in a random moment of curiosity, an ask to bookmark it, and the promise the meaning will make complete sense later.
I was painting the staircase spindles one day, and one of the verses I was introduced to was Galatians 3:26-28. I am stubborn, and I was stubborn with that verse. I knew I needed to just bookmark it the moment I found myself reading a journal article on it. The article was not helpful. It was clinical and researched. I finally stopped procrastinating the next spindle and completed the chore.
On a completely random day I met Emily. I have met a handful of Emilys, and the last Emily I had remembered fondly was an Emily I met in Kindergarten Friendship Cup. She spelled her name Emeleigh. It was just our luck we were from elementary schools with the farthest distance between us. I met Emily in 2018. She helped me clean the stubborn stains in the carpet the previous homeowners did not properly attend to when they sold the house. She got those stains out, and she said they were tough! It took her special solution she created herself, her industrial carpet cleaner, and her extra time. I never stood a chance against those stains myself. Before she left, she showed me a few pictures of her dogs, and at one point I found myself in a very important conversation. She was telling me how she overcame. Emily was as rough as the minivan she traveled in carrying her service. I liked her. And that transpired after I gave her a gracious tip. I appreciated the sequence.
Emily was an encouraging spirit that day, and our meeting felt meant to be. Our realtor had encouraged us to address the stains in the carpet on behalf of the buyer. Emily was a responsive service provider. She was coming from across town and was running more than an hour late. Within the hour she kept me well informed of her distance. I notified the realtor the carpets were in progress of being tasked. Not long after, I received a reply informing me the buyer no longer felt the cleaning was a necessary part of his plan to eventually install hardwood. When did he really know, I irritatingly wondered. I shielded Emily from the nonsense that did not involve her. Emily had already fought traffic, lugged her equipment into the house and began fighting the stains. She took initiative to pause and ease my concern the stain was responding to her attack. She had such determination I think she would have fought the stains even in the knowing it was all in vain. She just seemed that honest with herself even before she told me a story about herself.
On a completely random day, I fondly remembered Emily The Stain Master, and the verse in Galatians came to the forefront of my mind in her memory. The simple meaning transpired in that moment I was shucking pecans from my parents pecan orchard my dad planted from scratch. The verse made its perfect sense to me.
I do not have another verse bookmarked at the moment.
I confronted an anger I had last night on a walk with me, myself and I. Before going to sleep, I asked in prayer if I confronted the feeling in the true spirit of Love. I opened the random Bible verse of the day app to seek encouragement, and it was the verse in Galatians I had once stubbornly attacked. The two year old meaning I had constructed with the help of The Holy Spirit in my memory of two like-minded Emilys face to face - answered me. Indeed my anger was just and in the spirit of true love. The intense feeling of anger was righteous.
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