What I am Struggling With...

“Why aren’t you dancing?” He asked leaning back on the counter next to her. Kristin shrugged and shoveled another chip into her mouth. The salsa was cold and sweet on her tongue. “Come on,” he prodded elbowing her in the side. She shrank away, not really in the mood to be tickled and nagged. “Why aren’t you dancing?” he asked again.

“Because I don’t dance like a slut,” she said watching the girls on the wooden floor that had been cleared of furniture. Max turned to look at his best friend. Kristin went on staring straight ahead.

“You know, you ought to do something about that.”

“Seriously. I mean, look at it!” she gestured to the group of teens in front of them, “they just shake their body and get inches away from the guys, and their clothes! Everything is skin tight,” she shook her head and sighed, “and girls wonder why they get raped.” Max shook his head.

“I meant, you should do something about your mouth.” Kristin’s eyebrows shot up as she looked at him.

“My mouth? I’m sorry, did I miss something?” Max ran his tongue along his lips, still shaking his head and staring at the floor. “Come, on, tell me what you mean.” He looked up finally, at the seemingly sincere invitation.

“You can be really mean sometimes. I mean, honest is great and all, but seriously Kristin, sometimes you have no tact, you can be really hurtful with your words.” He grabbed his coke and walked past her, out the sliding glass door and onto the back porch under bright lights. Kristin bit her lip and put the cookie in her hand down on the plate. With a frustrated sigh she headed for the front door.

Outside the night was cold and bitter. The snow was slowly receding on the front lawns, but January was holding out for at least a few more days. Walking past the neighbors’ houses, all lighted up and glowing warmly. Past the cars empty and waiting to be driven home by curfew. Rounding the sidewalk to the back of the cul-de-sac, stepping onto the black asphalt, reaching the driver’s side of the Honda, glowing bright white under the street light. The key grating in the lock, like Max’s words grating on her nerves.

The door finally popped open, she slid inside. The engine coughed and came to life. Her mind turned like the gears as she put the car into reverse. The wheels spun and sighed over the black pavement. Slamming down on the gas after reaching the end of the neighborhood. Hurtful words. Well people need to hear them. Sometimes, the truth just hurts. She pushed through green lights and reached the on-ramp to the freeway. The car sped up and tried to catch a Jeep to pass. The man in the blue Cherokee smiled and waved her on ahead of him. Space. Patience. Grace. Courtesy. Kristin ran over the words in her mind as the car ate up more pavement and white stripes. Her mind worked overtime, scanning, analyzing, rewinding. Over and over. The wheels slowed on their axles as she reached her exit and headed off. The Jeep passed her and she could have sworn the man waved at her as he past.

He might have even had a beard.

Biting her lip she reached into the purse on the passenger seat and fumbled around for the cell phone. But the light was green and she had a tight left turn to make before it changed. Both hands on the wheel she turned on the wet pavement. Gently. Easily, the car responded to the turn perfectly. She reached one last time for the cute little silver flip phone. It popped out of the purse and tumbled to the floor. She cursed and looked back to the road.

The call would have to wait until she got home.

What about cursing? She trie to put it out of her mind. The truck in front of her went through a puddle to quickly, splashing water onto her windshield. Kristin turned on the wipers. The thought came back. Cussing is a sin too. She tried not to dwell on it. But there it was again, like the wipers. No matter how many times she pushed it away, the thought just kept coming back.

Okay. So I am a hypocrite. Well, someone still has to tell those people that dancing like that is sexual and wrong. She turned into her neighborhood and drove through the stop sign. Rounding the corner onto her street and then up into the driveway. The front porch light was on. Her parents always left it on for her. Because they always wanted her to feel welcome at home, the bright light showing her the way back into safety. The way back into love.

“Without love, what is truth? Truth must sometimes come down and get dirty in the mud, it must be with the worst of things and people. It must work with them and care for them. Because without love, truth is void of all meaning.” Kristin whirled around in her seat and searched for the voice. But the quiet stillness of the car told her that she would find no one hidden away in the back seat. She sighed and stepped out into the cold night.

But suddenly, the night wasn’t as cold and bitter as she had remembered.

so that is what I am struggling with. My spiritual gift (or at least one of them) is prophecy. Which usually means just spouting of the truth at people. I guess it's good and all, but it seems to get me in a lot of trouble. I have become very obsessed with truth this year and it's killing me. I forgot about love, and all that jazz. My gift has overtaken me. And I need to learn how to control it. Prayer would be really super.