Philemon

His eyes glanced upward catching mine. 
He would look just long enough, wondering, but not necessarily caring if I would scold him for playing, playing in the middle of the church service.  
Honestly, I was thankful for the distraction. 
 I have lost just enough of my religious thinking to think that this was anything more than a show. 
I hoped it wasn't for my benefit because I wasn't impressed.
My salvation is no longer found in “longer is better”.
As in many places not knowing the language makes it harder.
There is frustration in that.
Along with wanting to see the harvest, rather than trusting in the planting process.

I had already glanced over my notes for my evening message.
 I was now reading the words of Paul in Philemon.
The words in this tiny book get me every time.

“I am sending him, who is my very heart, back to you". 

I closed my eyes holding those words in my heart.
I wanted them to write themselves on my heart so I wouldn't forget this kind of love.
I glanced back at the playing boy. 
I watched him take the loose paper that had fallen from the curled pages of his paperback bible we had purchased a year ago. 
He was neatly folding the paper into three perfect paper frogs. 
Frogs that could jump if he tapped them just so with the tip of his finger.

Three dancing frogs. 
I had to smile.

My legs jumped from sitting too long, the heat made me sleepy, but I dare not sleep with half of the congregation watching my every move.
 I was the visitor, a.k.a the blond girl who can't get her clothing right to save her soul with  tattoo's on her feet now being forced to sit on stage, something I hate.
Sometimes I sit on the floor with the congregations just to prove a point.
It messes with things so I do it on purpose.

Soon the boy would take a string from the fray at the bottom of his blue jeans and tie it around a real live large beetle bug. 

Yes, the kind that make you jump when found in your room, your shower or your bed.

This beetle bug dared to walk right into the middle of the dancing frogs.

I was loving this mini circus. 

A show in a show thought my crancky self.   

He took the string, gently tied it around the beetle bug making him work like the big white bulls with the pink powder pulling the sugar cane carts on the street.

The beetle bug was pulling one of the dancing frogs.

His face beemed, mine too.  

The boy no longer glanced my way, I no longer counted the minutes until the show would be finished. 

Not the circus of dancing frog, the one in the pulpit.

There was no longer a language barrier, I understood just fine.

Finally it was over, children dismissed and I would pray for those who needed prayer. 

The magic word "Amen" was uttered and without a nudge he was gone.
The dancing frogs, the distraction, seemed to have no value.
They didn't leave with him. 
I glanced down where the circus had been performing, he had left them just as easily as he had made them. 
I considered taking them and saving them but thought it not very spiritual to disrupt the other show taking place.

As I stood praying for them, asking Jesus to come touch them, be real to them, heal them, bring work for them, give them hope, I was thinking about Paul, Philemon, the boy, the beetle bug and dancing circus frogs.

“I am sending him who is my very heart back to you".

 The tables now turned, my words had no meaning, they didn't speak English.
Ironically, maybe I was the show?
In my heart I was there to be His hands and feet. 
Please, Jesus you will have to do the rest.
I prayed there would be no barrier, that His heart, my actions would speak in place of language.
Lord, let my words be like dancing frogs and beetle bugs, let them connect.
Let this not be a show.
Lord, let me send your heart back to them.