Authors: Vacirca Vaughn
“Oh God, I hope
I didn’t wait here for nothing,” Paulo whispered as he made his way to the
park.
Satan is
a liar. The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.
“Thanks,
God. I know I ought to be past this point but sometimes I need you to
hold my hand, even now, Lord,” Paulo whispered as he continued the path into
the park.
When he
arrived, he scanned the park. Dejected that no one was there, Paulo began
to stretch his limbs in anticipation of his jog. “I guess God will work
this out. I need to run.”
And run he
did. Picking up speed, he jogged the perimeter of the park twice before
he realized that the summer heat had risen almost imperceptibly in the
air. Paulo paused by a tree to catch his breath, take a sip of the
bottled water he had strapped to his leg. After a few minutes he pulled
his drenched tee shirt off and tied it around his neck. Stripped down to
his shorts, he resumed his run.
As he passed
the entrance of the park, he almost stumbled.
There she was.
The woman he
had seen in his friend’s building.
“Dear God,”
Paulo cried out, ashamed that he had doubted. “I’m sorry for my
unbelief.”
There the woman
was, furiously smoking on a cigarette. She was hunched over, her
shoulders quaking as she wiped furiously at her nose with a crumbled napkin.
Now that the
woman had shown up, Paulo had no idea what to do.
“God, I doubted
you and I am sorry. You are truly in control. Please, Lord, lead
me. Show me what to do, how to do it, and when to do it.”
Paulo continued
to run, making sure to pass the woman. Just as he passed her bench, she
looked up. Paulo smiled and waved as recognition exploded in her
red-tinged eyes before she looked back down into her lap. Paulo continued
to run as he waited on God’s timing.
After several
laps, after watching the woman cry and smoke for several minutes, Paulo felt
the Lord give him a release. Sighing, Paulo uttered one last
prayer. “God, have Your way. Not mine, not hers, but Yours.”
And the Lord
heard.
Chapter 7
God blesses
those who mourn, for they will be comforted (Isaiah 43:2).
A few minutes
before, Phoenix heard footsteps pounding in the dark stairwell in which she had
been hiding. Panting, she hoisted herself from her perch on the steps and
slipped out into the lobby, just as several teenage boys ran past her.
Relieved they didn’t notice her, she struggled to draw in deeper breaths.
Calm down,
Fe. You got to go out there and face people.
She found
the crumpled napkin in her pocket and wiped her face as best she could.
Sighing, she left the lobby and practically sprinted past the group of men.
“Hey, did you
see your mother?” Mr. Rodriguez called to her.
“Yes,
sir. But I can’t talk now. Have a good day,” she called.
Phoenix left
the complex and stood at the curb with her arm raised to hail a cab.
She saw many cabs whizzing past her.
What she did
not see, however, were the angels of the Lord that appeared beside her.
Caliel
touched her head and whispered in her ear, “Go sit
in the park.”
As
quickly as the angels came, they were gone. And Phoenix suddenly had an
overwhelming urge to sit in the park. She left the corner and kept
walking until she reached the nearby playground close to her mother’s apartment
complex. Spotting an elderly man, she walked over to him, pulling out a
dollar.
“Sir, can I
please
buy a cigarette from you?” Phoenix could taste the cigarette she had
not had in over five years.
The man looked
at her, and then her dollar, before reaching into his pocket to pull out the
crumpled box of Newport 100s. “Young lady, you take it. Look like
you need it more than me. Matter of fact, take three.”
“Thanks,” she
said as she bent to let the man light the cigarette for her.
Phoenix found
herself near the back entrance of the playground, grateful that it was empty of
the usual rambunctious children and overwrought mothers. She inhaled
deeply as her mother’s words and Cedric’s fought for space in her head.
Phoenix sucked
on that cigarette for dear life, while placing her head in her hand. Her
shoulders shook with her sobs.
Nearby, a man
was running through the park. Phoenix glanced at his tall, lean shirtless
frame. He smiled and waved as he ran past her.
Oh my
God. He looks like that guy I saw in my building two weeks ago.
She looked back
down again and continued her cry, sucking relentlessly from her cigarette for
several moments. Her head pounded.
God, I am
sorry about the way I talked to my mother. But sometimes I hate
her! No I don’t…except I do. God help me, but sometimes I don’t
feel like I love her at all. I know I’m wrong, but she is never there for me
emotionally. How could she say those things, God? How could
Cedric? I love them both and they don’t love me because of my looks.
He doesn’t have to, but she gave birth to me. It’s worse what she said
because she is supposed to love me no matter what, God. But she
doesn’t. I guess I am just a huge disappointment to everyone.
Doesn’t matter what kind of person I am on the inside, or how much I do and
have done for them. Doesn’t matter how much I have accomplished in my
life. All they see are my imperfections.
Phoenix
continued to drag on her cigarette.
She sat there,
wishing for someone, anyone, to look beyond her flaws and frailties in order to
love her, really love her. She wanted someone to put her first, even for
a few minutes, for once in her life.
‘You have no
right to make such demands in your situation!’ How could my own mother even say
that to me, God? Like because I need to lose a few pounds, I have no
right to expect someone to love me and cherish me? To treat me with
respect? Because I am not a perfect ten?
How she yearned
for her mother to grab onto her and pull her into comfort and encouragement
with hugs and warm words. How she wished her mother had the strength to
lend her when she was weak. But her mother had always been cold.
For most of Phoenix’s life, her mother was the type to drive a knife into an
already festering wound with an ‘I told you so’ or ‘it serves you right.’
And Phoenix knew that her mother would give her the silent treatment, would
blame her for defending herself. Her mother would accuse her of being
disrespectful, but not admit that she had fueled Phoenix’s anger with her own
callous words. Her mother had thought it was foolish for Phoenix to
expect a hug, or some sort of comfort, to help her through her anguish.
It hurt that
Magalie
would never allow herself to
admit that she had basically undermined her daughter’s self-worth.
Phoenix
shivered with pent-up frustration. Phoenix knew that although
she
had
been the one experiencing heartbreak and pain,
Magalie
would make the situation about herself. She would never reach out to
Phoenix and Phoenix knew it. She knew it because her mother never apologized,
and never, ever admitted when she was wrong. Everything was always everyone
else’s fault. Ever since her father had begun tearing apart
Magalie’s
heart, her mother wore her prideful bitterness
like skin. It was fixed, immovable, unyielding, and attached to her very
being.
“God,” she
whispered, out loud now. “If You are listening, please help. I’m
broken on the outside and now on the inside too. Please send me someone
to help me become the woman I know I can be on the outside, so that it can line
up with who I can be on the inside. Please send me someone who can help
me love myself again. And if You’re willing, please send me someone who
will love me unconditionally. I need to be loved God. Everyone
deserves love, God, no matter how they look. I need to be loved by
somebody who will look past my flaws and see my beauty on the inside. I
need somebody who can love me even if I don’t look so good on the outside…”
Realizing that she
had never known that type of love, not even from her own mother, she began to
sob again for several minutes, still sucking away on the Newport 100.
“God, I wish I
had someone who could just…just
hold
me, Lord.”
Finishing the
cigarette, Phoenix dug the second one from her pocket and lit it with the flame
from the first. “God, I feel like someone has ripped my insides
out. I need help now, God. I don’t know what I can do, Lord.
What should I do? I need someone to help me get past being ugly on the outside,
before I get ugly on the inside too. I need someone who will literally
hold my hand through the process, God. I need someone to help me get a
makeover. Are You
gonna
help me, God?”
She paused,
expecting God to respond to her the way He used to when she paid more attention
to Him. That was before Cedric, and school, and her family began to take
over her life. But He didn’t answer. Of course He didn’t have
anything to say to her. After all, what
could
He say? Wasn’t
it God who had made her this way? Wasn’t He the one who decided, as he
knit her together in her mother’s womb, that she would be this girl that was
too ugly to love?
Seriously, what
could
God have to say about all this?
Sucking her
teeth, Phoenix let out a moan.
“Are you
alright, Miss?” said the rough, lilting voice.
Phoenix looked
up and caught her breath.
Standing before
her was the most handsome man she had ever seen. She had seen him in her
building before, but it felt as though it were the first time she had ever
really
looked
at him. His eyes were liquid gold and his full lips
were wearing a smile that was wide, but careful. The sharp angles of his
cheekbones, strong jaw, and chin did not detract from his youthful face.
His body, stripped down to a pair of baggy shorts and a rumpled tee shirt
around his shoulders, was very tall and decorated with thick muscles and a
spattering of hair. His café au
lait
skin was
glistening. His curly black hair, with streaks of gray, was covered in a
baseball cap worn backwards.
“Miss, are you
alright?” the man repeated, wiping his brow with his forearm.
Phoenix
breathed. Then blinked. “Uh-uh, yes,” she stammered.
The man
chuckled and sat down next to her on the bench. He took a swig from the
bottled water that was strapped to his thigh. “Forgive me for
intruding. I was running, as you can see, but I had the urge to stop and
check on you. Forgive me, but I don’t think you are alright.
Please, tell me, what is wrong?”
Phoenix stared
at the man.
“Miss?
Let me try again. I am Paulo Elias. And what is your name, please?”
“Wait,” she
whispered. “Haven’t I seen you before?”
“You do look
familiar.” Paulo smiled. “And your name?
He
is
that
guy I bumped into in the building. Of course he doesn’t remember me, why
should he?
“It’s Phoenix.”
“Phoenix,”
Paulo repeated in his lilting accent, then laughed. “Beautiful
name. You know what the phoenix is, don’t you?”
“My mother
named me Phoenix because that is where she was when I was conceived…”
“Okay, but
surely you know about the phoenix?”
Phoenix cleared
her throat and looked away, unable to stand the engulfing light shining from
his eyes.
“Phoenix?”
Paulo said, leaning forward.
“Why don’t you
just tell me?”
“Gladly.
The phoenix is a mythical bird, a beautiful bird that lives a long time and
goes through many struggles. Right at the end of its life, it builds
itself a new home, then it goes through a process of being burned with a fire
so fierce it is reduced to ashes. After it is burned, a new phoenix comes
to life. The phoenix rises from the ashes, destined to live again.”
Phoenix
blinked.
“So whatever
you are going through, Phoenix, whatever way you have been burned, it does not
matter. You will rise from the ashes to live the life you were meant to
have. I feel it.”
She marveled at
this stranger.
“But if you are
going to live a new life, you can start by putting down your old one.”
With that,
Paulo gently took the cigarette from her hand and tossed it to the ground. “Why
don’t you tell me your story, Phoenix?”
Phoenix stared at
the man, trying to muster up anger at his presumption. He had taken her
cigarette the way an adult takes a pair of scissors from a child. But she
could not even get angry at that point. She looked away and tried to find
the words to tell her story.
Looking at the
man, she knew it would be a waste of time.
Chapter 8
Humble
yourselves, therefore, under God’s mighty hand, that he may lift you up in due
time. (1 Peter 5:6)
“No.”
Paulo
blinked. “No?”
He leaned
forward to stare into Phoenix’s eyes.
Wow, her eyes are
beautiful. A man could get lost in them. This woman has lived hard
and loved even harder.
“No,” Phoenix
repeated, pursing her lips.
“Seriously?
You don’t want to share your story with me?” He gently tapped her
shoulder as if the gesture would ask
why?
Phoenix felt
her stomach tie itself into a thousand tiny knots then pull. “What’s the
point? You can’t help me even if you want to.”
“How do you
know that? Perhaps I am here specifically for that reason.”