Written in the Dirt

Off, in the distance, there is a silhouette of a man bend over drawing something in the dirt at the base of the grand oak tree.  As the sun begins to rise, his silhouette becomes more apparent with the contrasting pink hues of the sky.  Someone approaches the man and He stops His vigilant writing in the dirt.  The two converse for a moment, then the man returns to His writing.  Another person approaches the man who, again, stops His writing to speak with the woman, this time they embrace before He returns to the bend position of writing in the dirt.  This happens for much of the day, someone approaches the man, they speak for a moment or for several moments, they part and the man returns to writing in the dirt.  Curious, I muster the courage to venture toward the tree yet not close enough to see what the man writes in the dirt.  Another person approaches and from this vantage point I can see the two look to the writing in the dirt.  Tears fall from the person who approached the man and they embrace.  Though the man walks away in tears, his steps do not read as sad; rather it seems as though a weight has been lifted from his shoulder as his footsteps quicken and his posture reads that of joyfulness.  I watch as several more people engage the man drawing in the dirt, each leaves with what feels like joy in their step.  More curious than before I walk closer to the man, desperately hoping to see what He writes in the dirt yet I cannot make out the words.  I know He sees me yet I have not the courage to approach the stranger.  Awkwardly I watch, inspired by each obvious stranger overjoyed with their conversation.  The man is again bent over, diligently writing, I walk close enough to the tree so that I can see the first word the man has scribbled into the dirt; it is my name.  Somewhat paralyzed, I stop in my tracks yet I feel something compelling me to fully engage in conversation with the man.  As I approach, I stare at the dirt, hoping to see if my eyes were deceiving me or if my name lay there scripted in the dirt.  Sure enough my name followed by: 'I have called you, you are mine.  Patience I gift you, in faith I pray you react.  Love your shield and compassion your motive.'  Shocked at such a writing, I quickly find myself engaged in conversation with the stranger who, when I look into His eyes, is no stranger at all.  We spent what seemed like hours in conversation though I know it was nothing of the sort for the sun still glowed high in the sky.  We spoke of my need to be patient with others for, He explained, they do not see as I see.  A faith-filled approach my new campaign that all I engage in conversation may not take offense to my actions nor my words.  We spoke of love, its power, its purpose.  Love took new meaning in these moments and I felt as though I became complete, that I understood my mission and feared not its path.  A long embrace provided me a sense of warmth, a sense of security, a sense of understanding and I left resolved to offer to others what they needed In their moment of need.  I vowed to listen with my heart and act with my soul that I may bring life to the lifeless and love to the loveless.  Pride left my person in that moment for I was filled with overwhelming love.  Tears rolled from my cheeks as I parted from the man who spoke to my soul.  As I walked away, I watched as He returned to the dirt and began to write.  Mesmerized by the moment, I sat on a bench and stared at the grand park tree.  Its limbs thick and mighty, the leaves dense and many, the trunk with a circumference great enough for children to play hide and seek, and its roots protruded yet giving enough dirt for the man to continue His writing.  The overwhelming feeling of the situation began to wear off and I began to criticize my experience; was the closeness, the wholeness I felt real or just a farce?  Thinking the man a con, I reached for my wallet thinking it stolen in the exchange but there it was, completely intact.  Was it real, did He know me, had we met prior to this interaction?  Thinking myself completely crazy, I began to scan the park for anyone I recognized as having spoken to the man.  Sure enough, on the bend next to mine was a woman who I  remembered as having spoken to the man.  I timidly approached her hoping she think me not crazy and run off.  She met me with a smile as I asked if she had a moment.  She motioned to the bench and I sat.  At first, I felt awkward and obtrusive but it was as if her kind eyes reached into my soul and said, "Go ahead, ask me anything", and so I did. 

"I couldn't help but notice that you spoke to the man over by the grand oak tree, the man writing in the dirt."

"Yes, I had a conversation with the man."

"Well, did you happen to notice His writings in the dirt?"

"Oh yes, I sure did.  I must admit, when I first walked over to Him, I thought myself crazy.  I was approaching a stranger ready to engage in conversation and yet I am rather introverted.  I was curious as wit what He was writing in the dirt as I had spent a good part of my morning watching Him write, talk and the write again.  As I got closer, something pulled me to Him and there, in the dirt, I saw my name; yet I wasn't freaked out.  I don't know why, I just wasn't."

"You felt clam, like this man knew you, that He had something He wanted to tell you, yes?"

"Exactly."

"He talked about patience and faith..."

"Patience...not nothing about patience.  First He said I am with, with you always then He talked about my voice.  My voice?  I like to be off in the distance but He said my voice was important and that I must act upon that which He had gifted me...hope.  We talked about how I could speak without words.  At first I thought Him crazy but then I looked into His eyes and it was as though He knew my soul."

"Yes, I know that feeling!"

"We then talked about ways to bring faith to life and that I need not worry about how or what that were to occur for the words were already present in my heart yet, to this point, the fear outweighed my actions.  I felt empowered to love, empowered to live my heart,  empowered to speak of the things which my heart incessantly speaks. I felt made whole.  Clearly I saw a bright future, no longer petrified by fear and wrapped in love made possible by courage.  Courage I guess I found cuz here I sit speaking with you about my heart." 

I smiled and shared with her my experience with the man.  We embraced and parted a strangers connected by faith.  I never did see that woman again, nor the man writing in the dirt; but I will ever forget the experience nor the words written in the dirt.  'I have called you, you are mine.  Patience I gift you, in faith I pray you react.  Love your shield and compassion your motive.'  These words etched into my soul, not to mention, my wallpaper on my phone.  I look to these words often, I picture that day in the park and smile for with each remembrance I gain a deeper sense of belong to something more than me, something greater than my humanity.  I feel empowered to slow down and act patiently the faith which I cherish.  I know that with every interaction I am made more complete, made more whole for with each interaction love is everything that I feel as I connect not only with another but with God.  I have begun to sit in the warm morning air and wait p, wait for my heart to tell me what is needed, who is in need and respond with compassion guided by faith.  If you were to meet such a stranger in the park, under a grand oak tree, what would be His message to you written in the dirt?  He knows your heart, will you allow Him to capture your soul?  The message, what does it say?