Tuesday, December 28, 2010

Christmas passed

We all know people who could use a miracle; some are famous...others are nobodies.

A very good friend who I've known for most my life, and certainly more "nobody" than "famous," recently experienced a miracle -- at least, that's what I'm calling it.  Perhaps there's a different word for it -- you be the judge.

For the past twenty years, this person leaned on a crutch...one that goes by many names:  go, fast, chris, speed.

With one look at this lady's hair, you could tell whether she had her crutch around; with it, she was June Cleaver, absently tending to her Better Home & Garden; without it, her house was a shambles, and she resembled Nick Nolte's mugshot.

Years ago, Mick Jagger sang about "Mother's Little Helper"...years and years and years ago... 

Anyway, around Thanksgiving, my friend could finally no longer afford her crutch, and had run out of enablers able to lend a dime or willing to share their own.  

And so days passed, and then weeks; for about a month she lazed...drooped...dozed...slept...dreamed...in between, she hoped for help to come....her house and her hair becoming increasingly disheveled.

Whitney Houston's bathroom

Christmas passed, and then another day, and still another...

Then, without any warning or fanfare, the help that was hoped for finally arrived; night turned to day, and my friend stood, brewed a pot of strong coffee, and proceeded to clean her kitchen and do her  laundry...for the first time in two decades...organically...au natural...all by herself.

And the next day, she awoke, broke the beloved crutch on which she'd relied and leaned upon for so long, and she threw it away; then, she brushed her hair, drank her coffee, and vacuumed her carpet.

The time before speed was so long ago, she had forgotten it entirely; indeed, she had come to believe she'd been born with some sort of chemical imbalance.  Now that she knew that was untrue, she said she felt like dancing, like singing, like crying, like shouting...but that no one seemed to appreciate or understand the reality of her transformation.  

So, I told her I'd write about it.

Christmas is over, and the New Year is yet to come...but after a score of broken promises and resolutions...failed efforts, failed spells, failed rituals...and unanswered prayer without number...she looks in the mirror at the part in her hair, and knows it's nothing short of miraculous and Divine Timing.


Thank God.

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