Jesus fucking Christ! No gas again? Three. Fucking. Days.
The steering wheel felt good against the tension in his hand as he slammed down in concert with his voice.
Walking toward the station several yards away, a woman who might be mistaken for a teenager looked up to the sign. Still .0.
Fuck, God, three days? Seriously?
Raye had been asking for signs all morning. She had woken in a thick fog an hour after her alarm had gone off.
She was angry but she did not want to be angry. In this fog, which wasn’t new, she prayed.
God, please help me get Margret to school on time. God, please help me to be clear and focused. God, please help me to not feel angry.
As she looked at her daughter, she couldn’t really see her. Their eyes might have met but Raye wouldn’t have been of the mind to check for dark purple smudges or other signs.
Raye was focused on praying. The frustration of having to deal with this again boiled in the pit of her stomach, threatening to crystallize into louder anger.
She did not have time to take things apart in her mind. Just enough time to pray constantly for help every step of the way.
God, please help me transmute this anger into peace and clarity.
Only one year earlier, Raye would have been caught on the injustice of this fog fucking with her life. And the need to constantly ask for help.
But now, like a ballet dancer, she prayed as each obstacle became apparent, and with her own steady hands, she chopped veggies for lunch. With her own solid legs, she moved from one task to the other with joy and ease.
And when joy or ease evaded her, she acknowledged her frustration and then prayed.
The two got out the door on time. Margaret did not fuss, though they didn’t have time for breakfast. She was out the door before Raye.
As they walked hand in hand, Raye was distracted with the task of praying.
Please, God, help us get to school on time. God, please help me feel clear. God, please send me signs to know I’m on the right path.
There had been a general feeling of dis-ease about praying for clarity at first. A sense of fear that being clear would somehow hurt a person that she loves.
It came from a dream that she was heart connected to a man and somehow this man was affected by her decisions.
It left her questioning if the decision to pray away the fog was best for him. Did he need her to pretend that she couldn’t lift the fog for some reason? Would this hurt him somehow?
But she prayed for help to make the best decisions. God, please help me make the best decisions for myself and Margaret.
As they walked hand in hand, Raye prayed for heavenly help every step of the way.
They got to school on time. Raye kissed her daughter on the forehead and then watched as Margaret went inside.
Even though she had coffee at home, Raye decided to go to the gas station. Praying the whole way for signs.
As she finished one prayer, she saw a sandwich board on the front lawn of someone’s house.
It had small print that she could not read. She thought, that is the worst sign ever. How are people driving by supposed to know what it says?
God, that’s an awful sign. But she tried to read it anyway as she walked closer. Even from across the street she could barely read it. She could only pick out the words home and security.
She kept walking and praying. As she approached the gas station, praying for a sign, she saw that there was still no gas. Her thoughts turned to how this related to her.
How could she fill herself up? Why was she so low on energy?
God, please send me a clear sign that I’m on the right path.
And then she saw the van pulling into the station. It was white. There was only one word on the van. Wurth.
God, please help me feel worthy. God, please help me believe in my worth. Thank you, God, for helping me feel deserving of love and energy.
In the store, the dissipating fog caused her to fumble as she tried to use her hands to hold a paper cup and press the lever to pour the coffee.
Raye felt frustrated. Raye felt a little shaky. She was not comfortable. She did not know why.
As she tried to navigate her body around another person, she felt clumsy. She dropped the sleeve on the floor and groaned as she bent over to pick it up.
“One of those days?”
“Seems to be.”
And then, because she worried her tone was too sharp, Raye mumbled an explanation, attempting to be jovial and friendly.
“Haven’t had my coffee yet.”
As she walked outside, she continued to pray.
God, please help me have the best possible day. God, please help me release my frustration and anxiety. God, please help me make choices that bring me joy. God, please help me feel worthy of joy.