The Meek Shall Inherit the Earth

Don’t interrupt, it’s not polite. Wait your turn. Stop fidgeting. Make eye contact. Are you even listening? Speak when spoken to. Children are seen and not heard.

Chicka-chicka-chicka. The plastic blades on the oscillating desk fan perched in the kitchen corner awkwardly rubbed the slightly dented cage while it continued to push air. The hardwood dining table was covered with a vinyl tablecloth decorated with vibrant summer flowers. It was the kind that when you rest upon it for a bit too long, especially when it was as warm as it was today, it makes that horrendous sound when you peel it off your skin as you move. The chair under me was slightly unbalanced, the front left leg teetering ever so slightly. It was my only salvation as the two women around the table continued their in-depth conversation.

“Your daughter is causing you a lot of concern? What is she doing that has you so troubled?” My mother’s voice sounded so kind and understanding but I caught the air of superiority as she glanced in my direction. I was supposed to take note of the heartbreak this rebellious child was causing this poor woman.

“Yes, ever since she started high school she has been running with the wrong crowd. Recently she has started to come home at all hours of the night. I fear the Devil has gripped her soul.” Mrs. Vaughn lowered her eyes, the surface of her tea quivered as she tried to keep her composure. I couldn’t blame her for not wanting to be completely open with us, we could barely say we knew each other. My mother had made her acquaintance not even a week ago when she wandered into our church on Sunday.

I wanted to comfort her but I was not there to contribute. I was there as a resume reference since I was such a ‘perfect child’. My ability to be well-behaved qualified my mother to speak to this woman about how to raise her daughter to be as lovely as the example I was meant to portray. I wiggled in my chair and felt the easy tilt as the weight pushed to the unbalanced foot and made a soft tap sound on the laminate floor. Mother’s eyes were immediately on me, a reminder little girls are not supposed to move. Girls dress nicely, look pretty, stay quiet and well-behaved, just like dolls. That is what good little girls should be, it doesn’t matter if you’re 5 or 50. Age does not change the fact you are supposed to be a ‘good little girl’ in this world.

“Naida, you’ve been through so much. The loss of your husband and now your daughter is acting out. How old was she again?” my mother pressed, again hoping to draw parallels between Mrs. Vaughn’s daughter and me. I had just started high school myself; her daughter and I were likely close in age.

“She just turned 16. It seems like just the other day she was so young.” Mrs. Vaughn sighed heavily, thinking about how her daughter changed and how helpless she was to prevent it.

The two women bonded over the hardship of children growing up in a world full of the corrupting forces of hell. Their repartee was familiar but meaningless. They spoke for hours saying little to nothing of import. I attempted to pass the time by playing a game show in my mind based on their conversation. They were the contestants and the first one to break the small talk string lost. They volleyed back and forth, and my eyes followed their mouths as a spectator watching a ball in a tennis match. The tea we had first been served had long since gone cold and Mrs. Vaughn lost the game by realizing that they must both be parched from talking so long.

“Would you like some more tea?” Mrs. Vaughn was already up and out of her chair.

“Ye…” my mouth made the movements to form the words but no air seemed to pass through. Nothing intelligible came out only a mouse-ish squeak.

“No, thank you. We’ll have to be going soon.” Mother answered for both of us as I tried to clear my throat.

I sat back in my chair and felt it lean off the shorter leg. My throat was dry and my tongue felt swollen in my mouth. I could feel it stick to the back of my teeth. It had probably been this way for a while but I was only now realizing that I was denied the opportunity to correct the situation. Despite my mother’s insistence that we would need to leave shortly, it didn’t stop her from continuing their conversation. This was my mother’s favorite part of playing spiritual counselor.

“Let’s pray about it together, Naida. I know God will hear us and will make his will clear to us.” My mother’s gentle smile and friendly demeanor made it easy to like her at first. Mrs. Vaughn seemed appreciative as she returned to the table to take my mother’s hand. My mother’s off-hand sought out mine as well.

So, I was actually here, in this space. Sometimes I wondered if I was physically in a place or if I was simply part of the background. Perhaps I was a ghost that jumped between other people? But here, in this moment, I must be real. Most people do not hold their hand out for imaginary people after all. I extended my arms, taking the hands of both women. I could already feel the plastic trying to seal me into place, adhering to my skin. I wouldn’t be able to move for the rest of the prayer or I would be glared at for being disruptive again.

“Father God, we come to you today for your daughter Naida. She is in pain, Father. Her daughter is reckless, disobedient, and causing trouble. She does not know the pain that she is causing or the damage her actions might cause this family in the long term. God, it has only been six months since you accepted Naida’s husband into your arms. Please help your daughter have peace. Show her and her daughter your love and understanding. Help to guide them to live in your light. In Jesus’ name, we pray. Amen.” My mother sanctimoniously led the prayer for the group. The moment she finished her prayer, she squeezed our hands tight and broke the circle.

Contained within my mother’s prayer was what brought about my empathetic understanding of what might be going on with Naida’s daughter. I tried to open my mouth, wanting to share my enlightenment, but Mrs. Vaughn had already begun to thank my mother for all her assistance. My lips slammed closed once more and, as if on instinct, I shrank back. I could not give voice to my epiphany. It wasn’t my turn. I had to wait for a lull in their chatter.

“I already feel much more at peace. I can’t thank you enough for coming to sit with me.”

“Of course, Naida. This is why the fellowship community is here: support during troubling times when we feel our faith is weakened by the Devil.”

“I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t seen that sign for the church on Sunday.”

“God works in mysterious ways. I hope this means we will see you next Sunday as well.”

I had words welling up inside me. I just needed to say them but each time I tried to open my mouth someone else would speak. I knew this feeling. I had felt it once before. As a child, I had been grabbed by an undertow while in the Ocean. I had managed to break free of the current by propelling myself upwards as the soles of my feet touched the sandy floor. I had no way of knowing how far I had gone from the shore; I only knew I had to swim in the direction I believed to be up. I pulled towards the surface as fast as I could, but my chest was already burning. I couldn’t open my eyes but it felt like things were growing darker and my arms and legs grew heavier. The water around me felt more like wet cement as I struggled to make my body move. Odd that the longing to be heard could match the desperation during the scariest and most painful moments of my life.

The sheer frustration of being completely unable to utter a word while the two women prattled on brought tears to my eyes. I was waiting, I just needed one of them to take a breath so I could insert what I needed to say. There was no space to infiltrate, they never left a moment’s pause. This feeling wouldn’t go away, had I been holding my breath hoping to be given space to say anything this whole time? Please! Someone, notice me! Someone, hear me!

“Dear, are you okay?” Mrs. Vaughn finally halted the conversation, seeing my reddened and tear-streaked face.

“I…” Once again, I choked on my stale voice. My mother’s annoyance was palpable as Mrs. Vaughn gave me the time to clear my throat and find the voice I had been holding back. “I need to tell you…” my thoughts felt scattered now that the spotlight was on me. Perhaps I shouldn’t say this? What if it’s so obvious that they resent me for saying it? But the need to speak was so intense I couldn’t hold back to appease my anxiety. “She needs you to talk with her. About your husband. She needs to hear you grieve and she needs you to grieve with her. She needs to see all the pictures and hear all the stories. You can’t do it alone in your room or with strangers. Her whole world has been turned upside down and she’s seeking companionship and control, just like you are.”

The room fell into a moment of silence as I finished speaking, save for that clanky fan that filled the sudden still. Mrs. Vaughn and I both had tears streaming down our faces. The tension in my body was suddenly gone. The burning sensation that had clenched my chest had disappeared as the words flowed out of me; just like when I had finally broken the surface of the water and got a deep breath. We cried together for some time without any words of praise or the need to give thanks for the message I had offered. We sat in that moment together, fully open, and emotionally vulnerable. When we were done, we blew our noses and laughed with lighter hearts due to the release of something we had each carried too long.

Hugs were passed around as we collected our stuff, as my mother realized we had to rush home due to the time. As the buckle of the belt clicked to secure me into the car my mother cleared her throat poignantly.

“What was with all the waterworks?” her jovial tone replaced with stern disapproval.

“I… I didn’t mean to. I just. I just felt like I had to say something and I couldn’t find an opening.” I felt my timbre grow quieter as I trailed to the end of my thought.

“You could have just interjected. It’s not that hard. You don’t need to be so dramatic.” My mother finally started the car as she scolded me. I wanted to remind her that I was raised never to interrupt but it was clear she didn’t want to hear it.