Missing the moment...

Someone is reading my novel manuscript...the last completed one.  Well, at least I think he is still reading it.  Technically, three people have started it in recent months, but I no longer hear about it from the other two, so I am thinking just one is still reading it.  That, in and of itself, should tell me something.

I really like my Christian Historical Fiction novel.  Perhaps it does not measure up to that which I wanted it to be, but I still think that it is a story worth telling and had truly hoped it was a story worth reading.  Even though I wrote the thing, parts still make me laugh and others weep and still others think rather deeply.

As with my beloved Book of Concord, there are many bits in my story that are my favorite. If you ask me about the story, I will start telling you them...once I am certain that I cannot talk you into reading it.  If you are reading it, once I know you have passed one of them, I will ask you about it.

One of my absolute favorites is a scene between Megan and her mother-in-law Margaret.  It does not really spoil the story to say that it is the first visit following Megan's husband's death.  So, Margaret is understandably overwhelmed by the freshening of her grief as she sees her son's grave for the first time, enfolds his widow in her arms, walks into his empty home.  Perhaps it is understandable then, that she misses the moment.

It is one of my working theories that people around the deeply wounded often miss the moments that would truly help the anguished soul.  Perhaps they are not looking or they are distracted or it could be that they simply do not care, but the moment is, sadly, missed.

These are moments when the wounded person, for the briefest spate of time, is willing to consider the possibility, to believe even, that things could change for him, that life could be better, that wound would not always be so great, so raw, so devastating.  This window of opportunity arises in which the spoken word can have profound effect, when hope truly can be shared, bestowed, or even borrowed long enough for the wounded to finally grasp hope herself. A question flung at the other person in the hope of hearing a different answer than the one he holds.  A bitter statement murmured in the hope of hearing a refutation made with absolute certitude. A shameful admission rent from the secrets of a heart in the hope of hearing absolution.

They are moments not hard to miss if you are looking, listening.  But if you are thinking more about your own life, your own experience, even in hearing the wounded person's story--thinking how it affects you or would have affected you--then you will miss them.

When they are together, Margaret is caught unaware by some news and starts rushing ahead as she is racing to catch up at the same time.  Even so, had she been focused on Megan, instead on herself, on her own ideas, she might have caught the moment, might have spoken a single word that would have given Megan the courage to believe that there was hope for her future. "Yes."

The funny thing is, it is a part of the story that I believe most will miss. For the wounded reading it, they will understand and, I believe, hope that some might spot it and learn, might learn to look more clearly, to listen more closely to those around them, to the wounded souls that God places in their path to speak a word of hope to them.


I am Yours, Lord.  Save me!