Field Notes From A Prayer Warrior

The Pink Door…

The events described happened in August 2020. When I got home that day, I immediately pulled out my journal and this entry pretty much wrote itself. I wrestled with its place in this blog, but ultimately decided it was a story that needed to be told.


“Oh, my God, you’re so crabby today! I apologize, he’s never like this!”

She was at the counter in the boutique, buying a buttery-soft aqua moto jacket that looked like it was made for her. She was absolutely stunning, and you could tell she was just as beautiful on the inside. Her smile lit up the whole room. He stood next to her, looking like he’d been weaned on a pickle, the shadow to her sun.

I thought, “Oh, my dear, you are so kind. He is ALWAYS like this.”

Exhibit A (source, me):

She came into the shop, a bright star that shone on everyone there. She was having a wonderful conversation with the owner, two joyful strangers making a special connection.

He was completely put out. She was getting far more attention than he was and at the same time ignoring him. He became petulant, snarky. His goal was to eclipse that radiance, snuff out that flame.

That light was only supposed to be for HIM.

My heart ached for her. I had been there. Making excuses. Smiling and laughing it off. Little by little having my spirit chipped away, diminished, sometimes humiliated.

Oh, my word…

People saw this, that exact scene, with me. There were complete strangers saddened by the brightness bullied by darkness. Strangers angered by this man’s failure to see and appreciate this woman he was so lucky to have, who clearly loved him.

I wonder if they prayed for me, as I did that day for her.

They must have.

Because a time came, a door opened just a crack, and I ran through it, out of the night and into the day again.



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