May 30, 2006
May Day, 3/4
The sound of summer in the dark drifted in through the screen door. The incandescent light brought moths to the screens, like flocks of sheep or sun bathers on a beach. My father was asleep. I was in my bare feet. I sat alone. The floor boards creaked.
I had just put down the newspaper. I read of a car bomb in Tahariyat Square. It killed 40. I read about the 23 iraqi civilians dead and the murder investigation within USMC. I read about the bill passed by the president to ban protests and military funerals. There have been 2,500 in the past few years. The bill is call the "Respect For Fallen Heroes Act." People protesting in the article held signs that read: "God Hates Fags." and "God Bless our Troops, Defenders of Freedom, American Heroes". "Pray for our troops," a woman said.
That morning Kurt asked to if we could pray before we began staining the cabin. he asked for protection and safety and to do a good job. We finished painting the whole cabin in one day, and it looked great. Several times Kurt attributed our success to our prayer. We certainly did get what he asked for.
I put the paper down. the moths were collecting on the screen like a flock of sheep or sun bathers at the beach. I looked out into the darkness and felt a slow burn. I felt like a bather on a beach. I wondered how one prayer at one cabin on big pine road in hocking Co. Ohio can be answered, so not to fall off a ladder or spill a can of paint, and how the mass of a nation can pray for soldiers yet they die by the dozen each day.
"let the bucket spill." i thought to myself.
and let a mother not grieve.
I looked out into the darkness. I felt like a flock of sheep. I thought about who is blessed and who is hated. I wondered about those who claim to know the difference. I wondered about the evident inconstancy of prayer, and the criteria for its successful returns. Then, I wondered if god is answering the prayers. I shuttered at the thought.
Clearly, people are not understanding. Not the least of which, myself.
As the cabin dried in the damp night air, i thought hard.
I burned.
Then I turned out the light. The moths began to leave.
Clearly; i thought, man - and perhaps god- can stain a cabin in the woods. And certainly, man - if not god - can also stain a war.
