joyful!

Listening to Mary

By

D.T. Richards

Mary came to my room about a quarter to ten that night. I had just finished the problem set for Chemistry 329, and that was the goal I had set for myself, so I didn’t feel guilty talking to her. She was very kind: she brought us up a pot of hot chrysanthemum tea.

Of all the women in the dorm, Mary was the one I felt the most comfortable with. There were others who were Christians, but none were as adept as Mary at expressing their whole lives with it. I don’t remember her ever feeling guilty about anything she was doing or had done.

Even coming up to the boys' floor at a quarter to ten at night. She left my door open, and sat near it, totally visible through it and a safe distance from me. She wore, as always, a gently coloured sari that she wrapped in such a way that her arms were fully covered.

“You are very kind to bring me a cup of tea,” I said, as I emptied a few biscuits from my tin onto a small china plate. “You don’t know how I was longing for one.”

“God knows,” Mary said, and tittered. Any sort of laugh is unusual from her. I don’t mean that she’s dour; she always has a faint, contented smile on her face. But she doesn’t laugh just for the fun of it. I had never thought before that night about “idle jesting” but Mary was someone who lived a life free from it.

“What do you mean?” By the laugh, I meant, not by God knowing.

“I was praying in my room. And all of a sudden, I felt that I should turn on the kettle. I prayed ‘God, please save me from temptation’ – don’t laugh, Randy. I’m very naughty sometimes when praying, I want to get up and tidy my room instead. But this time, I just sort of felt it was God who was asking me to do this. I don’t know why. And when I was making the tea, I remembered how you liked to drink in the evening after your studies. So I asked God ‘is this for Randy I’m making the tea?’ and God said ‘yes.’ So you see, God knows.”

“He does indeed,” I said, but I felt an eerie chill wash over me. Not a chill of evil, but of a divine, awesome – and very scary – omniscience.

I poured Mary a cup of the sunflower-yellow tea. “I wish I was as obedient to God’s commandments as you,” I said.

“I don’t think I’m very obedient. A lot of times I find I’m not even asking God what He wants me to do. I’m just doing my own will.”

“But how do you know what is God’s will?”

Mary looked at me blankly for a moment. “I think you just ask. It’s when you don’t ask, then you don’t hear it.”

“Well, I’m really asking God whether he wants me to become a doctor or not,” I said. In my heart I thanked God that he sent Mary with the tea. It wasn’t because of the tea; it was because of this question. “But I don’t get any answer.”

“Oh.” Again Mary had that blank look. I wondered if she had never experienced a case where God didn’t answer. She took a couple bits of biscuit, and then wiped her mount with her long, delicate fingers before responding. “But you said you wanted to go to Nepal.”

I was surprised she remembered that. It had been so long ago, and in such an off-hand way I had said that. It was supposed to have been a bit of a complement; I didn’t realize at the time how far her home was from Nepal.

“I do,” I said. “Ever since I read a National Geographic on it.”

“Well, maybe God doesn’t want to tell you because you already told him what you wanted.”

“You mean he wants me to go to Nepal?” I felt warm in my belly, not just from the tea.

“I don’t know. That wasn’t what I meant, I meant you – I mean, God, maybe was afraid you wouldn’t be to happy if it wasn’t Nepal.”

It wasn’t until much later that night, when I was almost asleep that I understood what she was trying to say. And I knew it wasn’t Nepal where God wanted me to go. I knew exactly where.

©D.T. Richards