Michelle, ma belle

In the last week or so I’ve realized more than any time in my life before that what I actually like and who I say I am matters. It’s not just idiotic stubbornness on my part. It’s my being.

“You should like this!” “You should like that!” “Feel this way!” “Think this!” “Think that!” “You prefer this!” “You are this!”

No. My quiet inner-being clings to survival…and sanity…and context. Truth.

“Everything is fine!” they lied to me when I was growing-up. Over and over again.

“I see you! You’re riding a horse. You’re very proper. Like a lady. You know? Like a lady? Do you know what I mean?” asked a Welsh man who claimed to be prophetic. That was his “Holy Spirit led” mental image of me. It was supposed to mean something profound about me.

He led many “conferences” for thousands of youths in the US in the late 1990’s and early 2000’s. A young woman at my church was one of his favorites on his “leadership team.” I had an in with him due to his high opinion of her. He spoke with a Welsh accent and my youth group leader swooned over him and they discussed Princess Diana’s death…

Yet he also almost instantly didn’t like me. He also found me fascinating.

I was eating Cheerios and a banana. He singled me out, walked over and stuffed my unpeeled banana in my cereal. “You’re supposed to put the banana in the cereal!” he said with bizarre hostility. The young woman from our church insisted he was only teasing me with his “British sense of humor.” I felt oddly threatened.

He claimed the US was headed toward its own version of “Titanic.” It was going to be astronomically devastating he said. He seemed excited about it. *laugh*

“Your family wants you to be proper, but you’re wild at heart. You’re secretly really wild! …But you seem really ladylike and proper. Do you know what I mean?” he asked pleadingly with charisma. “You need to be more wild!!” Looking back I’m not sure if he felt guilty for saying it because he knew he was making it up as he went along or if he could sense something genuinely sad.

Could he have been sensing my ancestry?! *eye-roll* Whatever… The thing is he was wrong. I just am proper. I think. And yet wild too. I’m both wild and proper. And I’ve only ridden a horse a few times my whole life.

Funny how Christianity allows for men like him to “read” children…but the possibly real ghosts who haunt us as Christians, screaming their truths aren’t heard. Ever. The Bible allows for real ghosts who can be genuinely conjured, although it’s evil. And yet when they pop out of nowhere and haunt you without any conjuring and you find that you love them…what are you supposed to do?

I don’t prefer ghosts. No. No… However, the men I prefer are all dead. And when I die someday I’ll find out if God forgave me every time I asked Him to for talking to them. And I’ll find out if I was ever talking to them. And it’s terrifying. But I take a tiny amount of comfort in the two thoughts: I might already be a little dead somehow myself…and if a fake prophet can be seemingly redeemable why can’t I?