The Big Glimpse

I was already in a funk before my mom called Wednesday morning, and the advent of caller ID really robs me of any good reason for picking up that phone. But some 8-year-old within still thrills to share my scrapes and bruises, and I answered. I fended off my inner child for a while (my mother actually was not calling because some maternal psychic alarm had told her that her baby needed nurturing). But soon enough, she asked me something sensitive, like “what are you up to?” and I was sniveling about this damn sabbatical.

How it wasn’t anything like I’d expected, and I’d lost a bunch of time to illness, and tons of money to illness coupled with some car repairs and now I think I know what I want to do but can’t figure out how I’m ever going to afford it, what with the mortgage and the student loans and Girlfriend insisting on new underwear. (That’s right—I actually did engage in criticism of the partner with the mom. Like that’s ever a good idea, or a forgivable offense. I mentioned I was in a funk before the phone rang, right? Not that it makes it any better….)

My mom suggested I should maybe get a job, which just confirmed that no one in the entire universe will ever understand me, but at least it worked to get us off the phone. And off I went to do my morning prayer—because when someone has the audacity to suggest that you might, I dunno, like pay your way, how else to beat them back, but with the Book of Common Prayer?

Wednesday, I discovered, was the Feast of the Transfiguration. For those of us who get the trans-stuff all confused (transfiguration, transubstantiation, transcendentalism, etc): Jesus, Peter and a couple other guys go walking in the mountains, and Jesus suddenly begins to glow. Like alien abduction, they just passed a nuclear waste dump kind of glow. Peter and the others see Moses there, and then Elijah, talking with Jesus. And a voice comes from the cloud: This is my beloved son, with whom I am well pleased. Listen to him.

I am trying to convince myself that jealousy of the Messiah does not portend a messianic complex. I mean, damn, who doesn’t want, occasionally, the voice of authority on their side? I imagined my friends glimpsing me hobnobbing with my triumvirate of Annes: (Tyler, Patchett, Lamott), while a cosmic loudspeaker proclaims: This is Melissa; she’s a damn fine writer. Give her a six figure contract; buy the hardback. Quick.

And then I had to realize: my friends do imagine me within the company of writers. If I listen to a voice within (not the eight-year-old), there is this growing sense of solid ground, for whatever this path I’m on is leading to. And confusing Harper-Collins with the voice of God is probably blasphemy, and not so helpful, anyway.

I also remembered that things didn’t go so well for Jesus, after this big glimpse of the final outcome. There were still those rocky spots: betrayal, torture, crucifixion. The peek beyond the curtain doesn’t cut it as a roadmap—you might be right in where you’re going, but no telling how you’ll get there. Two friends of ours are marrying this weekend, a third is tumbling into love. We’ll wish them lots of glimpses, and hope the weekend has its glowy moments. But everybody understands that we don’t know the road ahead…that’s part of the adventure, and the faithfulness of it.

I’ve left my mom with the impression that I’m in financial crisis, wrestling with professional identity, perhaps in danger of driving Girlfriend off. A little time at prayer (yikes!), and I realized: it’s faithfulness I need right now. And so I’m looking back for the big glimpses—checking in the eyes of loved ones, for the reflected glow in there. Listening to voices that may tell me that I’m getting on all right. And trying to believe that is enough, for now.

[To read about Jesus’ day-glo afternoon, see Matthew 17:1-9]

© 2008 Melissa Capers