Books, Brian, Borders

The following was written in March, 2010, and originally posted on a different blog as part of a series. The series remains incomplete.

The same story was approached sometime in 2008 or 2009 as Brian at Borders.
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The ache in my soul echoed.  My wearied cry to God dripped, "Bring...someone...to...me..."

Again at Borders. Now Spring, 2005.

It'd been one-and-half years since my conversation with the black gentleman which had prompted me to google The Way International.  I hadn't run into him ever again; he must not have been a regular at Borders.

I was like a fixture.

Again I sat in my usual spot, my grotto, where I'd often meet other travelers along life's trek.  My grotto, a table surrounded by books on three sides.

One side was the back wall of the store, lined with shelves. Books go almost to the ceiling. A railed rolling ladder can be scooted back and forth to reach the highest shelves. The two other sides of books are housed on seven-foot tall wooden partitions with wooden shelves. The partitions are perpendicular to the wall and parallel with the long sides of the wooden table where I sit. A reader could travel the world at that table surrounded by the travel and culture books. 1000 Places to See Before You Die is always prominent on the eye-level shelf.

But I'm not reading a travel book; I'm reading The Artist's Way.  Another attempt to pour something, anything, into the vast, gnawing void in my being. I was beginning to feel like a shell. I had to continue to search; I couldn't crater.

I couldn't let myself be consumed by the gnaw, could I? I'd almost rather die. I felt almost dead. Numbness was becoming a norm, between the void and the endeavoring to embrace gratitude bringing to mind all the good in my life. Why couldn't the good satisfy me?

I glanced up from my book and there he stood, lean and over six-feet tall.  "Brian?" I asked surprised and somewhat delighted.

I hadn't seen Brain in at least ten years.  Back in the early 1980s, Brian had been one of my spiritual partners when I was in The Way Corps.  I don't recall if he sponsored me in the 10th Corps or 13th Corps.  I failed both my Corps attempts, making it into my interim years both times.  My companion, shame, so deeply brought on by my decisions to AWOL The Way Corps twice, haunted me for decades.  Shame had stifled my heart, my intuition, my expression. Asthma had developed on the heels of that initial stifling. Shame had quite literally robbed me of breath.  I was learning though, discovering, longing to find me.

Brian turned around when he heard his name. Our eyes met. "Carol?" he responded just as stunned.

I stood up and we hugged, the friendly brother-sister hugs.  Brian and I were never attracted to one another in any other manner.  Our relationship had always been platonic.

Could this be it?  Could this be the "someone" being brought to me? Could I trust Brian?

Brian pulled up a chair at the table and we exchanged a bit of our lives for about forty-five minutes.  He had been made "mark and avoid" from The Way back in the 90s.  Since then he had checked out various Way splinter groups, but his feeling was that they were The Way rehashed.  He was currently following the teachings of Joyce Myer and was financially supporting her work.

Internally my heart sank, but I didn't let Brian know. God, this isn't helping me.  I was hoping one of the splinter groups could be a safe place to turn. Brian doesn't like the splinter groups.  I can't turn to someone like Joyce Myer; I just can't.  The wrongly-divided Word and unbelieving believers are not an option for me.

I told Brian that I was still with The Way, that it had changed.  "Mark and avoid" was no longer put in force and the Ministry was doing better. The hollering from the pulpit had ceased.  The micro-managing of peoples' lives had eased up.  I didn't reveal my anguish to Brian; I kept that boundary close to my soul.  I didn't reveal my cry for God to bring someone to me; I wasn't resonating with Brian on that level.

When we exchanged farewells and he left, I thought, Well God, that didn't help.  I guess there is nothing better outside the Household of The Way. I resigned myself to quiet desperation.

During our discourse, Brian had gotten my phone number. He called within a couple weeks, but I wasn't home at the time. He left a message with one of my teenage children, but he didn't leave a phone number where I could call him back.  He was interested in getting a copy of Dr. Wierwille's book Jesus Christ Our Passover.

Jesus Christ Our Passover had always been one of my favorite books.

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A journal excerpt from the day I ran into Brian.
April 4, 2005
"[...] What did I get from my conversation with Brian? The Way is probably still one of the best venues available for the Word and for fellowship.

Also that my vision for The Way is that it opens its doors so wide that people flow in and get healed. If it will open its doors, growth will happen. If it will move through the fear of "contamination" and fear of the Adversary's influence, flow will happen.

Ahhh...my life's purpose is flow...abundant flow."
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Click here to read an introduction to memoir: Journey through Memoir: Introduction
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