Faith Manqué

She sat down to meditate three times a day in front of her altar.

She chanted and prayed fervently.

She asked her divinity for help.

She asked her spiritual guides for guidance.

So why was she stuck?

Why was she sick?

Why was she always struggling to make ends meet?

“Darn!” Deidre snapped and got up from her meditation to answer the insistent phone.

“How are you?” Wanda asked.

“So and so,” Deidre responded, feeling under the weather.

“What is the so?” Wanda asked.

“I was meditating,” Deidre said.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Wanda apologized. “Should I call later?”

“No, I was wrapping it up,” Deidre commented.

“Okay, so what’s the other so in your so and so?” Wanda asked laughing.

“Everything hurts, my allergies are under control, but always lurking, depriving me of everything I like to do and eat and I don’t know how I’m going to make ends meet. That and the fact that I have no love life. Correction. I have no life. Just work,” Deidre said in a long rosary of complaints.

“Whoooaaa!” Wanda said. “And this is how you feel just after meditating? I hate to imagine how you feel in a really bad day!”

They kept on talking and joking. Wanda’s sense of humor always helped Deidre unwind.

But underneath the conversation, Deidre sensed a cloud spreading inside her being. It was dark, heavy and polluted. It spread from her sinuses to her throat and from there to her chest. She felt congested.

“At least the allergies are not flaring up right now,” Wanda comforted her friend.

“It’s just hard to be so vigilant with everything I eat and do,” Deidre whispered in a fatigued tone.

The cloud spread to her heart. Deidre felt sad, lonely. Was God punishing her? Why was she suffering from so many conditions? Why so many limitations?

“So what’s this about not knowing how to make ends meet?” Wanda worried. “I thought you just sold a painting.”

“More like gave it away,” Deidre complaint.

“What do you mean?” Wanda inquired.

“It took me six bloody months to finish that piece and I gave it away for $350 freaking dollars,” Deidre barked.

“Why?” Wanda asked.

“Why?” Deidre snapped, surprised. “Recession, unemployment, desperation, dire need and people don’t have the money they used to have for frills that are not necessary.”

There was a long silence on the phone.

Then Wanda inhale deeply and spoke softly.

“I bought you a piece for $1,000 not so long ago, and I am not rich. I disagree that art is a frill. For me it is a necessity.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but you know what I mean,” Deidre added.

“No, I don’t!” Wanda exclaimed.

There was another long silence.

Deidre opened the faucet and served herself water. She smelled one of Wanda’s scolding coming up. She hated when Wanda got all newagey on her.

“Why do you do this to yourself?” Wanda asked.

“Do what?” Deidre barked defensively.

“Why do you sabotage yourself with money to then complain and make it as if someone was oppressing you? It was your choice to charge so little,” Wanda said slowly, as if each word weighted.

“You are not an artist. You don’t know what you are talking about!” Deidre barked back.

But the dark cloud inside her chest escaped through her mouth, dashing into space. Extending like a rope, the heavy cloud whirled around her torso and twisted around her hands, tying them on her back.

The phone fell to the floor.

“Deidre! Are you okay?” Wanda asked, alarmed.

The rope tightened around her hands and Deidre fell to the floor in the kneeling position.

“Your faith is manqué,” a voice from inside the cloud spoke.

“Deidre? What’s going on?” Wanda screamed.

“Your faith has no arms, no hands,” the voice continued in a rasping whisper. “Your faith stops the second you finish your prayer.”

“Deidre? Are you having an asthma attack?” Wanda asked in a trembling voice. “I’m sorry if I upset you. Please answer!”

“Why do you pray? Why do you meditate? Why do you ask us for anything when you are unwilling to receive what we send, unwilling to employ what we’ve given you, unwilling to appreciate what you have, unwilling to create what you can.”

“That’s not fair,” Deidre protested, doubled in pain as the ropes tied her feet.

“Deidre? Are you there? You want me to come over? You want me to call 911?” Wanda asked.

“You have created your disease with every word and every focus, with your refusals, doubts and denials. Even your talent, your inspiration, you turn it into a problem and devalue it, so that it becomes a deficit instead of a surplus.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t see what I was doing,” Deidre lamented. “Please untie me.”

“You are tying yourself up. You are leaving your faith without wings, without hands or arms. You are doing this to yourself,” the raspy voice finished.

Deidre was crying. Thick tears slide down her cheeks.

The cloud dispelled. Her hands were free. She picked up the phone.

“Hello there,” Deidre said softly.

“Are you well?” Wanda asked.

“I am… now,” Deidre whispered as she smiled through her tears. “I truly am well. Very well. Happy. Alive and with a new client. Do you know that the buyer asked if I could do a series?”

“Wow! That’s cause for celebration!” Wanda said.

“It is,” Deidre agreed as she got up. “My life is good.”

There was a silence at the other end. She could feel Wanda making adjustments.

“What changed?” Wanda asked, genuinely curious. “A minute ago you were complaining.”

“I wrestled with an Angel just now,” Deidre laughed. She had just remembered Jacob’s wrestling with an Angel, and that’s exactly how she felt right now… except it was more like the angel had wrestled with her.

“And who won?” Wanda inquired. Deidre could imagine her friend’s intense gaze, her brows gathered at the center, a frown on her third eye.

“The Angel won, thank God,” Deidre softly confessed.

A golden light, like a star that is suddenly unleashed, burst out of her solar plexus and warmed Deidre’s heart.

Deidre could hear a bell in the distance; probably from the church across Wanda’s apartment.

“An Angel just got its wings,” Wanda announced.

~The End~

Back to Butterly You! Magazine

Shamanic Teaching: “Faith Manqué”

When you do not apply your faith to your daily life, bringing it to the way you interpret events, receive blessings and manifest your dreams, a shaman may say that your faith is manqué; it has no arms or hands. If you do not take risk and stay in your comfort zone, afraid of expanding then your faith is lame. To retrieve the arms, hands and legs of your faith is to bring it into everything you do and experience, allowing it to guide your way, illumine your possibilities and strengthen your blessings by the way you use your attention, intention, energy and appreciation.

If you like my stories, join my Story Lovers’ Club for monthly unique stories found nowhere else and conversations with the storyteller, plus free stories and discount on storytelling journeys for your transformation.

Did you like this story? Leave a comment!

Send to Kindle