Epiphany!

Intro by Matt:

On Epiphany, we celebrate the story of the Magi, or as I like to call them, the sorcerer/scholars. It’s the time when God used astrology to tell astrologers that Jesus was born, and then sent those people to tell the religious leaders in Jerusalem. If I was a religious leader in Jerusalem, I would’ve ignored them too. God’s messengers are unexpected. For today’s blog, I asked Emma to rewrite the story in a setting for today, and replace “religious leader in Jerusalem” with a busy mom who’s a Bible Study leader in her church.

This blog’s fiction story gives us a chance to pause and reflect on how strange it is that God’s messengers are astrologers, and it leaves me wondering how many times we miss God’s messages because we overlook the messenger.

“Please grab your water bottle!” I holler over my shoulder. Grayson’s got the van door open before I can even shift to park, and he lunges back for his water bottle with two feet already hitting the parking lot.

He’s only seven, but the good Lord knows he’s got some legs on him, sprinting from the concrete to the grassy field, jersey on backwards, hoodie dangling from one hand and water bottle in the other.

“Buckle me! Buckle me!” Amelia chants from her car seat. I haven’t yet brought myself to correct her, that it’s “unbuckle,” because she’s only going to be four for so long.

“Wait until I get Noah out,” I tell her, going around the van and picking up the gurgling baby who’s almost one already. I often ask God where all this time is going; I’ve been blessed with three healthy children in seven years and I’m still not really sure I’m not messing them up. With Noah finally in the stroller, I unbuckle the still-chanting Amelia and she tries to dart past me but I snag her with one hand and hold my protesting daughter while I close and lock the van with the other, keeping Noah’s stroller close with a foot.

If I could have one wish from God, it might be for another hand.

When we get to the soccer field, Amelia reluctantly holding my hand, Grayson is warming up for the game with the rest of the team. Their blue jerseys are bright spots in the grass, boys running around each other and shrieking with two coaches trying to get them in a straight line. For an hour, not my problem. I give Amelia half a banana and she plops down, munching and pulling at the grass. Noah waves his hands and gurgles, and I set up a folding chair and bounce him in my lap for a while.

Mateo’s mom, Serena, has brought the game snacks today. She’s dressed in slick athletic clothes with a long ponytail, passing out juice boxes and thinly sliced oranges. Even from here I can tell what’s in the tupperware for after: some homemade chocolate treat, low-sugar, and entirely organic. It’s hard to be envious without sounding bitter, but I genuinely don’t know how she can manage to bake for ten little boys on top of getting one boy out of the house on time. Grayson, Amelia, and Noah are all dressed and fed and at the field, and I forgot to eat lunch again, but I did pull the chicken out of the freezer before we left and I did manage to pay the credit card and the water bill this morning so as long as I can turn the laundry over when we get home I can make it another few days and then get dinner started while Noah feeds—

“Hi, Faith!”

I turn around, and something in my chest tightens. It’s not very Christian of me, especially because she’s so nice to me and I’m cordial at best, but I really wish Ivy would leave me alone.

“Hi!” I say as cheerily as I can as she approaches, baby girl on her hip.

Ivy Morello is wearing a sage-green dress today, flowy, with lace on the neck and sleeves, and a deep V showing most of her collarbone. She’s got several heavy pendants and brass bangles that clink with every movement. Her hair is done up in a precarious bun that’s somehow effortless, and her make-up free face is smiling deeply at me.

Ivy’s a couple streets down from me, and she’s got a boy Grayson’s age and a baby girl whose name I don’t know, as well as a boyfriend who works some kind of indiscriminate job. She’s always wearing dresses and jewelry, speaking like she’s singing, and if the gossip is to be believed, she reads Tarot cards. My pastor says that’s witchcraft, my mom says it’s not a big deal, and my husband says to just steer clear. I’m not entirely sure what to do, though, when she’s standing next to me, effortlessly beautiful and smelling of something herbal.

“Aw, Noah’s getting so big!” she says, bending over to coo at Noah, who waves a fist and gurgles back. Her baby girl has tufts of blonde hair and these huge green eyes. Why can’t I remember her name?

“Yes,” I reply, finding a smile. “He’ll be one next month.”

“Where does the time go?” she laughs, echoing my earlier thoughts. “Persephone here turned one last week, but it feels like just yesterday I had her in the living room.”

Persephone? I think. What kind of name is that? I stop myself before I can think of something else mean. Wait, did I actually take the chicken out of the freezer before we left? Because if I didn’t, I’ll have to make chicken nuggets again—

“Faith?”

“Sorry,” I say, shaking my head. I decide to be honest. “I’m all over the place today.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she says. She shakes a hand and all those bangles clink together, harmonizing. “Most days I can’t remember my own name. I almost forgot why I came over.”

Ivy isn’t an outcast, exactly. She’s quick to share home remedies and genuinely warm to other parents. It’s just…maybe the Tarot, or the sage, or how she’s so free with her kids and into the Zodiac and who knows what else in a very Christian neighborhood.

Still, I need to be nice.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“I was doing a reading today—” Tarot cards, I think to myself, “—and the three cards I drew this morning just about blew me out of the water. So I checked a couple other things, and I won’t bore you with the details, but I’m pretty sure your God was just born again.”

I have no idea how to respond to that. “What?”

“Like I said, pretty sure,” she shrugs, and her baby bounces and laughs. “Tarot can be wrong sometimes, but combined with, well, a handful of other sources that, judging by your face, you don’t want to hear too much about, your God’s been born again. Like Jesus again. And I thought you might like to know that. Honestly, I’d love to come to your church sometime and talk to your leader about it. I’ve never done a reading like this and it piqued my interest.”

Someone calls to Ivy from down the field and she waves cheerily. “Anyway,” she says, “I’ll catch up with you later!”

I’m too stunned to do anything other than watch her float away, bangles and baby and all. Amelia stuffs a handful of grass in her mouth and I automatically tell her to spit it out. The soccer game starts, and the more time that passes, the more ridiculous Ivy’s statement seems. By the time Grayson runs over to me, flushed and smiling and with chocolate smeared all over his face, I’m assured myself that I have taken the chicken out of the freezer after all, and when I get home I’ll move the laundry over and have dinner mostly finished by six so that by the time all the washing up is done I’ll have time to do my prepare my Bible study lesson before bed.

“Hold Amelia’s hand in the parking lot,” I tell Grayson absently, trying to remember if there’s a vegetable in the fridge I can make for a side to dinner.