Ghost.

April 21, 2020
Day 1,301

     I went shopping today for the first time since March. It was strange. Grocery shopping is one of my favorite things to do. I love to wander down the aisles and examine all the fruits and vegetables and herbs and cheeses and breads. I will sometimes base entire meals around one herb or one loaf of bread. I'll think to myself, "I really want curly leaf parsley." And so I will go to the store and buy all the lovely things that would pair nicely with curly leaf parsely. Things like onions, feta, naan, chickpeas, curry, chicken. Or else I'll say to myself, "I really want a nice crusty bread." You know the ones. The ones with the very hard, crusty shell and the soft, slightly sour bread inside. They make a crunching noise when you cut into them.

     Today when I went shopping, I was very distracted. Distracted by masks and gloves and tape on the floor telling me to stay away from other people. There was a plexi-glass divider between me and the cashier, and after I loaded my items on the belt, she told me to go stand back behind a red line and wait to come up until she was ready for my payment. I was distracted by empty shelves and foreign brands and products standing in for the brands and products I usually buy. I went into the store thinking about radishes and basil and curly leaf parsley. I went in thinking of roasted chickens and potatoes with tumeric. And of salads made of tomato, cucumber, red onion, black olives, feta cheese, and tons of fresh mint with only a light drizzle of olive oil and a sprinkle of kosher salt and a bit of fresh cracked pepper. I left the store feeling sad, stressed out, and alone. It's easy to feel alone now. It's easy to feel as though God has forgotten about us.

     I read these words the other day in The Horse and His Boy:

 "I can't see you at all," said Shasta, after staring very hard. Then (for an even more terrible idea had come into his head) he said, almost in a scream, "You're not--not something dead, are you? Oh, please--please do go away. What harm have I ever done you? Oh, I am the unluckiest person in the whole world!" Once more he felt the warm breath of the Thing on his hand and face. "There," it said, "that is not the breath of a ghost. Tell me your sorrows."

     I like to picture God as Aslan. I like to picture Him breathing His lion's breath on me. I don't have a ghost god. I have a God that lives and breaths and tells me to tell Him of my sorrows.

     He listens. And when I'm feeling like I've been ghosted, He breaths on me.

     Thankful.