Where's Waldo?

Though they've been around a long time, polka dots are evidently seeing a resurgence in popularity in the world at large, but also in my private world. It began--for me at least--some time ago with a dream about a white horse with small black spots like measles, a black nose and dusky mane. It was trying to break out of its corral, and I was given a tool to keep it where it belonged. Ever since that dream, I've been seeing a swell in my experience of...the polka dot.

I mentioned just the other day the Bible story wherein God spoke of such dappled things: of the streaked, speckled and gray-spotted rams that theoretically belonged to Jacob while he was under the harsh and unfair authority of his uncle Laban. God drew attention to these animals as His sovereignly-given and previously designated inheritance to Jacob. "I have seen all that Laban is doing to you." God told Jacob to claim what was rightfully his, and said. "Now arise, get out of this land, and return to the land of your family." He said, "I am the God of Bethel, where you anointed the pillar (another rock pile for remembrance, taken from a place Jacob designated the Gate to Heaven) and where you made a vow to me."

What of that vow? It was made after Jacob had his dream of seeing angels ascending and descending a ladder or ramp between heaven and earth. God promised He would not leave Jacob. " 'Behold, I am with you and will keep you wherever you go, and will bring you back to this land; for I will not leave you until I have done what I have spoken to you.' Then Jacob awoke from his sleep and said, 'Surely the Lord is in this place and I did not know it!' " Genesis 28:14-16. In fact, last night we found ourselves in a place where such an observation of Your unexpected presence, God, could be made.

Scott won tickets to a jazz and comedy club, so we went out on a date for the evening--something we rarely have the opportunity to do any more. Now I know a lot of people who are not prone to play "Where's Waldo?" with God in unlikely arenas like the one we visited last night. Many of these folks shelter themselves on the dirt of the promised land; and even if that dirt hasn't born any fruit associated with that promise in years--dirt that in fact now sprouts a thriving crop of thorns--still, they feel safe simply based on their geography. A calling out would fall on deaf ears if it were made to them. In fact, we left two tickets unused in the package we won all because within our circle of friends we had only a few that we were sure wouldn't be offended by the potential ramblings of the comics, and those few were all busy due to the short notice of the invite. We went alone.

As for me, I love to play "Where's Waldo/Where's God?" in such an environ. I started right away, even as I made my first observations of the room while the jazz part of the evening droned seductively along. The setting was typical. Small tables, uniform in rank across the floor, were graced with common centerpieces. Like a nipple of light on the swell of a blood red breast were the candles in their glowing votives, a quiet presence on the glossy black tables. These were flanked by glittering crystal ashtrays--mostly empty in this day and age. Tall, curvy glasses were filled with frothy creams, and neglected cherries swam their depths. I turned my eyes back to the light.

There, on the small stage, the quartet worked their magic. The drummer seemed to sit at a toy kit...so small and unimpressive it was...until that drummer began to play, that is. The keyboard man was like two men in one. He had a classic look about him: tall, thin, short dred locks and a pencil-thin moustache, thick glasses and black shoes like mirrors. When he played, his right-half man was for the keyboard, and long fingers danced across it. His left-half man pulled the bass part out of a little red keyboard-box, as no real man was available to play real bass. But the sound was satisfying. The sax player's improv was engaging, and his interplay with the singer showed their unity under music over time--a mysterious thing revered by musicians, although I don't know how others perceive it. And as for the singer, the lone female in the group, she moved comfortably to the music, and my eyes were drawn to the bold and glistening rhinestone cross nestled in her cleavage. Are you here, Waldo?

All this was encompassed by portraits of comedians, hung on every wall. We made a game of naming them all. Like the Biblical cloud of witnesses, they watched in frozen black and white imagery, as their comic descendants attempted to ply the trade. One comic gave his quirky and unwitting nod to the Sermon on the Mount. "Everything's small, until its in your eye," he said, and rang his little bell that was our sign to laugh, in lieu of any inspiration the humor itself might offer. I looked at the dark ceiling, and asked again, "Are you here Waldo?" And then You showed me what I was looking for.

Polka dots were everywhere. The roving spotlights sported colored gels filtered to send polka dots of light arcing across the room's sky. Turquoise dots on navy shot through space to the left of the stage followed by yellow on violet flashing to the right of it. Green on black, lavender on red--over and over new colors splashed spots across the heavens of that room. And as I meditated on this strange firmament, I remembered two gifts I received lately, both from different people but adorned in almost identical gift bags of multi-color polka-dots. One contained coffee and a mug--a long-time symbol of grace for me, as has been outlined here before--and the other a small, modest statue of an angel whose thematic label was that it was an "angel of thanks." Grace and appreciation were extended to me under the mantle of the polka dots. Once again, You spoke and I heard in a place unexpected, a place where there were certainly no pews. Oh, I hear You in church, too, always! But I must confess, it is almost more fun to hear You in a nightclub, because so few look for You there.

So back to the vow between God and Jacob. Before we leave the topic, we must consider Jacob's side of it, as that would be our own position in a reprise playing of the story. What are its instructive purposes? Like Jacob, we went out from that Promised Land, and continue to roam, wondering when this thing comes full circle. God promised care to him. So what was Jacob's response?

" 'If God will be with me, and keep me in this way that I am going, and give me bread to eat and clothing to put on, so that I come back to my father's house in peace, then the Lord shall be my God. And this stone (the one that served for a pillow while he dreamed of the angels on the ladder to heaven) which I have set as a pillar shall be God's house, and of all that You give me I will surely give a tenth to You.' " Genesis 28:22

Lately, of this particular list of Jacob's expectations of God, we ourselves might laugh at the idea that the spots represent such a covenant offer being made to us. We can easily point to a lack on every specific item, even to the point of the anger you, my husband, felt last night at your father's unexplained refusal to visit you--even as he has written off other relatives--ones you met at a funeral. These relatives seemed genuinely sad that he chooses to be a man who shreds relationships beyond repair. And maybe it is because you reached out to them that he rejects you now, leaving it to your mother to come to visit us alone. In any case, if the spots are speaking, a covenant offered to you in the past is at this very time being affirmed to you--one arranged by a higher Father, a changeless one, one who can be found anywhere and in any circumstance. May you find the courage and faith and hope to walk into this ratification of relationship, my love.

Father's Day is coming soon, and that could be a very good thing!