Our Real Selves

"Well, it's rather like that with Christ. When you've completely given up yourself to His personality you will then, for the first time in your life, be developing into a real person. he made the whole world. He invented it as an author invents characters in a book, all different men that you and I were intended to be.

Our real selves are, so to speak, all waiting for us in Him. What I call my "real self" now is hardly a peson at all. It's mainly a meeting place for various natural forces, desires and fears, etcetera, some of which come from my ancestors, and some from my education, some perhaps from devils. The self you were really intended to be is something that lives not from nature but from God."
-- C.S. Lewis

A Coffeeshop Conversation

I thought they were having an affair, but it's much worse than that.

Affairs always end one way, but this is much worse.

She's beautiful, her hair, while once en vogue, is styled, but no longer stylish. An oval face with nearly perfect skin, probably late-thirties, early-forties.
I've never seen such an intense look; she hasn't broken his gaze once. He's handsome but not too much so, someone out of an older soap opera; dated clothes and matching hair.

"After this, you're going to be a better mother." He says.

She plays with her hair, and apparently thinks Radiohead "sounds a lot like Neal Young."

"The place is real nice, the judge is real nice." She says.

They've each removed their reading glasses and placed them on the table on top of loose papers. He has a accordion file-folder, she has water purchased elsewhere and a tall coffee.

"I would never mess up a 'seven and seven'" she says. "There's a very real way to make those, and I'm the best."

She gazes, he returns. His face doesn't match his voice, sounds like he's missing teeth, but I looked at him, he wasn't missing teeth. She plays with hair, studies her water bottle, spins her reading glasses and returns his gaze. God, I wish they were just having an affair.

"Step three is giving it to a higher power. God, Jesus, Buddha, Dionysus, you can make one up if you want to, but you've got to give it to a higher power."

He starts telling a story; animated and convincing. She smiles a weak smile and buries her head.

He stops the story.

"Do you think I'll get my daughter back?" She asks, her voice surprisingly composed.

"I don't know. You have to stop drinking" The man says.

"I really hope so."

"I hope so too."

I wish it were just an affair.