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>JOEY'S IMAGINARY FRIEND
As I was praying at the alter of our small church, a stranger entered and made her way shakily down the aisle to the front pew. She was an elderly woman with scars of a hard life showing on her face. Her wrinkles told the stories of her struggle to servive. Strands of unruly white hair tickled her forehead and her arthritic fingers grasped tightly to the walking stick that assisted her. Wearing a long cotton dress and the slightly off centered bun on top of her head, reminded me of my own much loved grandmother who for a long time now has been living with Jesus. Her breathing was rough and slow and she struggled to speak. With a voice frail and raspy, she tearfuly asked, "Is this where I can meet Joey's inaginary friend? Her question puzzled me, but before I could reply, her story began:
Joey was born; I was just fifteen, cast out by my family; no one on which to lean. Found myself in the ghettos, with no place to stay; From a girl with a baby, people shun away. We hid in the alleys and fought the cats to eat. Living amongst the garbge it seem we'd find defeat. Than a young man came along, and gave us a place to stay; I scarificed for Joey; the price was high to pay. I was beaten and abuse; work hard every day. But soon he would be big enough for us to run away. Joey, he was quiet, very gentle from within; He sat in his corner window, with his inaginary friend. One day he saw me crying, after a beating I'd received; "Mommy my friend Jesus,said it's almost time to leave. When he spoke those words, I turned to him in dismay, "If Jesus really cared for us, we wouldn't be living this way." Joey kept on talking, to his imaginary friend; And when that awful night arrived, he was talking 'til the end. In a druken stuper, the man took a swing at me; Joey steped between us, then lay on the floor motionlessly. As I held his limp body, in my arms, he looked at me. "Jesus hold my hand, I want mommy to see All the beatiful things awaiting, in your wonderful land, So one day she'll meet me; Please Jesus, take her hand." The man, he went to jail, and I tried to go home; But the prayer of a five-year-old, is everywhere I roam. Eighty years have now passed, and I've dreamed of Joey again, "Mommy, won't you now belive, in my imaginary friend?" He's coming for you soon Mommy, please take his hand, And we'll live together always, in this peaceful, painless land. I didn't know where to go, to find someone to pray, So that's the reason for my visit to your country church today. Before I take my final breath, and my life comes to end. Please, won't you introduce me, to Joey's imaginary friend?
After we prayed, she turned to leave. Her face shining like the sun, she shuffled down the aisle. My eyes filled with tears when I heard her parting words: "I'll be going now to live with Joey, and his imaginary friend.
Cindy S. Woods
bravenet.com
