Can you hear the angels when you're crying?

UDAI B. HOFFBERG

Guy was in the car just a minute while I stepped into the cleaner's. He was too little to know about car cigarette lighters, but not too little to push the knob on the dashboard, pull it out, and touch the glowing coil. He was crying when he burst into the cleaner's, holding out his finger for me to see the imprint of the coil.

When I saw the finger my first thought was a protest: I knew the picture of pain wasn't God-made. I prayed to see perfection instead of pain. (Prayer in Christian Science doesn't ignore pain or evil. But they must be recognized as suggestion, not as reality. In the clear realization of God's allness, evil can be and must be denied, refused, and so dissolved into its facets of suggestion and imposition.)

I tried to sing a hymn while we drove home. But neither of us could hear because Guy's sobbing was louder than my singing. I didn't want to anguish over this mishap. If I spent time blaming Guy or myself, I would give space and record to the hurt. So, no chiding, no guilt; not for the child, nor for the mom. God's love for each of us didn't include pain or mishap, so, as His image and likeness, neither of us could include them either.

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