REVELATION
It was a revelation to Martha—something she had never considered herself. After all, it was she who was the youngest in the family, always browbeaten by her two elder sisters and an elder brother; always told what to do by her mom and dad. She was eager to comply, too. Though born into a Chinese family, her filial compliance had nothing to do with traditional Chinese values. After all, her family had immigrated to Canada when she was still only two years old. Soon thereafter, her parents had converted to the Christian faith and enthusiastically embraced Canadian ways.
Besides, that wasn't the way her siblings behaved. If Mom or Dad told them to do something, they might or might not obey; and then, not at once; or not without negotiation and compromise.
Susan, for example: she usually did what her parents asked. But not without dirty looks and arguments.
Rebecca often wasn't even told what to do. She was cajoled into doing it. Her parents dare not distract the family scholar.
"Becky, dear. If it won't disturb your reading, do you think you might hand me today's newspaper. It's on the bed stand next to you, still bundled. Just lean over and throw it to us, dear, if you please."
And Bob was the pampered one; the "man" of the house. He never got the kitchen chores. And the jobs assigned him at least involved adventure that Martha wouldn't have minded herself: like driving the family's business truck to the market to pick up fresh vegetables for the family restaurant. But Martha considered herself lucky if Bob would even let her ride with him in it.
Perhaps she should have asserted herself more. That was what any "normal" child would have done.
But Martha didn't consider herself normal. She was always the timid one in the family. She never debated the debt she owed to her family. She never contested a ruling that favored a sibling over her. She never questioned if her mother said it was her duty to do the laundry; even if the laundry included the dresses her sisters stained, or the dungarees her brother soiled in the backyard training the family dog, Cyborg, to do tricks.
That was her nature. How had she heard it phrased in class one day? "Ours not to reason why—ours but to do or die."
That was Martha in a nutshell. But why must she always be the one to die? Wasn't life meant for her as well as for her siblings?
As a Christian, Martha had every reason to expect that eternal life was guaranteed to her by her Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ. This was not something she was told; it was something she believed.
But she feared that her bitterness and resentment over being controlled by others would not only complicate her relations with those closest to her, but would even deprive her of life in the hereafter as well. Bitterness and resentment were venial sins to be sure (her parish priest assured her of that in Confession), but they could lead to more deadly sins, such as anger.
The issue became even more urgent now that she was repatriated to Taiwan and the head of a single-parent family, the result of her recent divorce from a Taiwanese husband. Doubtless her timidity discouraged her from demanding a divorce settlement more advantageous to her as a single mother, thus straitening her financial situation and aggravating her relationship with her son, Kenneth.
All these factors added fuel to the fire of her resentment, which kept burning and might (she feared) sear her soul as well. So it was something of a revelation to her when her neighbor, and now best friend, Ann, advised her, during this especially traumatic time in her life, that it was not her place to always give in to others. She had alternatives, as Ann reasoned.
"You don't have to, you know."
Ann wagged her finger at Martha before taking another sip from her teacup.
"I do know. But I feel I'm being pressured by everyone, Ann. Everyone expects me to do what they want.
"When I was a little girl, I always did what my mom wanted, no matter how much it hurt—or no matter how unfair I felt what was expected of me was. Now that I'm a mother myself, my son has taken my mother's place. 'Do this. Do that. Give me the money for this, give me the money for that.'
"Yet he does nothing for me."
Martha gestured in the direction of the front porch.
"I've asked him for several days now to replace the porch light and to cut the weeds, but it's like I'm speaking to the wall. Yet I'm supposed to respond to everything he wants."
Ann seemed preoccupied with munching on the Chinese Moon Cakes set out before her on the kitchen table, while taking sips of the Jasmine tea Martha had made for her. She had heard it all before.
"Kenneth knows I'm alone here," Martha continued. "His daddy isn't even paying child support. Yet he expects me to be both mom and dad to him.
"And this is not only a matter of finances. I'm supposed to stop everything I'm doing every time he has another argument with his girlfriend. And I can't help thinking he's right: that I am supposed to stop everything I'm doing—even when I resent it so much it hurts."
Ann shrugged.
"What do you expect? People have you marked as an easy victim. Do you blame them for taking advantage of you? I tell you, Martha, there's no reason to jump to serve everybody's needs. Just tell them no."
"I know that—in my mind. But in my heart I act otherwise. Or if I don't, I feel guilt."
Ann shook her head in disapproval.
"That's what I'm telling you. You shouldn't have to feel guilt. That's how you ended up in this financial mess in the first place. Most women would have gotten the better of the divorce settlement instead of the worse. And it's not just your family that makes you feel guilty. You're such a wimp, you feel guilt if you don't let everyone who knocks at your door in—so they can sell you something you don't even need."
Ann was referring to the door-to-door salesmen, who never stopped pestering her, both day and night.
"Look at these."
Ann picked up a package of wafer cream cookies.
"You're on a diet. Did you really need to buy these? And that—on the wall."
"That" was a plaque; a motto of the Aaronic Blessing, which said, in gold-tinted letters, "May the good Lord bless and keep you."
"May the good Lord bless you and keep you from salesmen," Ann quipped. "But you seem to think it means, 'May the good Lord bless you and keep you buying.' And that over there."
"Over there" was a print of Jesus by a pre-Raphaelite painter.
"You know, Ann," Martha reasoned, "young children develop self-esteem by selling their cookies. I'm helping them develop self-esteem. And those," she continued, pointing to the motto and print on the wall, "I had to buy them to remind me of God and His Son in my daily life. Especially in these difficult times I'm going through."
Now living in Taiwan, where Christianity was a minority religion, Martha felt it important to remind herself of her native faith, even more so around the time of the local Chinese holidays, such as the Lunar New Year or Moon Day. That was when personal commitment mattered most. Though not adverse to offering Moon Cakes to her guests, she felt that, as a Christian, serving such harmless delicacies was as far as she should go in observance of the local holidays.
Still, she took Ann's criticism to heart.
"Our church sent people to my home. What was I to do?"
"You mean you have to buy from any aggressive salesman who knocks on your door," Ann replied, unconvinced. "They sent people to my door too, but you'll never see me buying those things. I've got more important household expenses to meet with my husband's hard-earned money."
Martha seemed embarrassed, possibly even annoyed a little by Ann's aggressive stance.
"Every Christian should have a plaque to bless her house, Ann. And that print: the salesman said it was by Rubens or Raphael. I don't know much about art; but it makes my kitchen look artistic, and it keeps Jesus in my home at all times."
Indeed, Martha had just allowed Jesus back into her life, after many years during which she had neglected her family religion. Though she had attended church with her parents throughout her childhood and adolescence, she had left her religion behind, along with her Canadian residency, after repatriating to Taiwan with her then husband. But this time around it was not just a family religion with which she was formally affiliated. It was an affirmation of personal faith. She now referred to herself as a "born-again" Christian, like Ann.
"You're already in debt, Martha. Yet you keep opening your door to salesmen who make you buy things you don't even need."
Martha started to cry: perhaps out of an awareness of her own weakness; or merely from the misery that had accumulated in her life over several months, including financial debt and an emotional estrangement from her own daughter. It was these problems that, partly due to encouragement from Ann, had caused her to turn to the Christian religion she had abandoned at adolescence.
It was in fact her rediscovered faith in Jesus that had helped her survive the last several months. Her faith was displayed on the book shelves as well as on the walls of her kitchen and bedroom, including the pre-Raphaelite painting with which she adorned her kitchen wall and which, in her ignorance of art, she routinely, if erroneously, credited to Raphael.
But her faith was also displayed in her new-found resolve to assert herself, which was not without its moments of weakness, as Ann knew and therefore tried to discourage.
"You've got to be stronger about these matters, Martha. Stick up for yourself. Don't treat yourself like a doormat. That wasn't the message of Jesus or his apostles. It was a message of confidence in yourself and hope for the future. One day Jesus will call—and you should be ready to receive him. Not weak, or unprepared. Not like the five foolish virgins, like it says in the Bible.
"Believe me, Martha," Ann continued. "Jesus doesn't want doormats; he wants bold messengers: those who can preach his Word with strength. That takes some kind of commitment. 'To him who overcomes, I will give the right to sit with me on my throne.' That's somewhere in the Bible too. I didn't make it up."
Martha hoped, of course, that when Jesus summoned her, she would answer his call. She hoped fervently that that day would come. But for now she was prepared to depend mainly on her own strenth.
But perhaps Ann had overestimated that strength. Perhaps, in this way, Ann was her worst enemy, asking her to be the person she was not—and could never be.
There is no question that sometimes Martha doubted Ann's new influence on her—whether it was in her best interests. After all, a leopard cannot change its spots. That was in the Bible too, though Martha forgot where. Yet mainly Martha felt that Ann was guiding her in the right direction. In fact, she felt she owed Ann more than anyone else—except, of course, Jesus.
The saying, "A friend can be one's worst enemy," might be true in other cases, but not in her case. If it wasn't for Ann, who encouraged her with readings from the Bible, she would never have found Jesus again—the rock of her life in these difficult times.
Ann looked at her watch.
"Gotta be going. Mark's coming home soon. The sweet dear works so hard to support his family, the least I can do is to be home for him when he comes. Good-bye, Martha. And do remember: you're not a doormat—whether for your daughter or those pestering salesmen! There, there. Everything'll be all right."
Martha smiled, brushing the tears from her eyes, as the door slammed.
Yes, she was resolved, now more than ever, to stand up for herself and to be a slave to Jesus alone—not to anyone else. If Jesus called, like Ann said, she would be ready.
Her first victory came swift enough. Her son, Kenneth, came home, slamming the door and asking for a snack.
"Get it yourself, Kenneth. You're not a child anymore and I'm not your slave, at your beck and call all the time," Martha replied with newfound confidence. "I need to relax too, you know."
Later, though, came a greater challenge, as she heard a knock at the door while preparing her solitary supper (Ken had evening football practice). She felt a spasm of dread pass through her.
"They always knock around supper time," she thought. "Just when you're busy setting the table. Do I have the courage?" she asked herself.
At first Martha simply ignored the knocking, which became more persistent.
"Is the lady of the house home?" the voice queried.
"Lady." Martha considered the word suspiciously. "They always ask for the lady of the house. Like they were asking for an easy spender," she reasoned.
"Go away!" she whispered, still lacking the courage to speak her defiant words out loud. But finally, with greater effort, she managed to raise her voice.
"Go away! What do you want?"
"I've got a wonderful invitation for you, Madam. May I come in for just a few minutes?" the voice answered.
"An offer I can't refuse," she thought, remembering an old gangster movie. "I told you to go away. I've got no money—only bills to pay. I can't buy what you're selling! I told you: go away!"
"What I've got can help change your life."
Martha resented the brazen sales pitch and remained defiant.
"I'm not buying," she answered.
She heard footsteps shuffling on the paved steps, seemingly impatient with the unexpected delay of the occupant inside. The knocking stopped.
Martha smiled and raised her shoulders, proud of her new strength. She scarcely wavered.
She did it. She stood up for herself. She was no longer a doormat and was now ready to face the world. Indeed, she was ready for Jesus, as Ann suggested.
She smiled with understandable satisfaction. She could hardly believe the ease of her victory and wondered why it took her so long to achieve it. If she had known it could be that simple, she would not be in the mess she currently found herself in.
Eager to measure the size of her conquest, she paced to the window and lifted a slat of the venetian blind with her pinkie to see who her first conquest was. Beneath the bright glow of the porch light, she could see the outline of a man still patiently waiting outside the door in the early dusk. He was rather oddly dressed, somewhat like a hippie of her rebellious adolescence, coifed in long hair, with his sample merchandise—a paper lantern—in one hand.
It looked like the battery-operated kind. Just the thing to sell for Moon Day.
But she already had several of those in the house. She acquired them when she started observing the Chinese holidays again with her Taiwanese husband. But she had long since relegated them to the storage room, now that she had embraced Christianity again.
She removed her pinkie from the slat and let it imperceptibly and silently slide back into place as she stood, frozen, behind the blind. For a moment, thinking of the hospitable welcome with which she had been received in Taiwan, she had doubted her rebuff of the salesman as perhaps being too harsh. But as she saw the man with the lantern in his hand, not even looking presentable, she realized it was the right thing to do: what could she possibly use a lantern for anyway?
And yet—a wave of doubt, even regret, suddenly passed over her, like a chill. Perhaps it was the old complaisant guilt returning.
Regretful, she stole another glance through the blind. Perhaps it was something vaguely familiar in the man, softly illuminated, now by a bright street lamp, as he walked slowly away, not even bothering to knock at other doors as he did so.
Prepossessessed by her rapidly shifting moods, she paused to reflect and collect herself. She wondered at the bright glow of the street lamp, which she had never realized before. It seemed odd to her, now, how bright a street lamp looked from indoors.
On rare occasions, when she arrived home after dusk, she would quicken her footsteps, until she reached the safe haven of her home, off the dimly lit sidewalk. Yet now, from inside her house, the street seemed adequately illuminated.
As she continued to stare at the departing figure in the early night, Martha became even more perplexed, observing that the man's figure was quite distinct, even as it passed beyond the ambient illumination of the nearest street lamp. For she could still discern him clearly enough, with the same glow surrounding him as before.
Now, in the bright light, she felt certain she recognized the figure. But where had she seen him before?
She had certainly never purchased a lantern. Not from a door-to-door salesman!
Why should she? Why should anyone else, for that matter? These were easily available in night markets or on street corners monopolized by venders. Why sell them door-to-door?
The question was logical. But it did not come from the logical part of Martha's mind. It came from a part of her mind that had eschewed logic for faith.
Her face paled as she spun around in a panic to face a wall of her kitchen room. Her neck tensed as she zeroed in on the painting that hung there.
She strained at recognition. Could it be?
Yes. It was a fair resemblance. It looked like him.
There he was. In the picture. The same man: a lantern in his hand.
It was a print she had loved since she hung it several months before. As soon as she hung the painting, she had even marked her Bible for the verses the painting referred to.
She scurried to the kitchen table and thumbed through her Bible for the passage. In fact, the referenced page had been carefully dog-eared by her at the time, so she had no trouble locating the verse. It was from the final book of the Bible: the book of Revelation, chapter three, verse twenty. It read:
"Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and sup with him, and he with me."
Overwhelmed with dread, Martha felt sick to her stomach. She raced to the front door and hurled the door open, causing a violent chill wind that gushed suddenly past her as she peered out, looking for the man.
She strained her neck in every visible direction. But he was gone.
Odd, how dim the street lamp now looked. Suddenly, with a violent shudder, she remembered that Kenneth had not replaced the porch light, which was now out.
She commenced to cry. Hot tears streamed down her face.
She noticed the uncut weeds. She regretted her many failures. Her failure in marriage. Her failure in raising her child. But most of all, she regretted her lack of faith in the God of her conversion.
Now in a profound trance, Martha silently closed the door, not bothering to lock it behind her.
She paced solemnly to the picture hanging on the wall and, in the growing darkness of her kitchen room, which seemed to voice her own despair, she lowered her head to read the inscription:
THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD.
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