He came to change out our Internet service provider, but something went wrong. "Is he inventing the Internet out there?" I might have wondered, as Bill and the installer were troubleshooting each persnickety problem after the next: signal strength, router placement, blocked signals. He was here so long, I forgot he was here at all. It didn't help that his English was not proficient and Bill's Spanish is even less.
We got on the line with a guy back at headquarters who started translating. He told me that Faust is on a six-month work Visa from Argentina and is one of their best guys, but something about our house was proving to be especially challenging.
That's when I noticed how young Faust looked, how worn-out, and possibly how under appreciated for his tenacity to get this right in the face of frustrating challenges that went on for hours.
When it finally looked like our Internet was restored and clicking along at the promised speeds of light? sound? so fast we could have every device in the house tapped in and never see delays? we were all so relieved.
Without stopping to think what I would serve I announced recklessly, "Well, Faust, you spend all day and night at my house, you're part of the family now and staying for dinner. I insist."
Wait, what? It felt like a younger, more spontaneous version of myself showed up and reminded me of days when more options felt possible.
Luckily, raviolis and left-over cooked sausage and peppers were in the fridge. I cobbled together some kind of toddler-class charcuterie with apple slices and peanut butter instead of prosciutto and figs. I had chips and salsa. Cheese slices and crackers. Water or milk. It was all basic and uncohesive, but I spread it out on the table and Faust asked if he could take a picture of it. I still can't decide why.
But we start eating and drinking with Faust and in that uncanny way it only does when I'm around fluent speakers, my Spanish comes back enough to hold a conversation. Cobbled together like my toddler-class charcuterie, but it works.
He drops the whole, "I can't trouble you," initial protest and digs in like the hungry man he is, getting seconds of everything. I feel sad I waited so long to offer.
"I'm only here for six months, and I can't really afford to go and come back during that time, but I'm sad because my brother died last month," he tells us in Spanish with no preamble. He's showing us pictures of his smiling 19-year-old brother. I'm definitely pulling out my translator app and making sure I'm getting this right. He died? Died?? You can't go home, you missed his funeral, it happened so fast you never saw it coming?!
I realize why I hadn't noticed how young he was. This kind of grief is like a heavy cloak, snuffing out the lighthearted vibes of youth. He's weary and sad and just trying to get through this once grand plan to earn money that may very well not put them ahead, but only serve to help bring them back to square one after funeral and hospital expenses.
We cried together. We told him we'd pray for him and his family. He gave Bill a hug as he was leaving and was too respectful to ask for one from me. "From your mama" I said as I gave him one anyway. "We needed to be like family tonight."
I thought that was it. A brief path overlap with a hurting brother who just needed some kindness and people who could hold his pain with him, even for an hour.
But my "fast as the rays of the sun" internet is anything but. It buffers on video. I can watch pages load like a polaroid developing. Horizontal bars to show loading progress appear and take me back a couple decades as they stutter forward in unpredictable spurts.
I remember Faust. I realize that the delay is what is causing me to think of him at all. It occurs to me that for this season, my internet's speed is exactly what it is meant to be. We said we'd pray for him. But we are so easily distracted and unavailable these days. This is how much God loves Faust: it's as though he says to me, I will slow you down, sister, so that you can make good on a promise to pray for one of my hurting beloveds.
So his name becomes a prayer while my video buffers. While my email page loads. While I click around to do my what I thought was my actual work. Faust. God, please protect and be near the brokenhearted. Comfort and restore.
It will sound ridiculous to some, but I don't think we'll be calling another internet technician to "diagnose" our internet speed problems. Before my impatient brain remembered Faust, I complained out loud to everyone in my family. Baffled, to a person they all came back with, "It's working just fine for me."
Ok, God. For Faust. In a mystery I have yet to untangle, somehow, you want us to beseech You on behalf of each other. And sometimes for the fainthearted and less faithful, you even go so far as to get quirky and creative so that we will. My internet does not run fast so I will remember to pray for Faust. I see what you did there, God. If you're going to such lengths to tap into my distracted prayers, I can only believe Faust really needs them. Holy Spirit, please be the partner that fills in the gaps for everything else Faust needs. I'm just sayin' his name while the pages load.
