Praying To Jesus on Saudia Airline

[flophousepoodle]

My first dog was a desert bred saluki pup who was abandoned by the pack.
We called him a saluki (as we called all feral desert dogs) but in hindsight he must have been a cross between a saluki and a Canaan dog. He had the sight hound body and hound ears. But he was much sturdier and his coat was flashy black and white.

Dad named him Spot.

It was rare to have a dog in Saudi. Salukis were the only acceptable breed. Dogs were not allowed to be shipped into the country because they are considered by Muslim law to be unclean. Saudis are cat people. -Perhaps it's the litter box landscape.

The second summer we had Spot, we traveled to Europe and back to the states as we always did. Spot stayed home in Saudi with a family who house sat for us.

We always made the most of our summers. Cousins, lightening bugs, marveling at all the products in the grocery store, marveling at television commercials and Sunday school.

Mom was Dutch Reformed. Dad, Liberal Quaker. Dad saw no reason to become a member so the minister refused my brother and I infant baptism. My mother ( who for a short time was in Seminary school) was hurt. She baptised us in the kitchen sink. - I believe that's called witchcraft...

I went through the motions in Sunday school. It was okay...liked the songs, especially the one about the guy who climbed up the tree. I didn't really feel anything for Jesus. I was well versed by second grade in the Sharia..At least how it pertained to not getting into trouble outside of the compound or getting my parents deported.

I had Hindu and Buddhist and Catholic friends in Saudi. (Yes, Catholic was exotic too..I had to go 8,000 miles to meet one). All religions but Islam were hush hush and hidden in the home. Islam is the shizzle in Saudi...If you were eating in a restaurant when prayer time rolled around, the staff turned off the lights, stepped out to pray and locked you in to eat in the dark.

Some kind hearted church member made mom feel like shit by insinuating that living over there might be detrimental to us kids. (The Gulf, the Red Sea, International school, Africa, Paris, Sri Lanka....Shouldn't we trade it all for the reassurance of corn and Jesus?)
Mom took it up a notch that summer. I realized that pretending to love Jesus made her happy with me and herself and her wooden shod ancestors. And since Jesus is magic; I really wanted him on my side.

I was excited to get back. We boarded Saudia airlines in Heathrow. After take off I was chattering away to my mother about Spot.

"Do you think Spot missed me?" Spot this, Spot that.

"Flophouse............About Spot....He won't be there when we get back..He..He ran away"

I unfastened my seatbelt, knelt in the aisle, and proceeded to petition Jesus, with great volume, to find Spot and guide him home by the time we arrived. This was my chance, my big chance to show my mother and Jesus that I believed in them. This was Jesus's big chance to do what he does best.

Mom gently shushed me while leading me back to the seat,
"Flophouse, you know that's inappropriate here. Besides, Jesus can't bring Spot back."

"Why not, Jesus can find him or he can tell us how to find him."

She gave me a strange look.

"He didn't run away did he?"

"..........................He ran away twice. He had the call of the wild. He heard the Saluki's in the Jebels so he wanted to go back to his family. The first time, a neighbor brought him back in his car. The second time he ran toward a compound guard. The guard shot him. He's dead."

I took it straight. I unfastened my seatbelt so that I could kneel in the aisle and pray to Jesus to bring Spot back from the dead. Or, at least let me see him one last time. Or, send me an update on his antics in heaven.

Mom was annoyed.

"I told you you can't pray to Jesus on Saudia airlines..You can pray when you get home."

I never did.