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The Manikin
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The Manikin
I walked in to the Street of Shops in Lewisburg, Pennsylvania and the first thing I saw was a young woman, sitting in an old-fashioned Cashier’s booth that resembled an old fashioned movie ticket booth or a bank cashier window. She was thin with hair parted down the middle and pulled straight back. She had no facial expression, wore no makeup, and had perfect skin. She sat so still that I thought she was a manikin. “Hello,” I said, feeling silly talking to a manikin. “What are you the cashier for?” Were they going to charge me for shopping?
“Everything,” she said. What do you know, a talking manikin. She waved her arms to point at the entire inside shopping center. I looked around and realized the 125 shops inside this old converted factory building didn’t have doors or sales clerks. Apparently, you wandered around, picked out what you wanted, and took it to the talking manikin.
Relieved that she wasn’t going to charge me to shop, I asked, “Are you from around here?" This giant factory turned shopping mall was deserted and I could tell she was glad for the conversation.
“I live about 20 miles away. Where are you from?”
“I’m from Jacksonville, Florida but I’m traveling all over the country. I write books and write for a website. Hi, I’m Cheryle. What’s your name?”
“Samantha,” she smiled.
“Let me guess,” I laughed. “Your mom was a Bewitched fan.”
She went to laughing. Her entire face grew animated when she smiled and she no longer looked like a manikin. “You have no idea how much. I’m the oldest and I’m Samantha. My next sister was Sabrina and my little sister that died was named Tabitha.”
“That’s a serious Bewitched fan. I’m sorry that you lost your little sister.”
“She only lived a day but I remember her,” Samantha responded.
“So tell me what the churches are like in your town,” I asked. “I write spiritual stories.”
“My town is so small, we barely have any churches. I guess we have 3 or 4 but they’re tiny.”
“Do you go to one of them?” I asked.
“I did when I was young but I haven’t been in years,” she said.
“What church did you go to as a child?”
“Presbyterian. My whole family went back then.”
“Do you believe in God?”
She hesitated. “Yes, I think I do.”
“What about Christ? Do you consider yourself a Christian?”
“No, I guess not.”
“So, as a child, you never went through a time where you officially invited Jesus to be a part of your life?” I gently probed.
“No, I was baptized as a baby but that was about it.”
“Do you think much about spiritual matters?” I asked. “I’ve found that most people have a natural spiritual longing.”
“I think about them a lot. My boyfriend is a Jehovah Witness and that really makes you think about things.”
“Wow,” I said. “I don’t know much about the Jehovah Witnesses but most people consider them a cult. If your own spiritual views are not well formed, that makes you more susceptible to cults.”
“I know they’re a cult,” she said emphatically. “ I’ve told my boyfriend I’m not having anything to do with them. He doesn’t go much but his mom is pushing him.”
“How long have you been dating this boy?” I asked.
“Three years.”
“That’s a long time. I hope he’s marriageable material,” I teased.
“In some ways,” she said hesitantly.
“You don’t sound sure,” I questioned. “After three years, you should know. That tells me you have serious doubts. I always told my children that the only purpose for dating is potential mate elimination. You date someone until you know they aren’t right for marriage and then you quickly move on. When you realize they are right, you marry them. Do you have any children?”
“No, I’m only 19 and have never been married.”
“You know, if you marry him, any children you have will probably become Jehovah Witnesses.” I knew I was getting close to being over some kind of line with the advice but she didn’t seem offended.
“I won’t let them,” she quickly responded.
“You probably won’t have a choice. Statistics show that fathers have more influence over a person’s spirituality and choice of religion than mothers do,” I warned. A man walked up behind me in line so I had to move on.
I walked around the mall a few minutes as Samantha handled a couple of customers. I looked at the twinkling lights and found myself passing up visiting the Christmas shop. What’s wrong with me? I always go in Christmas shops.I waited for the rush that normally comes from looking at delicate antique china but all I could think of was Samantha. When I didn’t enjoy the doll clothes or the china teapots, I knew there was no hope. I gave up shopping and walked back to Samantha.
“So what do you do about shoplifting?” I asked. “There’s no one to watch the customers and many of the items are small.”
“Well, we have a camera and I’m always here. Sometimes security walks around.”
“I’ve watched that camera and it has stayed on the same 4 stores. There are 125 stores here. You must have a problem with shoplifting.” She admitted she did. Why am I babbling about shoplifting? She probably thinks I’m casing the joint.
I decided to stop babbling and try honesty. “Samantha, I can’t get you off of my mind. It sounds like you and your boyfriend are both spiritually confused. Do any of your siblings go to church?” I wondered why I was asking about her siblings but I felt God putting the words in my mouth.
Matt 28:20
And, lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world. KJV
“No,” she said. “My little brother died when he was two, and my sister and I don’t go.”
“Oh Samantha,” I gasped. “Your poor mother lost two children. How tragic. I’ve lost a child and I can’t imagine losing two of them.”
“It was horrible. A car right in front of our house hit my little brother, not long after my sister died. My mother wasn’t the same for a long time.”
“How well do you remember your brother?” I asked.
“Real well,” Samantha said. “I was about 9 when he died.”
“I’ll bet that was when your family stopped going to church,” I responded. “Losing a child either brings people closer to God or it makes them give up on God.”
“Yes, now that you mention it.” She looked surprised. I’m not sure she’d ever put that together before. “My mother does have issues with God.”
“You must too. You were old enough to understand and be terribly hurt by what happened.” She nodded.
“I’m so sorry. Terrible things happen to us. It gives me peace knowing my son is with God. Samantha, let me ask you a question. If Jesus is real and wants to be part of your life, would you want to know it?”
She hesitated for a second time and looked thoughtful. “My grandmother was a Christian. Yes, I think I would want to know if He is real.”
“I want you to do something for me.” I said, looking her directly in the eyes. “I want you to ask Jesus Christ if He is real. You might feel silly talking to someone you don’t believe in, but do it anyway. Ask Him to reveal Himself and then sit back and watch. Do you have the courage to do that?”
“Yes, I do,” she nodded.
“All you have to do to be a Christian is to believe in Jesus, confess your sins, and ask Him into your life. If your grandmother was a Christian, she probably prayed for you. The Bible says our prayers are in bowls in heaven. Your grandmother’s prayers for you are still working for you and probably sent me to you today. This could be a critical time for you and your boyfriend. You could be a leader with him. Please do what I asked.”
Rev 5:8
When He had taken the book, the four living creatures and the twenty-four elders fell down before the Lamb, each one holding a harp and golden bowls full of incense, which are the prayers of the saints. NASU
“I will,” she promised. I gave her a Pocket Full of Quarters card and left, praying for Samantha. Please join me in praying for her.
See pictures in Photo Gallery – Lewisburg – Street of Shops
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