On my way home from a ten year absence I had many questions going through my head while on my eight hour flight. I pondered wether this place I grew up in was still home, I wondered what it would be like to come back. I wondered how different my sisters and brothers would all be. I wondered if it would be awkward to get to know them all again. I wondered if my Mother would have me still, I worried that they might not. I didn't know how long I would stay, and I was confused as to why I was coming back in the first place. I hadn't left on good terms, not in the slightest, and now I had finally come to the realization that the wrong doing was all mine. I was to blame for my absence. I had let my offense get in the way of all relationship with my family, I cut them off.
Until now, I sighed, when no amount of pleading from my younger siblings had compelled me to return, death had. It was true, I was suspicious at first and called a few family friends to confirm that it was not some plot to get me to come home. Too many people told me that it was all true. My Father had died two days ago.
My heart gave a twinge of pain and regret when I thought of all the things I'd said to him. I blamed him for everything, while the only thing he could truthfully be blamed for was a love unconditional for his children. I hated myself for the way I had treated him. Dear Father, I never told you that I love you, I never told you that I appreciated you. I returned all your letters unopened and I blocked your phone calls. I was too selfish to see anyone besides my own self, and for that I am sorry. I was wrong. So wrong.
Still old habits die hard and I rose in defense for myself after having these thoughts. I told myself that I was going to go in strong, and cold. I'd take a cab from the airport to my hotel and I wouldn't tell anyone I'd arrived. I would show up at the funeral and say hi to them only when they said hi to me. I would keep things brief and business like. Get in, pay my respects and get out. I wasn't going to tell them where I was staying. I'd rent a car and receive no help from anyone. I'd go back to my hotel afterwards and be proud of the way I'd looked in front of them all. Still brave and independent to the very end. And then... and then I'd cry myself to sleep in a bed not my own, longing for family, longing for friends, wishing I hadn't thrown it all away, wishing I could only get it back. Get him back.
I glanced at the Soldier sitting next to me. He sat straight and wore a serious expression. I wondered where he'd come from, and how long he'd been gone. I wondered what sort of reception awaited him.
As if reading my thoughts the man glanced at me and smiled, he introduced himself and I introduced myself and then he asked me what I did for a living. "I'm a lawyer. For a senator." I answered rather smug, I was very proud of the way I'd taken care of myself. I'd amounted to something. While those country bumpkin parents of mine had both dropped out of college, I had gone to law school and grad school and had shown myself to be better than them. I had always resented that they were nobodies, so I determined that I should be somebody. And I was somebody alright. After my divorce I'd changed my name so now no one else in world shared the same last name as me. I was my own person. All on my own.
I asked the Soldier how long he'd been gone and where he was coming from and he told me that he'd been in Iraq for the past eight and a half months, his wife was having a baby and he was coming home to be with her for the birth, then he'd have to leave again, back to the front. Tears filled his eyes as he spoke and I realized that there were still a few decent men who loved their wives in this world.
"Good luck" I wished him, and as we started our descent I drifted back into my dark revery.
Later as I waited for my taxi I saw the Soldier again, he stood at the curb awaiting his ride. As I watched, a car pulled up, it had barely come to a stop when the door of the passenger side was flung open and very pregnant girl flew out of it with a rather inhuman sort of cry. She held him and he held her as she wept and he wept as well. Watching them I could not help but think, it had only been eight and a half months of separation for the two of them. And I had not seen my family in ten years.
I began to cry as well as I watched them, their relationship was so sweet. She touched his face and asked him what had happened to him, told him how he seemed so old, so hardened, was he sick, she wondered aloud through her tears. He held her and kissed her, "If I'm sick than you have made me well, you and the little one." he bent and kissed her stomach.
I realized that I could not wish this man anymore happiness than he already had; rather I needed him to wish it to me.
I stepped into my taxi as I blinked back my tears. "Where to Miss? Do you have a hotel yet?"
"Yes, I mean no, I mean. I don't want to go to my hotel." I delved deep into my memory and found the address I'd been taught to memorize early in my childhood. "Take me there" I said, "Take me home."
Friday, December 31, 2010
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Sometimes I wish I were the Tin Man!
Dear Mr. Tin Man,
So you want a heart? Well I'm afraid you have been misinformed about these little organs so I'd like to set you right. I feel it only my duty as no one else seems to want to tell you. I envy you your heartless condition, you have no idea what is like to feel like your chest is being torn into, and there are levels of pain that you've never had to endure and for that I envy you.
The first thing you aught to know about hearts is that they are fickle. One day you may absolutely adore someone, and the next you may want to strangle that same someone. It usually is based off of something that person may have said or done, but regardless of others, you have to make choices that go completely against your hearts desires. What role does the heart play in this process? It clings with all its might to the pain of having been wronged, while you try again and again to throw off that same pain. This will create a sort of tug-o-war game that can only end when you've finally made your heart give up after who knows how many efforts, or after your heart has won. If your heart should win I also pity you, because when the heart wins this tug-o-war game it wraps itself in a blanket called bitterness which makes it stronger, and the next battle will be that much harder for you to win.
The next thing you need to know about hearts is that it has a will of its own. One day I realized that I liked someone, maybe even loved someone, I knew that this was an inconvenient time for me to like anyone. And regardless of that the person who made my heart beat faster was the most inconvenient person I could possibly have liked. While I would give every effort to looking good on the outside hoping that the inside would eventually follow suit, this person was one who would give every effort to looking bad while still being good under that exterior. Not to mention that person was in love with someone else; the girl with the perfect everything. She was also the opposite of me in every way and I never blamed him for loving her. So I set out to reason with my heart "It's no good!" my heart shouted from behind a closed door, "I love him, and nothing you say will ever convince me otherwise!" I pounded on the door, "Please, Heart, don't do this to me, we'll only end up hurt, I know! You'll end up hurting the worst and every time you hurt, I hurt. So please, you have to give him up! Let him go! Even if he were the one, this is not the time!" But my heart is obstinate in every way. And it wouldn't even give me the time of day when I brought up the subject. It became a full fledged feud between me and my heart. You've no idea how many times I've wondered "Would it be better to just cut the thing out and throw it away?" This is a war I've yet to win, though I battle every day.
Another thing about hearts that you should know is that they won't say goodbye. It goes against every characteristic of the heart to say goodbye. In a lot of ways the heart is like bubble gum, it will stick to anyone and everyone that it wants to and you wont be able to get it out. When I say goodbye my heart says no. It clings to that person so tightly that when they leave it can only break because it doesn't stretch as far as they can go. If I were to imagine my heart durring those times I think it would look less like a heart and more like a dogs well worn chew toy.
There are a lot of other things that hearts do, including hurting, rebelling, breaking, going cold, going numb, and throwing themselves after every available gentleman (or in your case gentle woman.) But I would rather not get into these right now.
I feel I have given you enough to think about for one letter.
I do think I need to tell you one good thing about hearts though, so that you'll be able to make an unbiased choice. The heart, though we often fight and seldom agree on anything, and though it takes a life time to do, is a beautiful thing once given in submission. When a heart is truly given to a purpose greater than self there is no telling where you'll go together.
Another good thing about hearts is that they keep you alive. It's simple, but vital. I would be dead were it not for my heart.
So Mr. Tin Man, I conclude my letter to you. I've cautioned you to the best of my ability I feel. And you would do well to take all things into consideration. If you still decide that you want a heart, after knowing how much work it is to keep one, then I would not at all blame you, but I would encourage you to give your heart in submission. I have given mine to the creator of hearts, because I assumed He would know best how to handle a rebellious heart. I would recommend the same to you, give your heart to Him when you get it, and you'll be satisfied. You'll still have to fight it sometimes, as often as I've given my heart to Him it somehow ends up back in its place still. But I will spend my entire life if that is what it takes, giving my heart back to Him and hopefully one day it will be permanently His. He is the best guard of hearts, and the best trainer of hearts. He knows hearts far better than anyone else.
Yes, get a heart, for then you can truly live. But don't keep it or allow it to rule you, give it to the Creator of all Hearts, He knows what to do with it, He will teach you.
Signed,
Light
So you want a heart? Well I'm afraid you have been misinformed about these little organs so I'd like to set you right. I feel it only my duty as no one else seems to want to tell you. I envy you your heartless condition, you have no idea what is like to feel like your chest is being torn into, and there are levels of pain that you've never had to endure and for that I envy you.
The first thing you aught to know about hearts is that they are fickle. One day you may absolutely adore someone, and the next you may want to strangle that same someone. It usually is based off of something that person may have said or done, but regardless of others, you have to make choices that go completely against your hearts desires. What role does the heart play in this process? It clings with all its might to the pain of having been wronged, while you try again and again to throw off that same pain. This will create a sort of tug-o-war game that can only end when you've finally made your heart give up after who knows how many efforts, or after your heart has won. If your heart should win I also pity you, because when the heart wins this tug-o-war game it wraps itself in a blanket called bitterness which makes it stronger, and the next battle will be that much harder for you to win.
The next thing you need to know about hearts is that it has a will of its own. One day I realized that I liked someone, maybe even loved someone, I knew that this was an inconvenient time for me to like anyone. And regardless of that the person who made my heart beat faster was the most inconvenient person I could possibly have liked. While I would give every effort to looking good on the outside hoping that the inside would eventually follow suit, this person was one who would give every effort to looking bad while still being good under that exterior. Not to mention that person was in love with someone else; the girl with the perfect everything. She was also the opposite of me in every way and I never blamed him for loving her. So I set out to reason with my heart "It's no good!" my heart shouted from behind a closed door, "I love him, and nothing you say will ever convince me otherwise!" I pounded on the door, "Please, Heart, don't do this to me, we'll only end up hurt, I know! You'll end up hurting the worst and every time you hurt, I hurt. So please, you have to give him up! Let him go! Even if he were the one, this is not the time!" But my heart is obstinate in every way. And it wouldn't even give me the time of day when I brought up the subject. It became a full fledged feud between me and my heart. You've no idea how many times I've wondered "Would it be better to just cut the thing out and throw it away?" This is a war I've yet to win, though I battle every day.
Another thing about hearts that you should know is that they won't say goodbye. It goes against every characteristic of the heart to say goodbye. In a lot of ways the heart is like bubble gum, it will stick to anyone and everyone that it wants to and you wont be able to get it out. When I say goodbye my heart says no. It clings to that person so tightly that when they leave it can only break because it doesn't stretch as far as they can go. If I were to imagine my heart durring those times I think it would look less like a heart and more like a dogs well worn chew toy.
There are a lot of other things that hearts do, including hurting, rebelling, breaking, going cold, going numb, and throwing themselves after every available gentleman (or in your case gentle woman.) But I would rather not get into these right now.
I feel I have given you enough to think about for one letter.
I do think I need to tell you one good thing about hearts though, so that you'll be able to make an unbiased choice. The heart, though we often fight and seldom agree on anything, and though it takes a life time to do, is a beautiful thing once given in submission. When a heart is truly given to a purpose greater than self there is no telling where you'll go together.
Another good thing about hearts is that they keep you alive. It's simple, but vital. I would be dead were it not for my heart.
So Mr. Tin Man, I conclude my letter to you. I've cautioned you to the best of my ability I feel. And you would do well to take all things into consideration. If you still decide that you want a heart, after knowing how much work it is to keep one, then I would not at all blame you, but I would encourage you to give your heart in submission. I have given mine to the creator of hearts, because I assumed He would know best how to handle a rebellious heart. I would recommend the same to you, give your heart to Him when you get it, and you'll be satisfied. You'll still have to fight it sometimes, as often as I've given my heart to Him it somehow ends up back in its place still. But I will spend my entire life if that is what it takes, giving my heart back to Him and hopefully one day it will be permanently His. He is the best guard of hearts, and the best trainer of hearts. He knows hearts far better than anyone else.
Yes, get a heart, for then you can truly live. But don't keep it or allow it to rule you, give it to the Creator of all Hearts, He knows what to do with it, He will teach you.
Signed,
Light
Monday, May 3, 2010
Broken
The soldier lay on the battlefield, his head was spinning, he hurt everywhere. He lifted his head and realized that he could not see his legs, he tried to move his arm and realized that it wouldn't move. Pain shot through his entire body. He looked about for help, was there ANYONE out there? All he could see were other bodies, like his, lying about, missing limbs, he couldn't tell if they were dead or alive.
Hopeless, it was hopeless, he was too far gone, "I may as well give up." He thought, "I may as well die here, on enemy ground, they've won, they've won against me."
No chance of rescue at all, there were still bombs going off all over the place and there were still people dying all around, his friends, dying.
A man fell next to him only to begin crawling away uninjured, but he recognised this man, he called out his name and his friend turned to look, the mans face went pale as he recognised this injured soldier. "Help me!" whispered the injured man weakly. But his friend only turned and crawled away.
"You can't leave me here alone! Remember! We were buddies! Remember me! Please!" But his friend never turned his head again.
The soldier began to cry, he was not only injured and unable to move or to resist any attack, completely unable to protect himself from the enemy who he could hear closing coming closer, but now he was friendless, apparently he was too messed up for even his companion to help him. How then would the enemy let him live?
But did he even want to live? He wondered if he was missing limbs, he wondered if he could live even if he was rescued.
Another soldier tripped over him, this one was an aquaintance. "Help!" He cried, and the man was startled "You're alive?!" He asked, "Oh man, how can I help?" The injured soldier made a quick decision, "Shoot me! Kill me all the way! Please, I would but I cant move, please, I'm in pain, you've gotta help me!" The man shook his head quickly "No way! I'm not gonna do that! I can't do that! You've gotta be crazy!" And he rushed away.
Now the injured soldier could hear the enemy tanks coming closer and his heart beat nearly as loud as the gunshots that still rang out. The only thing for it was to pretend he was dead and perhaps he wouldn't be noticed. He closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing, but it came in such great gasps that he could not. Suddenly there was an explosion that was louder than all the rest and he could no longer hear the tank. The shots became fewer and with more space in between until he could no longer hear any.
Now the moaning from the wounded began, and the shouts for a medic. The injured soldier was by now in so much pain that he did not even want to cry out anymore. "Maybe they'll find me here, maybe they won't, it probably doesn't matter at this point, I'll probably just die anyway." And he didn't cry for help.
"Hey! This one is alive!" Shouted a voice, and he heard their feet close to him, but they weren't helping him, they were helping someone else who groaned nearby. This was his last chance, die or ask for help... and possibly still die.
"Please, help..." He murmured, he mustered his strength and opened his eyes. It took all his strength but he reached out his hand, toward his fellow soldiers.
Sometimes I find myself in this place, where I know I am weak and can no longer fight on my own. I am so tempted to just give up, but there is still something in me that wants to live, and I reach out for help from my friends. I reach out for help from God, and though I am maimed; He still wants me.
Hopeless, it was hopeless, he was too far gone, "I may as well give up." He thought, "I may as well die here, on enemy ground, they've won, they've won against me."
No chance of rescue at all, there were still bombs going off all over the place and there were still people dying all around, his friends, dying.
A man fell next to him only to begin crawling away uninjured, but he recognised this man, he called out his name and his friend turned to look, the mans face went pale as he recognised this injured soldier. "Help me!" whispered the injured man weakly. But his friend only turned and crawled away.
"You can't leave me here alone! Remember! We were buddies! Remember me! Please!" But his friend never turned his head again.
The soldier began to cry, he was not only injured and unable to move or to resist any attack, completely unable to protect himself from the enemy who he could hear closing coming closer, but now he was friendless, apparently he was too messed up for even his companion to help him. How then would the enemy let him live?
But did he even want to live? He wondered if he was missing limbs, he wondered if he could live even if he was rescued.
Another soldier tripped over him, this one was an aquaintance. "Help!" He cried, and the man was startled "You're alive?!" He asked, "Oh man, how can I help?" The injured soldier made a quick decision, "Shoot me! Kill me all the way! Please, I would but I cant move, please, I'm in pain, you've gotta help me!" The man shook his head quickly "No way! I'm not gonna do that! I can't do that! You've gotta be crazy!" And he rushed away.
Now the injured soldier could hear the enemy tanks coming closer and his heart beat nearly as loud as the gunshots that still rang out. The only thing for it was to pretend he was dead and perhaps he wouldn't be noticed. He closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing, but it came in such great gasps that he could not. Suddenly there was an explosion that was louder than all the rest and he could no longer hear the tank. The shots became fewer and with more space in between until he could no longer hear any.
Now the moaning from the wounded began, and the shouts for a medic. The injured soldier was by now in so much pain that he did not even want to cry out anymore. "Maybe they'll find me here, maybe they won't, it probably doesn't matter at this point, I'll probably just die anyway." And he didn't cry for help.
"Hey! This one is alive!" Shouted a voice, and he heard their feet close to him, but they weren't helping him, they were helping someone else who groaned nearby. This was his last chance, die or ask for help... and possibly still die.
"Please, help..." He murmured, he mustered his strength and opened his eyes. It took all his strength but he reached out his hand, toward his fellow soldiers.
Sometimes I find myself in this place, where I know I am weak and can no longer fight on my own. I am so tempted to just give up, but there is still something in me that wants to live, and I reach out for help from my friends. I reach out for help from God, and though I am maimed; He still wants me.
Friday, April 23, 2010
The key to the towers
There were once two towers that stood side by side. The only way to get to the top of each was through a door at the bottom, once inside there was a spiral staircase ascending and legend had it that at the top of the stairs there were beasts guarding the doors to the chambers at the top on the towers.
The doors at the bottom of the towers were locked and there was only one key but no one knew who had it. But why would anyone even want to get to the top in the first place? These two towers were horrible lonely places. In their chambers was nothing but pain and despair, torment and loneliness. Each night one could hear the screaming from each tower, horrible, pained and terrified screaming. All longed for a day when it might stop but no one tried to make it stop.
Until a stranger came by. “Who is crying out up in those towers?” He asked.
“They say that long ago two sisters were locked away up there.” Was the answer. “Why? What did they do to deserve that?” Asked the stranger. “It’s not so much what they did, but what someone did to them.” Was the answer. “Why has no one rescued them then?” Asked the stranger. “No one has the key.”
The stranger knew who had the key. “I will go to the Maker, He holds the key to these girls’ cells.” The man went and cried out to the Maker. “Who will free these girls?” and the Maker answered him “I give you the key because you are willing not just to sit by and wonder when someone will rescue these girls, you are willing to rescue them yourself, so go, free my daughters from their torment.”
The stranger took the key and ran to the towers. Unlocking one door he rushed up, up, up the stairs, each step became harder than the last as he climbed and finally he reached the beast at the top that guarded the chamber. He slew the beast and entered the chamber. “I’ve come to rescue you!” He cried.
The girl was dirty and hurt, but she recognized her rescuer and rushed to his arms. He carried her to their Maker and there she was nurtured and loved. She grew strong and became the young lady she was meant to be. She stayed with her Maker all the days of her life.
The stranger went back for the other sister. But when he had unlocked the door, climbed the stairs and slain the beast and he entered and cried “I’ve come to rescue you!” This sister whimpered in fear, she did not recognize her rescuer but hid in a corner of her chamber and whispered “No, I’m afraid. Here I know what to expect. I do not know what is down there waiting for me.” The stranger was not discouraged. He held out his hand toward her and said “Then I will stay here with you until you will come away from this place with me. And he did.
Our Rescuer is always there, holding out His hand whether we want it or nor.
The doors at the bottom of the towers were locked and there was only one key but no one knew who had it. But why would anyone even want to get to the top in the first place? These two towers were horrible lonely places. In their chambers was nothing but pain and despair, torment and loneliness. Each night one could hear the screaming from each tower, horrible, pained and terrified screaming. All longed for a day when it might stop but no one tried to make it stop.
Until a stranger came by. “Who is crying out up in those towers?” He asked.
“They say that long ago two sisters were locked away up there.” Was the answer. “Why? What did they do to deserve that?” Asked the stranger. “It’s not so much what they did, but what someone did to them.” Was the answer. “Why has no one rescued them then?” Asked the stranger. “No one has the key.”
The stranger knew who had the key. “I will go to the Maker, He holds the key to these girls’ cells.” The man went and cried out to the Maker. “Who will free these girls?” and the Maker answered him “I give you the key because you are willing not just to sit by and wonder when someone will rescue these girls, you are willing to rescue them yourself, so go, free my daughters from their torment.”
The stranger took the key and ran to the towers. Unlocking one door he rushed up, up, up the stairs, each step became harder than the last as he climbed and finally he reached the beast at the top that guarded the chamber. He slew the beast and entered the chamber. “I’ve come to rescue you!” He cried.
The girl was dirty and hurt, but she recognized her rescuer and rushed to his arms. He carried her to their Maker and there she was nurtured and loved. She grew strong and became the young lady she was meant to be. She stayed with her Maker all the days of her life.
The stranger went back for the other sister. But when he had unlocked the door, climbed the stairs and slain the beast and he entered and cried “I’ve come to rescue you!” This sister whimpered in fear, she did not recognize her rescuer but hid in a corner of her chamber and whispered “No, I’m afraid. Here I know what to expect. I do not know what is down there waiting for me.” The stranger was not discouraged. He held out his hand toward her and said “Then I will stay here with you until you will come away from this place with me. And he did.
Our Rescuer is always there, holding out His hand whether we want it or nor.
The Battle
All I could see were their faces, their snarling painted faces leering at me. I struggled against their massive blades with my own small sword, but it was obvious to me that these beings were much stronger than I. I’d been wounded and I’d almost lost hope. They were bigger than me, stronger than me, and they seemed like they were much less willing to give up than I was. Still I fought, as well as I could.
There was turmoil all around me and the sound of the battle was so loud that I’d quit hearing it a long time ago, all I could do was flail my sword back and forth in desperation. I remembered I’d started this battle with all my friends in my vision and I’d been keeping an eye on them and watching their backs for a while, but the last had gone, maybe ages ago, and now I felt that I was the only one left on my side. But they said that the reinforcements would be here by now. It was just my luck, I’d been forgotten, my troops had been forgotten, maybe we had been sent on a suicide mission. Maybe they never intended to send reinforcements anyway.
My only goal was to take out as many of the enemy as I could before they took me out. I was exhausted and could hardly breathe. I could feel a dull aching all through my body and I knew that the only thing keeping me alive was my energy. Should I live through this fight, I knew I would not live much longer. I felt that I had sustained injuries that were too great to be mended, but I would not give up; not yet. I was not even standing anymore, my legs were too weak and injured and I fought now on my knees. I’d killed so many that I was sitting on top of them now and I no longer felt their pain, I no longer even felt human.
All hope left me, I knew I was going to die as I saw an axe blade coming toward me from my left, I knew this was the last stand so I turned to face my opponent. Suddenly from above I felt great talons gripping my shoulders and I was lifted above the reach of the axe and all the enemies’ weapons. Was I dead now? I was flying, this didn’t make any sense in my head, yet I accepted it with a strange listlessness. I looked up and I saw the greatest Eagle I’d ever seen, so massive was this creature that I began to tremble in fear; where was it taking me? Had I been rescued from that horrible battle only to be fed to some screeching eaglets? What an ignoble way to die.
“Let me down!” I cried, all at once my passion returned, but the Eagle only glanced down at me and said calmly “You really want to go back into that already?” I was stunned, how could this creature have just spoken to me? “What are you doing with me?” I asked, now truly terrified.
The Eagle responded “Come up higher little one, you’ve seen things on your level for far too long, but it’s time you knew what there is a bigger picture, it’s not all about you. Look to your battle.” I looked and I saw so few of us were left, “Will help come?” I sighed for I had long since given up that hope. “Look to that hill.” Said the Eagle, I looked and I saw a vast army; they were our reinforcements, and they too were in a battle. “So you see,” said the Eagle, “There is more going on than you thought; you thought that the reinforcements were being with-held from you out of sheer cruelty, but the truth is, they are on their way.” I was ashamed at my former bitterness toward those reinforcements, “But when? When will they get here? How many more of us have to die before help arrives?”
“You can help speed up this process.” Said the Eagle. “You have a bow, and a quiver of arrows strapped across your back still from the beginning of your fight, you can pick off the enemy from the air. You’re fully equipped to help the reinforcements.” I got out my bow and my arrows, “I’ve never been the best shot.” I said. “No, but just use one arrow for one enemy, there is a name on each arrow.” I examined the arrows and saw what the Eagle had said to be true; the arrow I held in my hand said Fear on it. “Now do you see that enemy down there that is called Fear?” Asked the Eagle. I looked and I saw the most terrifying beast I’d yet seen, the Eagle nodded, “That’s the one, now send your arrow.” I let fly and watched my arrow sail true and defeat that enemy named fear. “From now on” said the Eagle “You have a new job, stay up here where you can see from my vantage point, and together we’ll make sure that the reinforcements get here.”
We so often get caught up in our own battles that we forget how easy it is to go up higher and see things from the Lords perspective. And when we see from His perspective we are no longer holding it against Him that help hasn’t arrived yet, because we see that help is on its way, and there is something we can do to hurry it along. We have all been given a bow and an arrow, the bow is our mouth and the arrow our prayers, when we go up and see from God’s vantage point we are then able to shoot those prayers into the enemy ranks. Let’s be sharpshooters in our prayers, when you pray, picture in faith your arrow hitting its mark. And let’s not get grounded, for that is where we’ll be defeated, but when we choose to go higher, we have the upper hand.
Let the Holy Spirit lift you up on wings like an Eagle and show you His victorious vantage point.
There was turmoil all around me and the sound of the battle was so loud that I’d quit hearing it a long time ago, all I could do was flail my sword back and forth in desperation. I remembered I’d started this battle with all my friends in my vision and I’d been keeping an eye on them and watching their backs for a while, but the last had gone, maybe ages ago, and now I felt that I was the only one left on my side. But they said that the reinforcements would be here by now. It was just my luck, I’d been forgotten, my troops had been forgotten, maybe we had been sent on a suicide mission. Maybe they never intended to send reinforcements anyway.
My only goal was to take out as many of the enemy as I could before they took me out. I was exhausted and could hardly breathe. I could feel a dull aching all through my body and I knew that the only thing keeping me alive was my energy. Should I live through this fight, I knew I would not live much longer. I felt that I had sustained injuries that were too great to be mended, but I would not give up; not yet. I was not even standing anymore, my legs were too weak and injured and I fought now on my knees. I’d killed so many that I was sitting on top of them now and I no longer felt their pain, I no longer even felt human.
All hope left me, I knew I was going to die as I saw an axe blade coming toward me from my left, I knew this was the last stand so I turned to face my opponent. Suddenly from above I felt great talons gripping my shoulders and I was lifted above the reach of the axe and all the enemies’ weapons. Was I dead now? I was flying, this didn’t make any sense in my head, yet I accepted it with a strange listlessness. I looked up and I saw the greatest Eagle I’d ever seen, so massive was this creature that I began to tremble in fear; where was it taking me? Had I been rescued from that horrible battle only to be fed to some screeching eaglets? What an ignoble way to die.
“Let me down!” I cried, all at once my passion returned, but the Eagle only glanced down at me and said calmly “You really want to go back into that already?” I was stunned, how could this creature have just spoken to me? “What are you doing with me?” I asked, now truly terrified.
The Eagle responded “Come up higher little one, you’ve seen things on your level for far too long, but it’s time you knew what there is a bigger picture, it’s not all about you. Look to your battle.” I looked and I saw so few of us were left, “Will help come?” I sighed for I had long since given up that hope. “Look to that hill.” Said the Eagle, I looked and I saw a vast army; they were our reinforcements, and they too were in a battle. “So you see,” said the Eagle, “There is more going on than you thought; you thought that the reinforcements were being with-held from you out of sheer cruelty, but the truth is, they are on their way.” I was ashamed at my former bitterness toward those reinforcements, “But when? When will they get here? How many more of us have to die before help arrives?”
“You can help speed up this process.” Said the Eagle. “You have a bow, and a quiver of arrows strapped across your back still from the beginning of your fight, you can pick off the enemy from the air. You’re fully equipped to help the reinforcements.” I got out my bow and my arrows, “I’ve never been the best shot.” I said. “No, but just use one arrow for one enemy, there is a name on each arrow.” I examined the arrows and saw what the Eagle had said to be true; the arrow I held in my hand said Fear on it. “Now do you see that enemy down there that is called Fear?” Asked the Eagle. I looked and I saw the most terrifying beast I’d yet seen, the Eagle nodded, “That’s the one, now send your arrow.” I let fly and watched my arrow sail true and defeat that enemy named fear. “From now on” said the Eagle “You have a new job, stay up here where you can see from my vantage point, and together we’ll make sure that the reinforcements get here.”
We so often get caught up in our own battles that we forget how easy it is to go up higher and see things from the Lords perspective. And when we see from His perspective we are no longer holding it against Him that help hasn’t arrived yet, because we see that help is on its way, and there is something we can do to hurry it along. We have all been given a bow and an arrow, the bow is our mouth and the arrow our prayers, when we go up and see from God’s vantage point we are then able to shoot those prayers into the enemy ranks. Let’s be sharpshooters in our prayers, when you pray, picture in faith your arrow hitting its mark. And let’s not get grounded, for that is where we’ll be defeated, but when we choose to go higher, we have the upper hand.
Let the Holy Spirit lift you up on wings like an Eagle and show you His victorious vantage point.
A rose among thorns
Once upon a time (a sad and unhappy time), there has a beautiful Rose. She lived all by herself, surrounded by thorns. The Rose could not remember anything different, in fact she did not even know that she was a Rose.
All day long the Rose would sit among the thorns believing this was her place, this was where she belonged; she always did feel that she wasn’t quite the same as all the thorns around her, but she couldn’t quite put a petal on the difference. After all she had never seen herself.
One day as the Rose sat drooping among the thorns, she said unhappily to herself, “Why, oh why do I feel like I don’t belong here?
She didn’t even realize that she had said it out loud, and a beautiful sing-song voice answered her, “Because, Rose, you are not meant to be here.” The Rose was startled by the voice and she turned to see a beautiful butterfly hovering over her.
“Who are you?” she asked, “A better question is, who are you?” the Butterfly answered. “I am a thorn.” She answered simply, “No, you are not a thorn, you are a Rose.” “What is a Rose?” The name sounded so sweet, so perfect; too good to be true. The butterfly pointed down to a puddle in the earth, “Look!” The Rose looked down into that puddle, she remembered when it had stormed the night before, how unhappy and afraid that had made her. But even the
storm can bring joy when seen the right way.
The Rose saw her reflection for the first time as a result of that storm she saw a bloom, a pink., glowing, petal covered bloom; so beautiful… “Could that really be me?” She whispered, to which the Butterfly replied “That’s what I thought when I first saw my reflection, after emerging from my chrysalis. What helped me to believe was to see a scar I remembered getting long ago. Do you have any scars?” The Rose remembered a painful memory of being cut by her friends, she looked for the scar and sure enough there was a rip in a few of her petals, “It is me! I’m beautiful! I’m a rose!”
The butterfly smiled, “But it doesn’t end there, you need behave like a Rose if you are one. After I became a Butterfly I had to stop crawling on the ground like a worm and I had to fly, that’s what Butterflies do.”
“Oh, but what do Roses do?” The Rose asked. “I’m not sure,” said the Butterfly, “but I know Someone who does!”
The Rose was eager to hear more, so the Butterfly told her of a Man who had also been torn by thorns, a Man who had also been hurt by His friends, a Man who was perfect, but was surrounded by imperfection. “This Man died, but He still lives, He will surely tell you what Roses do.” The Butterfly ended, “I have to go now, I have to fly to the sun.”
And with that she fluttered away. The Rose looked down at her reflection again. “I can’t stay here.” She said, “But what am I supposed to do?” suddenly a warmth touched her, she raised her blossom to see that there was a Ray of Light shining down through the thorns and touching her. “Do you know?” she asked the Ray without thinking about what she was doing.
“I am sent from the sun.” The Ray answered. The Rose was surprised, “Do you know what I am supposed to do? How do I get to the Man who suffered so much the same as me?” The Ray warmed her all over when it spoke, “He is my Source, I know Him well. He sent me to tell you what Roses do.” The Rose could hardly believe what she was hearing. “What?” She cried, “What do Roses do?”
Finally, her answer to who she was. “A Rose is meant to grow, to bloom, to seed and create more roses. A Rose is meant to always keep her bloom held high, she is to reach for the sun always. Grow, Rose, grow beyond the thorns that surround you, leave them behind. Grow into the sky. Seek the Son. And don’t worry, I will be here to guide you the whole way, He is my Source.”
So the Rose raised her bloom and stretched, of course it would be a hard journey, especially until she got free of the thorns, but she knew it was worth it, she knew that this was what she was meant to do, this was what Roses do. They grow. So the Rose started her journey toward the Son, every day getting closer and closer to Him as she followed and listened to the Ray.
All day long the Rose would sit among the thorns believing this was her place, this was where she belonged; she always did feel that she wasn’t quite the same as all the thorns around her, but she couldn’t quite put a petal on the difference. After all she had never seen herself.
One day as the Rose sat drooping among the thorns, she said unhappily to herself, “Why, oh why do I feel like I don’t belong here?
She didn’t even realize that she had said it out loud, and a beautiful sing-song voice answered her, “Because, Rose, you are not meant to be here.” The Rose was startled by the voice and she turned to see a beautiful butterfly hovering over her.
“Who are you?” she asked, “A better question is, who are you?” the Butterfly answered. “I am a thorn.” She answered simply, “No, you are not a thorn, you are a Rose.” “What is a Rose?” The name sounded so sweet, so perfect; too good to be true. The butterfly pointed down to a puddle in the earth, “Look!” The Rose looked down into that puddle, she remembered when it had stormed the night before, how unhappy and afraid that had made her. But even the
storm can bring joy when seen the right way.
The Rose saw her reflection for the first time as a result of that storm she saw a bloom, a pink., glowing, petal covered bloom; so beautiful… “Could that really be me?” She whispered, to which the Butterfly replied “That’s what I thought when I first saw my reflection, after emerging from my chrysalis. What helped me to believe was to see a scar I remembered getting long ago. Do you have any scars?” The Rose remembered a painful memory of being cut by her friends, she looked for the scar and sure enough there was a rip in a few of her petals, “It is me! I’m beautiful! I’m a rose!”
The butterfly smiled, “But it doesn’t end there, you need behave like a Rose if you are one. After I became a Butterfly I had to stop crawling on the ground like a worm and I had to fly, that’s what Butterflies do.”
“Oh, but what do Roses do?” The Rose asked. “I’m not sure,” said the Butterfly, “but I know Someone who does!”
The Rose was eager to hear more, so the Butterfly told her of a Man who had also been torn by thorns, a Man who had also been hurt by His friends, a Man who was perfect, but was surrounded by imperfection. “This Man died, but He still lives, He will surely tell you what Roses do.” The Butterfly ended, “I have to go now, I have to fly to the sun.”
And with that she fluttered away. The Rose looked down at her reflection again. “I can’t stay here.” She said, “But what am I supposed to do?” suddenly a warmth touched her, she raised her blossom to see that there was a Ray of Light shining down through the thorns and touching her. “Do you know?” she asked the Ray without thinking about what she was doing.
“I am sent from the sun.” The Ray answered. The Rose was surprised, “Do you know what I am supposed to do? How do I get to the Man who suffered so much the same as me?” The Ray warmed her all over when it spoke, “He is my Source, I know Him well. He sent me to tell you what Roses do.” The Rose could hardly believe what she was hearing. “What?” She cried, “What do Roses do?”
Finally, her answer to who she was. “A Rose is meant to grow, to bloom, to seed and create more roses. A Rose is meant to always keep her bloom held high, she is to reach for the sun always. Grow, Rose, grow beyond the thorns that surround you, leave them behind. Grow into the sky. Seek the Son. And don’t worry, I will be here to guide you the whole way, He is my Source.”
So the Rose raised her bloom and stretched, of course it would be a hard journey, especially until she got free of the thorns, but she knew it was worth it, she knew that this was what she was meant to do, this was what Roses do. They grow. So the Rose started her journey toward the Son, every day getting closer and closer to Him as she followed and listened to the Ray.
The tale of free
Out on the streets there lived a small boy, he had no one. No father, no mother, no brothers or sisters, no one, except one constant companion whose name was Shame. The boys name was Complacent. All day long he would sit on the street begging for love from any passer by. Shame say there with him, all day long.
“Complacent,” said Shame one day “Why don’t you get up? Why don’t you move? Everyone here know you, they know you’re just lazy and they wont give you anything!”
“Bad things happen when I move.” Murmured Complacent, “Last time I ran into those bully’s Past-Failure and Condemnation, I don’t like them, they always hurt me.”
“Would you rather starve?” Asked Shame. “You call yourself a boy? You’ll never become a man so how can you be a boy? You can’t do anything right, remember?”
Complacent sighed, “The only thing I can do is stay in one place.”
“Even that wont save you! Look, here comes Past-Failure and Condemnation! Run!” Complacent leapt to his feet and tried to run but he tripped and fell in a puddle. Shame ran about him in circles “Oh, you’re too lazy, you’re too slow, you’re out of practice, it’s all your fault, they’ve caught up to you!”
Past-Failure grabbed Complacent by his collar and lifted him from the mud, “That reminds me of a time you threw another into a puddle. Serves you right. How about the time you ran away from home? You hurt your whole family, they would never have you back again! You have always been a mistake.”
Condemnation interrupted, “Yeah, you’ll never be free, you don’t deserve it, this is where you belong and this is what you deserve.” And saying this he started to hit Complacent again and again. Past-Failure joined in and the bully’s did not stop until Complacent cried out in pain, “No! Help me! Shame? Wont you do something?” But Shame looked at the bully’s and laughed, “They’re right, Complacent, this is what you deserve!” And then he joined them. The three beat Complacent and he let them do it, he believed them that this was what he deserved. He agreed with them until he fainted from the pain.
When Complacent came to he did not see the bully’s, only Shame who was shaking him, “Wake up lazy! Nothing is wrong with you, or at least if there is you’d better make sure no one knows, the King is coming by this way!”
Complacent looked at his bruised body, “How can I hide this?” Shame sighed, “You’ll just have to hide yourself, the King would be disgusted with you.”
Complacent climbed into the nearest trash can. “That’s fitting.” Said Shame. Complacent said nothing and Past-Failure appeared as if by magic, “The King’s coming, ooh, Complacent, you remember him don’t you? Make no mistake, he doesn’t remember you! Look at yourself, he would be ashamed to call you his son, so hide, just like you always do when he comes by!” Condemnation kicked the can that Complacent was in, “Make sure you keep quiet, don’t remind the King that he once had a son. He doesn’t want you.”
As the King went by Complacent’s hiding place Shame plugged Complacents ears so that he would not hear the sound and try to get out of the trash can.
Then the King was gone and Complacent wept, Past-Failure stood by him and reminded him of his life and all the mistakes he’d made, while Condemnation and Shame inerjected comments here and there. “Leave me alone, all of you!” Cried Complacent when he had heard enough, “We’re all you’ve got!” They answered.
That night all their friends came to visit. Bitterness, Jealousy, Loneliness, Self-Hate, and Suicide all pounded on Complacents trash can and he could not sleep, for they never slept. Complacent didn’t know how long that went on and suddenly the lid of the trash can was lifted and Suicide sneered down at Complacent. “I know you’re lonely, Complacent, and all these others have betrayed you, come, lets you and I be friends!”
Complacent knew what kind of a person Suicide was, so he hesitated, then he heard a sound. Shame reached in to the trash can quickly plugged Complacents ears. “The King is coming!” He cried in alarm. But it was too late, Complacent had heard what they did not want for him to hear, he had heard his father, the King calling his name, his real name. “Free!”
The boy leapt from the trash can, but the others grabbed him and began to force him back into the trash can. “Father!” he managed to shout before someone hit him in the head and his vision swirled. “I may as well give up, Suicide is not that bad after all.” he thought as the world spun.
But the King had heard his sons cry, and he was there in an instant sword flashing. All the others scattered except Shame who stayed at a distance.
The boy saw his fathers feet and he lifted his gaze toward his face. “Father, I’m sorry, I need you, I’m sorry I ran away, I’m sorry I rejected you. I know now that you’re the only protection I have against all this.” Broken, hurting, barely recognizable he began to cry. “Please Father, don’t leave me, even though I deserve it.”
Shame chose this moment to come closer, keeping his eyes on the sword in the Kings hand, “You bet you deserve it! How do you dare even ask the King such a thing! Come on Complacent, we’re your real family, this is where you belong, this is all you deserve.”
“Free,” Said the King, “You have a choice, you can not have both Shame and me, who will you choose.”
The boy looked at each for a while, after all, Shame had been his constant companion all this time… Shame started to say something during the silence in which the boy was trying to make his decision, but the King silenced him with a look.
Finally the King knelt and looked into his sons eyes, “I love you, my son, no matter what choice you make, I love you. Know this, I’ve been looking for you for a long time, if you choose Shame again I will keep looking for you, I will never stop.” Shame whispered, “Not true Complacent, how could HE love YOU?”
The boy reached out to his father with a trembling hand, weak, frail, broken, bruised, hopeful, he whispered, “I choose you!”
Suddenly Shame let out a horrible wail and was joined by all the others. The King silenced them all forever with one swipe of his great sword. Then he took his sons trembling hand. He had searched and called and now at long last, he had his son back. “Your name is Free.” The King told his son as he lifted him in his arms, “My name is Free.” Said the child and he clung to his father, never to go back again, never to let go again.
Free still had a lot to learn, he was not perfect by any means, but now he had his father to teach him, and he lay his head on his fathers chest listening to his heartbeat. “It’s beating for you, my son, I’ll never let go of you. No longer will you beg for love, for you have all you need in me. No longer are you alone, for I am with you. You have someone now. You are Free.
“Complacent,” said Shame one day “Why don’t you get up? Why don’t you move? Everyone here know you, they know you’re just lazy and they wont give you anything!”
“Bad things happen when I move.” Murmured Complacent, “Last time I ran into those bully’s Past-Failure and Condemnation, I don’t like them, they always hurt me.”
“Would you rather starve?” Asked Shame. “You call yourself a boy? You’ll never become a man so how can you be a boy? You can’t do anything right, remember?”
Complacent sighed, “The only thing I can do is stay in one place.”
“Even that wont save you! Look, here comes Past-Failure and Condemnation! Run!” Complacent leapt to his feet and tried to run but he tripped and fell in a puddle. Shame ran about him in circles “Oh, you’re too lazy, you’re too slow, you’re out of practice, it’s all your fault, they’ve caught up to you!”
Past-Failure grabbed Complacent by his collar and lifted him from the mud, “That reminds me of a time you threw another into a puddle. Serves you right. How about the time you ran away from home? You hurt your whole family, they would never have you back again! You have always been a mistake.”
Condemnation interrupted, “Yeah, you’ll never be free, you don’t deserve it, this is where you belong and this is what you deserve.” And saying this he started to hit Complacent again and again. Past-Failure joined in and the bully’s did not stop until Complacent cried out in pain, “No! Help me! Shame? Wont you do something?” But Shame looked at the bully’s and laughed, “They’re right, Complacent, this is what you deserve!” And then he joined them. The three beat Complacent and he let them do it, he believed them that this was what he deserved. He agreed with them until he fainted from the pain.
When Complacent came to he did not see the bully’s, only Shame who was shaking him, “Wake up lazy! Nothing is wrong with you, or at least if there is you’d better make sure no one knows, the King is coming by this way!”
Complacent looked at his bruised body, “How can I hide this?” Shame sighed, “You’ll just have to hide yourself, the King would be disgusted with you.”
Complacent climbed into the nearest trash can. “That’s fitting.” Said Shame. Complacent said nothing and Past-Failure appeared as if by magic, “The King’s coming, ooh, Complacent, you remember him don’t you? Make no mistake, he doesn’t remember you! Look at yourself, he would be ashamed to call you his son, so hide, just like you always do when he comes by!” Condemnation kicked the can that Complacent was in, “Make sure you keep quiet, don’t remind the King that he once had a son. He doesn’t want you.”
As the King went by Complacent’s hiding place Shame plugged Complacents ears so that he would not hear the sound and try to get out of the trash can.
Then the King was gone and Complacent wept, Past-Failure stood by him and reminded him of his life and all the mistakes he’d made, while Condemnation and Shame inerjected comments here and there. “Leave me alone, all of you!” Cried Complacent when he had heard enough, “We’re all you’ve got!” They answered.
That night all their friends came to visit. Bitterness, Jealousy, Loneliness, Self-Hate, and Suicide all pounded on Complacents trash can and he could not sleep, for they never slept. Complacent didn’t know how long that went on and suddenly the lid of the trash can was lifted and Suicide sneered down at Complacent. “I know you’re lonely, Complacent, and all these others have betrayed you, come, lets you and I be friends!”
Complacent knew what kind of a person Suicide was, so he hesitated, then he heard a sound. Shame reached in to the trash can quickly plugged Complacents ears. “The King is coming!” He cried in alarm. But it was too late, Complacent had heard what they did not want for him to hear, he had heard his father, the King calling his name, his real name. “Free!”
The boy leapt from the trash can, but the others grabbed him and began to force him back into the trash can. “Father!” he managed to shout before someone hit him in the head and his vision swirled. “I may as well give up, Suicide is not that bad after all.” he thought as the world spun.
But the King had heard his sons cry, and he was there in an instant sword flashing. All the others scattered except Shame who stayed at a distance.
The boy saw his fathers feet and he lifted his gaze toward his face. “Father, I’m sorry, I need you, I’m sorry I ran away, I’m sorry I rejected you. I know now that you’re the only protection I have against all this.” Broken, hurting, barely recognizable he began to cry. “Please Father, don’t leave me, even though I deserve it.”
Shame chose this moment to come closer, keeping his eyes on the sword in the Kings hand, “You bet you deserve it! How do you dare even ask the King such a thing! Come on Complacent, we’re your real family, this is where you belong, this is all you deserve.”
“Free,” Said the King, “You have a choice, you can not have both Shame and me, who will you choose.”
The boy looked at each for a while, after all, Shame had been his constant companion all this time… Shame started to say something during the silence in which the boy was trying to make his decision, but the King silenced him with a look.
Finally the King knelt and looked into his sons eyes, “I love you, my son, no matter what choice you make, I love you. Know this, I’ve been looking for you for a long time, if you choose Shame again I will keep looking for you, I will never stop.” Shame whispered, “Not true Complacent, how could HE love YOU?”
The boy reached out to his father with a trembling hand, weak, frail, broken, bruised, hopeful, he whispered, “I choose you!”
Suddenly Shame let out a horrible wail and was joined by all the others. The King silenced them all forever with one swipe of his great sword. Then he took his sons trembling hand. He had searched and called and now at long last, he had his son back. “Your name is Free.” The King told his son as he lifted him in his arms, “My name is Free.” Said the child and he clung to his father, never to go back again, never to let go again.
Free still had a lot to learn, he was not perfect by any means, but now he had his father to teach him, and he lay his head on his fathers chest listening to his heartbeat. “It’s beating for you, my son, I’ll never let go of you. No longer will you beg for love, for you have all you need in me. No longer are you alone, for I am with you. You have someone now. You are Free.
The death of a son
“Drop the anchor, let ‘er go!” The sailors tune,
As we put in to shore under the pale yellow moon.
The darkness helps, our identities to dissemble,
Just ordinary sailors, is what we resemble.
I look to my Captain; like a father to me
And my mind drifts to a brief memory
Something that my Captain had once said to me
“All a pirate wants is to acquire
gold, gold, gold. That’s his only desire!”
Now this was to be my first big raid
And if I did well, more than a cabins boy, I’d be made.
My Captain gave the signal; The cry of a gull
I checked my belt, securing my blade,
And from then on things were anything but dull.
With my Captain I went ashore, breathing hard the morning air
But when I saw the watchman, I knew it was a snare.
T’was next to the mill that I saved my Captains heart,
I took his bullet, before the battle could even start.
As I fell to the ground, my Captain did not seem to care;
He stepped over me as I lay there
Though I had served him loyally all this time
I guess he didn’t see me as even worth a dime.
Lying here in the dust, is not where I’d hoped to die
Looking up I can see a light at one end of the sky.
I heard the bells ringing; a sad melody
For me? For my passing, no… it’s Sunday.
My Mother never would have thought I’d spend it in such a way.
Where is she? Probably
In some church, praying for me.
I know that she’s praying “Lord, bring him home!”
But as for me, I’d rather wander far and roam.
Oh, how I long to be back on the water, back on the deep blue sea
That magical place that once captured my heart, the place where I’d once sailed free.
As we put in to shore under the pale yellow moon.
The darkness helps, our identities to dissemble,
Just ordinary sailors, is what we resemble.
I look to my Captain; like a father to me
And my mind drifts to a brief memory
Something that my Captain had once said to me
“All a pirate wants is to acquire
gold, gold, gold. That’s his only desire!”
Now this was to be my first big raid
And if I did well, more than a cabins boy, I’d be made.
My Captain gave the signal; The cry of a gull
I checked my belt, securing my blade,
And from then on things were anything but dull.
With my Captain I went ashore, breathing hard the morning air
But when I saw the watchman, I knew it was a snare.
T’was next to the mill that I saved my Captains heart,
I took his bullet, before the battle could even start.
As I fell to the ground, my Captain did not seem to care;
He stepped over me as I lay there
Though I had served him loyally all this time
I guess he didn’t see me as even worth a dime.
Lying here in the dust, is not where I’d hoped to die
Looking up I can see a light at one end of the sky.
I heard the bells ringing; a sad melody
For me? For my passing, no… it’s Sunday.
My Mother never would have thought I’d spend it in such a way.
Where is she? Probably
In some church, praying for me.
I know that she’s praying “Lord, bring him home!”
But as for me, I’d rather wander far and roam.
Oh, how I long to be back on the water, back on the deep blue sea
That magical place that once captured my heart, the place where I’d once sailed free.
Newness
There was once a girl named Cammy. Cammy didn’t like the way she looked or even the way she acted, she had always felt that everyone else was better than her. She hated to see her reflection, and she could not look at anyone without wishing she could have something that they had.
One day as Cammy was wandering through the forest wishing she could be as pretty as the flowers she passed, she happened upon a small fairy like person.
“Wow!” said Cammy, “ you have a much better nose than I do!” Then she realized that if this person was a fairy than she had to grant her whatever she wished! “Hey!” said Cammy, “you have to grant me a wish since I have found you, don’t you?” The little person sighed “Yes, I do, but be wise, I’ve had to grant some horrible wishes in my life.”
Cammy thought long and hard and finally said “I wish I could have a special power to be able to change myself at will to whatever I’d like.”
“No!” Cried the fairy in dismay, “Please choose something else! Others have asked me for this and there is a catch to it. You can only change into something you have seen, and you have to understand that you can never be the way you are now again. Those who have wished this have become very confused and lost and they never found themselves again. They are often driven to insanity! Choose something different, wouldn’t you like to have all the money you’ll ever need?”
“No, you can’t dissuade me. I hate the way I am and I would be fortunate to never be this way again. Give me this wish fairy!” Cammy demanded.
Reluctantly the fairy touched Cammy’s head with fingers that Cammy noticed were much prettier than her own and then vanished into thin air.
Cammy immediately ran to the nearest village. “I’d like her smile, her nose, her hair, I need that dress, and her waist, I like her left arm and I like her right arm!” And on it went until Cammy came to a mirror and there she was surprised that nothing seemed to fit together. So she set about getting different things but once again they just did not fit together. Then she started taking others voices, and attitudes, even their individual mannerisms.
When Cammy got tired of her town she went to the next until soon she had covered the entire country. It seemed that nothing made her happy and she could not find contentment with anything she got. Cammy began to notice the beauty of nature and take that since she could find no satisfaction in taking on the beauty of people.
One day Cammy walked into a village with a bobcats ears, a does eyes, a mane like a lion, and a tail like a snake, her hair was leaves and her skin was birch bark. Not only that but Cammy spoke like a bird. “Oh my!” Exclaimed the people of the town upon seeing her and they chased her out thinking her to be a monster of some sort.
Cammy became troubled. She had forgotten everything that she had once been, she did not even know her own name. As she wandered the world she was given a new name. The Chameleon was what townspeople called her. On account of being chased away from people Cammy could not turn herself into one of them again.
She was sick of living so she began to climb a mountain thinking that when she got to the top she would simply jump and so end her miserable existence. As she was climbing she happened upon the same fairy she’d met on that fateful day so long ago. “I want her face!” She thought to herself and it was hers. “Cammy!” Cried the fairy, recognizing her. “Who are you talking to?” Cammy tried to ask but only the sound of a waterfall came out of her mouth. “Oh, I hope you can understand me Cammy, go to the top! Please just reach the top of this mountain!” Said the fairy urgently. “I want her language.” Cammy thought and then she could speak. “Why should I go to the top? Who are you?” she asked the fairy. “I am Mercy and at the top of this mountain is the Creator of all things, He can make you into something new!” Cammy was interested, “New…” she had already used and seen everything on the earth, could there be anything new?
Cammy reached the top rather quickly though it was a long way, she was just eager to be new. At the top she found no one, only a view. “I came all this way for nothing!?” She shouted “Creator, what were you thinking when you created me?!” A voice that surrounded her and shook the mountain answered back “I thought I had created something perfect, my child.” Cammy was afraid now but called out “Do I look perfect to you?” Suddenly she was transformed into the Cammy she had once been, a mirror appeared before her and as she saw herself she began to weep. The voice whispered, “Yes, you look perfect!” “Will I change again?” Sobbed Cammy, “Can I stay this way?” “Only if you stay with me.” Came the answer. “Who are you?” “I am your Creator.” “Who am I?” “You are Mine.”
From then on Cammy was a different person. She knew the Creator, and they would spend their whole days together. Cammy never wanted to be anyone else ever again because she saw how special her Maker had made her and how He loved her just the way she was.
He would constantly remind her that she was His masterpiece and tell her that He was so proud of her. Cammy even got to tell her story to others so that no one else would have to go through the things that she went through; but that they would be so thankful for the way they were created.
Psalm 139:14
I praise you for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works and my soul knows it very well.
One day as Cammy was wandering through the forest wishing she could be as pretty as the flowers she passed, she happened upon a small fairy like person.
“Wow!” said Cammy, “ you have a much better nose than I do!” Then she realized that if this person was a fairy than she had to grant her whatever she wished! “Hey!” said Cammy, “you have to grant me a wish since I have found you, don’t you?” The little person sighed “Yes, I do, but be wise, I’ve had to grant some horrible wishes in my life.”
Cammy thought long and hard and finally said “I wish I could have a special power to be able to change myself at will to whatever I’d like.”
“No!” Cried the fairy in dismay, “Please choose something else! Others have asked me for this and there is a catch to it. You can only change into something you have seen, and you have to understand that you can never be the way you are now again. Those who have wished this have become very confused and lost and they never found themselves again. They are often driven to insanity! Choose something different, wouldn’t you like to have all the money you’ll ever need?”
“No, you can’t dissuade me. I hate the way I am and I would be fortunate to never be this way again. Give me this wish fairy!” Cammy demanded.
Reluctantly the fairy touched Cammy’s head with fingers that Cammy noticed were much prettier than her own and then vanished into thin air.
Cammy immediately ran to the nearest village. “I’d like her smile, her nose, her hair, I need that dress, and her waist, I like her left arm and I like her right arm!” And on it went until Cammy came to a mirror and there she was surprised that nothing seemed to fit together. So she set about getting different things but once again they just did not fit together. Then she started taking others voices, and attitudes, even their individual mannerisms.
When Cammy got tired of her town she went to the next until soon she had covered the entire country. It seemed that nothing made her happy and she could not find contentment with anything she got. Cammy began to notice the beauty of nature and take that since she could find no satisfaction in taking on the beauty of people.
One day Cammy walked into a village with a bobcats ears, a does eyes, a mane like a lion, and a tail like a snake, her hair was leaves and her skin was birch bark. Not only that but Cammy spoke like a bird. “Oh my!” Exclaimed the people of the town upon seeing her and they chased her out thinking her to be a monster of some sort.
Cammy became troubled. She had forgotten everything that she had once been, she did not even know her own name. As she wandered the world she was given a new name. The Chameleon was what townspeople called her. On account of being chased away from people Cammy could not turn herself into one of them again.
She was sick of living so she began to climb a mountain thinking that when she got to the top she would simply jump and so end her miserable existence. As she was climbing she happened upon the same fairy she’d met on that fateful day so long ago. “I want her face!” She thought to herself and it was hers. “Cammy!” Cried the fairy, recognizing her. “Who are you talking to?” Cammy tried to ask but only the sound of a waterfall came out of her mouth. “Oh, I hope you can understand me Cammy, go to the top! Please just reach the top of this mountain!” Said the fairy urgently. “I want her language.” Cammy thought and then she could speak. “Why should I go to the top? Who are you?” she asked the fairy. “I am Mercy and at the top of this mountain is the Creator of all things, He can make you into something new!” Cammy was interested, “New…” she had already used and seen everything on the earth, could there be anything new?
Cammy reached the top rather quickly though it was a long way, she was just eager to be new. At the top she found no one, only a view. “I came all this way for nothing!?” She shouted “Creator, what were you thinking when you created me?!” A voice that surrounded her and shook the mountain answered back “I thought I had created something perfect, my child.” Cammy was afraid now but called out “Do I look perfect to you?” Suddenly she was transformed into the Cammy she had once been, a mirror appeared before her and as she saw herself she began to weep. The voice whispered, “Yes, you look perfect!” “Will I change again?” Sobbed Cammy, “Can I stay this way?” “Only if you stay with me.” Came the answer. “Who are you?” “I am your Creator.” “Who am I?” “You are Mine.”
From then on Cammy was a different person. She knew the Creator, and they would spend their whole days together. Cammy never wanted to be anyone else ever again because she saw how special her Maker had made her and how He loved her just the way she was.
He would constantly remind her that she was His masterpiece and tell her that He was so proud of her. Cammy even got to tell her story to others so that no one else would have to go through the things that she went through; but that they would be so thankful for the way they were created.
Psalm 139:14
I praise you for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works and my soul knows it very well.
My Father and the Slate
In the beginning my Father gave me a slate, and a piece of chalk. “Draw.” He encouraged me, “You can draw your own picture or you can ask me for help.”
I took the slate and chalk. At first I made some nice little doodles, at first I asked my Father how to draw certain things, occasionally He would point out something wrong in my picture and give me a special formula to wipe it clean.
Then I began to wonder, what was wrong with what I made? How hard could this drawing thing be? Why did I even need help? I realized that I liked what I’d made in error. Then I stopped accepting my Fathers special formula. “I think I can handle this on my own.” I said. I stopped asking Him for help and I stopped listening to His instructions. “This is easy, I can so do it by myself.” I said to Him and I turned my back on Him and I walked away.
I started to have fun with my chalk and slate. I drew all sorts of things, soon the entire slate was covered and I no longer had any room on it. I felt a tap on my shoulder “Is it beautiful?” I heard Him ask. I quickly walked away and did not look at my Father. I tried to wipe the slate clean to start over, but I got chalk dust all over my hands. Not only did the dust not come off the slate but it smeared worse and then it was all over my hands. I wiped it onto my clothing but then it was all over my clothes. I felt a tap on my shoulder. “Is it beautiful?” I hear Him say.
I was angry by that time. “Stay away from me!” I said. I walked away again and again. I did not look at my Father. The slate was blurry, and the chalk dust was all over my body. I became even more angry, how could this happen to me? I began to draw over the chalk blurs but it was not at all how I wanted it to look.
I realized that I did not even know what I was drawing, yet I kept scribbling furiously until I had no chalk left. I suddenly saw that it was my fingernails and finger tips that I was scraping and scratching against the surface of the slate.
“How did this happen?” I cried out in pain, my fingers bled, their nails were almost gone, and the slate was blurred, scribbled on, and also scratched and covered in my bloody fingerprints.
“Is it beautiful?” I heard a distant voice. “Yes,” I answered bitterly, “It is beautiful. I love it!” I sat and stared at the slate, unable to do anything except wipe at it which simply made it spread more on me and the dust was making me cough. “Can I see it?” I heard that voice again. What a horrible notion! I was suddenly ashamed and holding the slate close I began to cry. My tears dripped onto the slate but I no longer cared.
“Is it beautiful?” I rose in anger toward this man. “I hate you! This is all your fault!” I screamed. I hurled the slate full force at Him and it struck Him in the forehead causing a gash and breaking the slate at the same time. I collapsed in my tears. My slate was disgusting, broken, unclean, and now my Father must be angry at me as well for I cut Him. Also I myself am dirty and bleeding and I have no more slate.
“Look at me.” The voice is so gently and kind that I am surprised, and I can not refuse. I look up at Him. “Can you help me?” I ask through tears. He too is crying, His head is bleeding, and He takes the blood from His wound and wipes it over the broken halves of my slate. “Don’t do that!” I shout, “You’re messing it up even more!” “My blood is the formula, I am cleaning your slate.” He answers. I see now that it is true and there are no stains on my slate. “What about me?” I ask looking down at my dirty self. My Father allows some of His blood to drip into a jar, He gives this to me. “This is yours, cleanse yourself with it.” I hold the jar in my hand, the formula, this is too good to be true.
My eyes are drawn to my broken slate now clean but still in halves. “But my slate is broken, Father, what about that?” “Can I have it?” “Father, you’re already holding it!” “May I have it?” “Of course, it’s no use to me, it’s broken, and I have no more chalk, take it, it’s yours. I never want to see it again.”
I am still not satisfied as I look at the formula and realize that it is all I have now. I don’t even know what to do with it. “You’re dirty, be clean.” I jump, can my Father even read my thoughts? “How?” I ask, “I have given you the formula.” He answers. I open the jar now, I can not stand how dirty I am anymore. I hesitate, “Why did you give me this?” I ask, “Because I love you.” A warmth washes over me, one part of me wants to leap for joy. “But I hurt you!” I reply. “Nothing you can say or do can make me love you more or less.” I step forward toward Him, wanting only to be wrapped in His arms. He steps back. “You must be clean.”
I look at the formula and I look at my Father. Is it worth it? Is He worth it? He said He loves me. I make my decision and I raise the jar and tilt it back, with my eyes closed I allow the formula to pour over my head and down my shoulders, all down my body. A fresh wave of pain passes through me like I am being scalded, it passes quickly though, leaving me feeling better than I have ever felt.
As I open my eyes I find myself in my Fathers embrace, “I’ve waited so long!” He cries as He holds me and I know that this is what He wanted all along. At long last we hold each other at arms length and simply look at each other, I do not know how long that we looked at each other, but was perfect. “I have something for you.” He hands me a new slate.
“But Father, I messed up the first time. What if I do that again?” He hands me a new piece of chalk and answers, “If you mess up, ask me, I’ll clean your slate again. If you run out of chalk again, I’ll give you more. You have nothing to worry about, you are lacking in nothing. Now draw, only this time, lets do it together, look at me, listen to me, draw me.”
I took my new slate and began to draw a portrait of my Father.
I took the slate and chalk. At first I made some nice little doodles, at first I asked my Father how to draw certain things, occasionally He would point out something wrong in my picture and give me a special formula to wipe it clean.
Then I began to wonder, what was wrong with what I made? How hard could this drawing thing be? Why did I even need help? I realized that I liked what I’d made in error. Then I stopped accepting my Fathers special formula. “I think I can handle this on my own.” I said. I stopped asking Him for help and I stopped listening to His instructions. “This is easy, I can so do it by myself.” I said to Him and I turned my back on Him and I walked away.
I started to have fun with my chalk and slate. I drew all sorts of things, soon the entire slate was covered and I no longer had any room on it. I felt a tap on my shoulder “Is it beautiful?” I heard Him ask. I quickly walked away and did not look at my Father. I tried to wipe the slate clean to start over, but I got chalk dust all over my hands. Not only did the dust not come off the slate but it smeared worse and then it was all over my hands. I wiped it onto my clothing but then it was all over my clothes. I felt a tap on my shoulder. “Is it beautiful?” I hear Him say.
I was angry by that time. “Stay away from me!” I said. I walked away again and again. I did not look at my Father. The slate was blurry, and the chalk dust was all over my body. I became even more angry, how could this happen to me? I began to draw over the chalk blurs but it was not at all how I wanted it to look.
I realized that I did not even know what I was drawing, yet I kept scribbling furiously until I had no chalk left. I suddenly saw that it was my fingernails and finger tips that I was scraping and scratching against the surface of the slate.
“How did this happen?” I cried out in pain, my fingers bled, their nails were almost gone, and the slate was blurred, scribbled on, and also scratched and covered in my bloody fingerprints.
“Is it beautiful?” I heard a distant voice. “Yes,” I answered bitterly, “It is beautiful. I love it!” I sat and stared at the slate, unable to do anything except wipe at it which simply made it spread more on me and the dust was making me cough. “Can I see it?” I heard that voice again. What a horrible notion! I was suddenly ashamed and holding the slate close I began to cry. My tears dripped onto the slate but I no longer cared.
“Is it beautiful?” I rose in anger toward this man. “I hate you! This is all your fault!” I screamed. I hurled the slate full force at Him and it struck Him in the forehead causing a gash and breaking the slate at the same time. I collapsed in my tears. My slate was disgusting, broken, unclean, and now my Father must be angry at me as well for I cut Him. Also I myself am dirty and bleeding and I have no more slate.
“Look at me.” The voice is so gently and kind that I am surprised, and I can not refuse. I look up at Him. “Can you help me?” I ask through tears. He too is crying, His head is bleeding, and He takes the blood from His wound and wipes it over the broken halves of my slate. “Don’t do that!” I shout, “You’re messing it up even more!” “My blood is the formula, I am cleaning your slate.” He answers. I see now that it is true and there are no stains on my slate. “What about me?” I ask looking down at my dirty self. My Father allows some of His blood to drip into a jar, He gives this to me. “This is yours, cleanse yourself with it.” I hold the jar in my hand, the formula, this is too good to be true.
My eyes are drawn to my broken slate now clean but still in halves. “But my slate is broken, Father, what about that?” “Can I have it?” “Father, you’re already holding it!” “May I have it?” “Of course, it’s no use to me, it’s broken, and I have no more chalk, take it, it’s yours. I never want to see it again.”
I am still not satisfied as I look at the formula and realize that it is all I have now. I don’t even know what to do with it. “You’re dirty, be clean.” I jump, can my Father even read my thoughts? “How?” I ask, “I have given you the formula.” He answers. I open the jar now, I can not stand how dirty I am anymore. I hesitate, “Why did you give me this?” I ask, “Because I love you.” A warmth washes over me, one part of me wants to leap for joy. “But I hurt you!” I reply. “Nothing you can say or do can make me love you more or less.” I step forward toward Him, wanting only to be wrapped in His arms. He steps back. “You must be clean.”
I look at the formula and I look at my Father. Is it worth it? Is He worth it? He said He loves me. I make my decision and I raise the jar and tilt it back, with my eyes closed I allow the formula to pour over my head and down my shoulders, all down my body. A fresh wave of pain passes through me like I am being scalded, it passes quickly though, leaving me feeling better than I have ever felt.
As I open my eyes I find myself in my Fathers embrace, “I’ve waited so long!” He cries as He holds me and I know that this is what He wanted all along. At long last we hold each other at arms length and simply look at each other, I do not know how long that we looked at each other, but was perfect. “I have something for you.” He hands me a new slate.
“But Father, I messed up the first time. What if I do that again?” He hands me a new piece of chalk and answers, “If you mess up, ask me, I’ll clean your slate again. If you run out of chalk again, I’ll give you more. You have nothing to worry about, you are lacking in nothing. Now draw, only this time, lets do it together, look at me, listen to me, draw me.”
I took my new slate and began to draw a portrait of my Father.
Me
In the fathomless dark, no one knew that there was anyone there. If anyone looked into the darkness they couldn’t see anything and no one dared to enter there.
This place was one of shame and pain. The sort of place where everyone threw whatever they wanted to be rid of. This place reminded one of what they wanted most to forget.
When I looked into the darkness I saw nothing but felt cold, fear, loneliness and pain come leaping out at me. I knew that could not come from nowhere; someone was the source of such deep emotion.
I listened and looked, with no clues, but that deep emotion. Finally I heard a cry; it was small, muffled under what others had piled atop it for years. But it was unmistakable; someone was in there.
Sometimes I would call to her, letting her know someone cared.
I heard no answer, and wondered if -though I could hear her - could she hear me?
The voice murmured as though in sleep and all it said was: "Help!" She didn’t want to be in there, but couldn’t come out on her own; she didn't know how, she did not know there was any other way.
I shone my light therein and its beam landed upon a child, she was asleep, but as my beam fell across her face, she awoke. She was covered in debris others had thrown in; I dug her out and brought her out to live with me in the light.
Since we've been together she has been able to help me in my new rescues, together we go back into the dark, hand in hand, and we awaken other sleepers.
Who knew that in the darkness slept one of such worth? I knew!
This place was one of shame and pain. The sort of place where everyone threw whatever they wanted to be rid of. This place reminded one of what they wanted most to forget.
When I looked into the darkness I saw nothing but felt cold, fear, loneliness and pain come leaping out at me. I knew that could not come from nowhere; someone was the source of such deep emotion.
I listened and looked, with no clues, but that deep emotion. Finally I heard a cry; it was small, muffled under what others had piled atop it for years. But it was unmistakable; someone was in there.
Sometimes I would call to her, letting her know someone cared.
I heard no answer, and wondered if -though I could hear her - could she hear me?
The voice murmured as though in sleep and all it said was: "Help!" She didn’t want to be in there, but couldn’t come out on her own; she didn't know how, she did not know there was any other way.
I shone my light therein and its beam landed upon a child, she was asleep, but as my beam fell across her face, she awoke. She was covered in debris others had thrown in; I dug her out and brought her out to live with me in the light.
Since we've been together she has been able to help me in my new rescues, together we go back into the dark, hand in hand, and we awaken other sleepers.
Who knew that in the darkness slept one of such worth? I knew!
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Maria and the Wall
There once was a little girl named Maria, she lived in a large house on top of a hill with many siblings and with their Father. Around the house was a wall on which Maria’s Father said never to play.
But Maria was a curious child, “Why would my Father tell me not to do something unless it was fun?” She did not know her Father well enough to know that He would never withhold any joy, fun, or love or any good thing from His children.
One day she climbed on top of the wall, she thought her Father was not watching but He was always watching. Maria had so much fun balancing on the wall that she decided to do it again the next day. Soon it became a regular thing.
Then there came a day when as Maria was playing on the wall she looked down the hill to a place where many strange and beautiful flowers were growing. “What is this place?” She wondered. Then she heard her Father call her name. “Maria? Where are you?” Maria did not want her Father to see her so close to the wall, and she knew that He would be able to tell that she had been at the wall even if she got down and went to Him, He just knew things like that.
Maria’s only escape was to the other side of the wall, it looked nice enough, so she leapt. She leapt from the place where she was close to her Father to a place she did not know.
Maria knew as soon as she landed that she had been tricked. The flowers were not flowers as all, but briars and they clung to her and tore her clothing and skin. She tried to run away but it was the same everywhere, she could not escape. She noticed as she looked closer at the wicked looking briars that they were all labeled. “Lies” said one, “Doubt” said another, “Hate”, “Loneliness”, “Fear”, and “Pride” were some more, there were too many to count.
“Maria!” She heard her name called again and she dropped to the ground covering her ears. She did not want to hear Him now. As she glanced up the hill at the wall from which she’d jumped she noticed for the first time that it too was labeled. “Compromise” it read.
Maria wept, she did not think she would ever be free. She did not want to call to her Father because she did not believe He cared. As she looked at the wall with tears in her eyes, she realized that she had to get back there. So she began to fight against the thorns. At first it seemed that the harder she fought the worse they clung, until she heard her Fathers voice once more. “I love you.” He said.
Maria could not believe this, at first but He said it over and over until it began to penetrate. “He loves me!” She shouted and a thorn loosened it’s hold on her arm. Noticing this Maria moved closer to the wall, up the hill. Another thorn clung to her, “He loves me!” She shouted and the thorn released it’s grip. Again she was able to move closer, then she heard the voice again. “You’re beautiful!”
She really could not believe that one. “No I’m not.” She said and more thorns clung to her. “No, I mean I am! I’m beautiful and He loves me!” The thorns let go. Seeing this Maria plunged ahead, up the hill shouting these truths and pushing thorns aside. Finally she reached the wall of Compromise. “Father, I’m back!” She called. “I believe you!” “Break through your compromise!” Came the answer. Maria backed up and began to slam the wall with her body again and again all the time shouting the truths her Father had told her. Dust fell from the wall and continued to fall, finally a brick fell. Maria was exhausted by now. “I cant do it.” she said. “I need help!” “Ask me” came her Fathers voice. “Help me Father. Help me to break through the wall of compromise, I can’t do this alone. I’m sorry.”
A sigh of relief came from the other side of the wall, or was it a sigh of satisfaction? “Finally.” Said the voice more to itself. Suddenly the wall shuddered and toppled, there was Maria’s Father, standing, holding his arms open, Maria ran, away from all the lies, all the doubt all the thorns, the briar. She left it and dove into her Fathers arms.
These thorns can not touch you when you are looking to the One who loves you, it’s almost as if truth is a force-field around you and cares and trials bounce off of you.
But Maria was a curious child, “Why would my Father tell me not to do something unless it was fun?” She did not know her Father well enough to know that He would never withhold any joy, fun, or love or any good thing from His children.
One day she climbed on top of the wall, she thought her Father was not watching but He was always watching. Maria had so much fun balancing on the wall that she decided to do it again the next day. Soon it became a regular thing.
Then there came a day when as Maria was playing on the wall she looked down the hill to a place where many strange and beautiful flowers were growing. “What is this place?” She wondered. Then she heard her Father call her name. “Maria? Where are you?” Maria did not want her Father to see her so close to the wall, and she knew that He would be able to tell that she had been at the wall even if she got down and went to Him, He just knew things like that.
Maria’s only escape was to the other side of the wall, it looked nice enough, so she leapt. She leapt from the place where she was close to her Father to a place she did not know.
Maria knew as soon as she landed that she had been tricked. The flowers were not flowers as all, but briars and they clung to her and tore her clothing and skin. She tried to run away but it was the same everywhere, she could not escape. She noticed as she looked closer at the wicked looking briars that they were all labeled. “Lies” said one, “Doubt” said another, “Hate”, “Loneliness”, “Fear”, and “Pride” were some more, there were too many to count.
“Maria!” She heard her name called again and she dropped to the ground covering her ears. She did not want to hear Him now. As she glanced up the hill at the wall from which she’d jumped she noticed for the first time that it too was labeled. “Compromise” it read.
Maria wept, she did not think she would ever be free. She did not want to call to her Father because she did not believe He cared. As she looked at the wall with tears in her eyes, she realized that she had to get back there. So she began to fight against the thorns. At first it seemed that the harder she fought the worse they clung, until she heard her Fathers voice once more. “I love you.” He said.
Maria could not believe this, at first but He said it over and over until it began to penetrate. “He loves me!” She shouted and a thorn loosened it’s hold on her arm. Noticing this Maria moved closer to the wall, up the hill. Another thorn clung to her, “He loves me!” She shouted and the thorn released it’s grip. Again she was able to move closer, then she heard the voice again. “You’re beautiful!”
She really could not believe that one. “No I’m not.” She said and more thorns clung to her. “No, I mean I am! I’m beautiful and He loves me!” The thorns let go. Seeing this Maria plunged ahead, up the hill shouting these truths and pushing thorns aside. Finally she reached the wall of Compromise. “Father, I’m back!” She called. “I believe you!” “Break through your compromise!” Came the answer. Maria backed up and began to slam the wall with her body again and again all the time shouting the truths her Father had told her. Dust fell from the wall and continued to fall, finally a brick fell. Maria was exhausted by now. “I cant do it.” she said. “I need help!” “Ask me” came her Fathers voice. “Help me Father. Help me to break through the wall of compromise, I can’t do this alone. I’m sorry.”
A sigh of relief came from the other side of the wall, or was it a sigh of satisfaction? “Finally.” Said the voice more to itself. Suddenly the wall shuddered and toppled, there was Maria’s Father, standing, holding his arms open, Maria ran, away from all the lies, all the doubt all the thorns, the briar. She left it and dove into her Fathers arms.
These thorns can not touch you when you are looking to the One who loves you, it’s almost as if truth is a force-field around you and cares and trials bounce off of you.
God and a Girl
The child lay on her bedroom floor shaking and terrified. She didn’t know what to do; all she knew was that once more she had fallen. Laura had been crippled since birth and now, at 15 years old all she wanted in the world was to be able to walk. She had lifted herself from her wheelchair for the umpteenth time that week unsuccessfully, and she once again battled that same painful discouragement.
“Why Father!?” She cried out to the Lord, “All my friends are ahead of me in so many ways and here I am stuck! They run and I sit! They dance and I sit! They stand and I sit! I’ve been waiting all my life to be healed and still…and still…” She wept bitterly.
Honestly Laura didn’t have friends, well, not real friends, she knew some people but they wouldn’t come over to her house or invite her to theirs, they would sit with her at lunch at school but they didn’t have the patience to walk at her pace.
Laura had battled this loneliness all of her life, some days were worse than others, but this day was the worst. Her mother, who had always been the one to take care of her had had a gotten in a car accident a week before and was in the hospital still in critical condition. Laura’s father had left when she was very young and she often blamed her crippled legs for that. So today, it was just Laura, and God; God and a girl.
Laura had come to the Lord only a year before this time and had ended up leading her mother to the Lord six months later, she loved everything about church, she loved to sing and to raise her hands in worship. She loved to whisper “Lord I trust you.” But something in her heart yearned to dance, to be like David who said “I’ll become even more undignified than this!” When his wife scoffed at his dancing before the Lord. Laura knew the Bible inside and out. She spent all her free time just praying and singing and studying her Bible.
But now, with this, Laura just felt so helpless. “Oh God, I’m sorry, I’m just so alone here, and it hurts to fall so many times, it hurts everywhere. But I know that you’re gonna heal my Mom, and I know that you’ll heal me too and make me able to walk. I trust you God, I really do trust you, only help me to trust you more!”
This time Laura didn’t pull herself back into the wheelchair, she simply lay on the ground, at the lowest point in her life, just hanging on to the hope that had once brought her to the Lord, the hope that this God was who He said He was, that He was a Healer, and that He was good.
“Laura!” Her head jerked, she must’ve fallen asleep! “Who is it?” She asked still on the floor, “It your Father.” Laura wiggled her finger in her ear, “Who is it?” she asked again not sure she’d heard right. “It’s me, your Father.” Said the voice again. “No, you aren’t, you can’t be! What are you doing here?” “I heard you calling. I heard your cries, I saw your tears. I know you’ve been trying all week to walk, it’s not going so well for you, is it?”
By now Laura’s mind was reeling, she couldn’t see him, but she could hear his voice, still it didn’t sound like her father, yet it did sound so familiar. “What’s your name?” She asked; to test this one who called himself her father. “That’s not so important right now, my dear. What matters to me right now is you! Are you ready to walk?” Suddenly it hit Laura like a lightening bolt, “You’re the Lord!” She cried in surprise. She heard a chuckle, “You called!” He answered.
“I know but, since when do you come? Since when do I hear you? I’ve spent a year talking to you but you never talk back!”
“Oh Laura, all this time I’ve been talking to you, but you don’t listen.” It was the kindest correction that she had ever heard.
“I’m sorry.” She said, “I know.” He said.
A thought occurred to her, “Why do I hear you now?” “Because it’s time.” Laura was puzzled, “time for what?” “Time to show you just how much I really love you.” Laura was even more puzzled, “God-” “I like it when you call me Father, or even Daddy.” “Uh, Daddy, why am I like this? Why am I on the ground unable to get up and all my friends are able to run? Why am I the one who was born like this if you really love me?” “Oh Laura, it’s not about why, it’s about what; what am I trying to teach you? What is really going on? What can you allow this to develop in you? What can you learn in any situation, and you are learning, you are learning to trust me.”
“I’m trying!” Tears came to Laura’s eyes as she thought about how many times she’d forced herself, in her loneliness and her pain to say those simple words, ‘I trust you’.
“Don’t try anymore Laura, are you ready to walk?”
“Of course I’m ready to walk, Father! Oh, you really are good!”
“Walk on my legs my daughter.”
Laura woke up, her disappointment was very real when she found herself sitting in her wheelchair, she looked at her legs and they looked the same. With a wail of anguish Laura realized it had all been a dream; what was she thinking?! “You’ll never walk!” She heard her mouth say “You’ll always be sitting in this wheelchair; you’ll probably walk down the isle in it! If you ever get married, which isn’t likely…” She cried hard now and did not stop for a while; all she could think of was her constant companion, that wretched wheelchair. But wait!
Laura sat up, “How did I get back in my wheelchair?” Her heart began to beat fast, did she dare hope again? What if she fell again? But what if she didn’t?
Once more Laura carefully placed her hands on the handles of her chair “Walk on my legs my daughter.” His words returned to her and she offered up a simple prayer “Daddy, I trust you, you are a Healer, you are good. I’m walking on your legs from now on.” And up from the wheelchair she arose. And a marvelous wonderful thing happened that day, Laura took two tiny steps before she fell, but this time it was not with discouragement but with great joy that she found herself on the floor again, for Laura knew that she was healed!
It took the rest of the day for Laura’s legs to get used to walking, and imagine the surprise when the kindly neighbor came to the door to give her some food for dinner. Laura simply threw her head back and laughed “I have new legs!” She explained with joy.
The next day she went to the hospital to visit her mother and tell her how the Lord had healed her. The doctors told Laura that though her mother couldn’t talk she could hear her and recognize her, and even understand what she was saying, it just wouldn’t look like she could.
But as Laura shared the amazing story with her mother another miracle happened; her mother began to laugh! This was only the beginning of another long healing process.
And this is how Laura came to know that the Lord is who He says He is and He is a Healer and He is good. Laura went on to take dance lessons and never stopped dancing before the Lord in worship. Certainly things weren’t always perfect, but Laura learned to say in every situation “I trust you.”
This is the story of God and a girl, and this could be your story too; for we are all crippled in some way and we have all fallen before, but when we learn what it is to walk with His legs we’ll then learn what it means trust. And when we ask what instead of why, we often will discover both. So know that He loves you and know that He cares, who knows when your turn will come to see how much He really loves you.
“Why Father!?” She cried out to the Lord, “All my friends are ahead of me in so many ways and here I am stuck! They run and I sit! They dance and I sit! They stand and I sit! I’ve been waiting all my life to be healed and still…and still…” She wept bitterly.
Honestly Laura didn’t have friends, well, not real friends, she knew some people but they wouldn’t come over to her house or invite her to theirs, they would sit with her at lunch at school but they didn’t have the patience to walk at her pace.
Laura had battled this loneliness all of her life, some days were worse than others, but this day was the worst. Her mother, who had always been the one to take care of her had had a gotten in a car accident a week before and was in the hospital still in critical condition. Laura’s father had left when she was very young and she often blamed her crippled legs for that. So today, it was just Laura, and God; God and a girl.
Laura had come to the Lord only a year before this time and had ended up leading her mother to the Lord six months later, she loved everything about church, she loved to sing and to raise her hands in worship. She loved to whisper “Lord I trust you.” But something in her heart yearned to dance, to be like David who said “I’ll become even more undignified than this!” When his wife scoffed at his dancing before the Lord. Laura knew the Bible inside and out. She spent all her free time just praying and singing and studying her Bible.
But now, with this, Laura just felt so helpless. “Oh God, I’m sorry, I’m just so alone here, and it hurts to fall so many times, it hurts everywhere. But I know that you’re gonna heal my Mom, and I know that you’ll heal me too and make me able to walk. I trust you God, I really do trust you, only help me to trust you more!”
This time Laura didn’t pull herself back into the wheelchair, she simply lay on the ground, at the lowest point in her life, just hanging on to the hope that had once brought her to the Lord, the hope that this God was who He said He was, that He was a Healer, and that He was good.
“Laura!” Her head jerked, she must’ve fallen asleep! “Who is it?” She asked still on the floor, “It your Father.” Laura wiggled her finger in her ear, “Who is it?” she asked again not sure she’d heard right. “It’s me, your Father.” Said the voice again. “No, you aren’t, you can’t be! What are you doing here?” “I heard you calling. I heard your cries, I saw your tears. I know you’ve been trying all week to walk, it’s not going so well for you, is it?”
By now Laura’s mind was reeling, she couldn’t see him, but she could hear his voice, still it didn’t sound like her father, yet it did sound so familiar. “What’s your name?” She asked; to test this one who called himself her father. “That’s not so important right now, my dear. What matters to me right now is you! Are you ready to walk?” Suddenly it hit Laura like a lightening bolt, “You’re the Lord!” She cried in surprise. She heard a chuckle, “You called!” He answered.
“I know but, since when do you come? Since when do I hear you? I’ve spent a year talking to you but you never talk back!”
“Oh Laura, all this time I’ve been talking to you, but you don’t listen.” It was the kindest correction that she had ever heard.
“I’m sorry.” She said, “I know.” He said.
A thought occurred to her, “Why do I hear you now?” “Because it’s time.” Laura was puzzled, “time for what?” “Time to show you just how much I really love you.” Laura was even more puzzled, “God-” “I like it when you call me Father, or even Daddy.” “Uh, Daddy, why am I like this? Why am I on the ground unable to get up and all my friends are able to run? Why am I the one who was born like this if you really love me?” “Oh Laura, it’s not about why, it’s about what; what am I trying to teach you? What is really going on? What can you allow this to develop in you? What can you learn in any situation, and you are learning, you are learning to trust me.”
“I’m trying!” Tears came to Laura’s eyes as she thought about how many times she’d forced herself, in her loneliness and her pain to say those simple words, ‘I trust you’.
“Don’t try anymore Laura, are you ready to walk?”
“Of course I’m ready to walk, Father! Oh, you really are good!”
“Walk on my legs my daughter.”
Laura woke up, her disappointment was very real when she found herself sitting in her wheelchair, she looked at her legs and they looked the same. With a wail of anguish Laura realized it had all been a dream; what was she thinking?! “You’ll never walk!” She heard her mouth say “You’ll always be sitting in this wheelchair; you’ll probably walk down the isle in it! If you ever get married, which isn’t likely…” She cried hard now and did not stop for a while; all she could think of was her constant companion, that wretched wheelchair. But wait!
Laura sat up, “How did I get back in my wheelchair?” Her heart began to beat fast, did she dare hope again? What if she fell again? But what if she didn’t?
Once more Laura carefully placed her hands on the handles of her chair “Walk on my legs my daughter.” His words returned to her and she offered up a simple prayer “Daddy, I trust you, you are a Healer, you are good. I’m walking on your legs from now on.” And up from the wheelchair she arose. And a marvelous wonderful thing happened that day, Laura took two tiny steps before she fell, but this time it was not with discouragement but with great joy that she found herself on the floor again, for Laura knew that she was healed!
It took the rest of the day for Laura’s legs to get used to walking, and imagine the surprise when the kindly neighbor came to the door to give her some food for dinner. Laura simply threw her head back and laughed “I have new legs!” She explained with joy.
The next day she went to the hospital to visit her mother and tell her how the Lord had healed her. The doctors told Laura that though her mother couldn’t talk she could hear her and recognize her, and even understand what she was saying, it just wouldn’t look like she could.
But as Laura shared the amazing story with her mother another miracle happened; her mother began to laugh! This was only the beginning of another long healing process.
And this is how Laura came to know that the Lord is who He says He is and He is a Healer and He is good. Laura went on to take dance lessons and never stopped dancing before the Lord in worship. Certainly things weren’t always perfect, but Laura learned to say in every situation “I trust you.”
This is the story of God and a girl, and this could be your story too; for we are all crippled in some way and we have all fallen before, but when we learn what it is to walk with His legs we’ll then learn what it means trust. And when we ask what instead of why, we often will discover both. So know that He loves you and know that He cares, who knows when your turn will come to see how much He really loves you.
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