it's a funny thing . . .

It causes small children to refuse to stay with babysitters, sleep in their own beds, or turn out the lights.

It keeps pets from ripping up couch cushions, causing ruckuses, and relieving themselves on the carpets.

It holds students to paper deadlines, causes them to stay up all hours of the night to finish studying for a test or to complete a project, and forces them to cram their brains with (sometimes useless) piles of information about which they would normally not give a fig.

It binds people to occupations where they are unhappy, ties them to places they hate, and encourages them to keep their mouths shut and their heads down.

It exalts the status quo, warns against differences, and paints a dreary picture of the future.  It jeopardizes relationships,  flings uncertainty into sound minds, and sends even the most secure individual into a tailspin.  It denies that love exists, and refuses to believe anything that cannot be seen.

Fear.

It is one of the strongest powers in the universe.  It manipulates our decisions, dictates our daily lives, and controls our relationships.
And we allow it.

BUT . . .
"God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind."

Our God, Who loves us with a perfect, sacrificial love, offers us the chance to live fearlessly.
"There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear . . ."

Fear has been vanquished by Perfect Love.  Fear is dead; Jesus is alive!

Which master will we choose to serve-- the Living, or the dead?

Date Night

I really was happy for her.

I wasn't lying, either. I didn't feel jealous of Alissa, that she was going and I wasn't, that she got asked and I didn't. It wouldn't have been the same, anyway, and we both knew it. Without Tom, the two of us together would have been awkward and sad, a long silence stretching on into what felt like eternity.
Well, that's what started this, I guess—eternity. One of us got called, and the other two got left behind.
Oh, Tommy, Tommy, why couldn't you have waited till I felt less like a child? Why couldn't you have waited until I felt solid ground beneath my feet instead of the shifting mire that's been our life? Why, Tommy?

Some questions are meant to be unanswered forever.

"How do I look?" Alissa asked, smoothing her dress over her stomach and hips. I smiled.
"Beautiful," I told her, lifting the camera I held and snapping a photo. She laughed, her beautiful smile sending shockwaves through the whispering sunset hour.
"No, really, Madison, how do I look?"
"Gorgeous," I said, lowering the camera. "Simply gorgeous." A mist came over my eyes, and it was hard to see her standing under the small tree, the breeze lifting her wavy brown hair away from her flushed cheeks. "You look absolutely gorgeous."
"Thanks," she murmured, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. "Maddie, I—"
"Liss, Tommy would have been proud." The words spilt out in a rush before I could stop them, and as I clapped my hand over my mouth, I saw Alissa's eyes fill with tears.
"Really?" she whispered, her voice broken. I nodded hard, swiping at my eyes.
"Really really. Liss, you're beautiful—inside, too." And as I watched, my little sister stood there in her gown and makeup and high heels and cried. I put the camera down and stepped toward her, my arms out, but she shook her head.
"It'll make it worse," she sobbed. "It'll make it so much worse." Gasping, she dabbed at her eyes, trying to stop the tears from mingling with the mascara. "I miss him so bad," she gasped. "So so bad—especially on days like this."
"Special days," I murmured, patting her back. She nodded.
"Yeah—special days." Her expression changing, she turned toward me. "It isn't right!" she cried. "It isn't right that Tommy should have to miss this! Maddie, why—"
"Hush, baby," I said, taking her in my arms. "Hush now. 'Why's don't help. It only makes it worse. We can't know why."
"I wanna," she whispered, her voice muffled against my shoulder. "I wanna know why." She started crying again, and I rocked, back and forth, back and forth. I closed my eyes, fighting my own tears.
Tommy, look what you've done to us. How am I supposed to get her through this? You were always the strong one, the one who was there to fix the problem and dry the tears. I can't do this, Tommy!

As always, nothing broke into the suffering.

Liss pulled away, sniffling and dabbing at a few stray tears. She laughed, her voice shaky.
"How do I look now, Maddie?" I smoothed back her hair and smiled at her.
"Beautiful as always." Her lips trembled, but she managed to smile.
"Thanks," she whispered, hugging me again. As she let go, I heard someone call her name, and saw her eyes illuminate. "Mel!" she called, lifting one hand. I turned, shading my eyes with one hand, and watched the tall, handsome young man cross the yard to us. When he arrived, he was grinning broadly, but looked nervous.
"Hi, Alissa," he said, his grin growing. She smiled up at him, her face glowing. He turned to me and extended one hand. "Hello, Madison," he managed, his voice catching. I shook his hand, trying not to laugh.
"Hi, Mel. What time do you need to leave here?"
"Six-thirty," he told me, his smile returning. I nodded.
"And it's about six right now, hm? Want me to take some photos of you two?" Mel's eyes glowed and he handed me a camera.
"Oh, that'd be great! Well, if you don't mind . . ." I waved off his protests and stepped away from him and Alissa. He moved in close to her, settling an arm around her shoulders, and smiled down at her.
"Perfect," I whispered, snapping the photo. Alissa raised adoring eyes to meet his gaze, and I moved a little to my left, zooming in to catch their expressions.
For the next half-hour, I followed my baby sister and her date around the yard behind our dorm, over the campus to the apple grove, back across campus to the gardens, and even to their car, capturing every move they made and every glance they exchanged. With every camera snap, though, I felt a growing knot within my stomach.
Tommy, Liss already said it. It's not right that you should miss this. Oh, Tommy . . .

What else was there to say?

As Mel opened the car door for Alissa, I noticed the dozens of other couples taking last-minute photos and getting into their cars. For a moment, I stood and watched them, mesmerized by the colors and the grace of their movements. A sudden sharp pain in my chest took my breath away, and I dropped my eyes to the ground. I heard the car door shut, and I fought to breathe, knowing I had to make it one more minute. Mel came around the car and shook my hand again.
"Thanks for letting me take Alissa tonight," he told me, his eyes warm. I smiled—a real smile—at him and nodded.
"I know you'll have fun and be safe," I said, handing over his camera. Mel's nervousness seemed to melt away and he smiled, too.
"Take care, Madison," he said as he got into the car. I stepped back and waved as they drove away. After they turned the corner, out of sight, I started back toward the dorms. The tears were threatening to choke me, but I fought them off.
"Just a few more minutes," I whispered to myself. I passed other couples, hurrying toward their cars, their voices lifted in happy chatter. Suddenly, as I began to cross the commons, I heard my name.
"Hey, Maddie." I lifted my eyes to see who was speaking to me.
"Oh—Josh." My voice was flat, but I couldn't help it. I shook my head and forced a smile. "How are you?" I tried again. It must have worked because he smiled at me.
"I'm good, I'm good—just having fun watching everything, you know." I laughed, the sound brittle in my ears. Suddenly his eyes searched my face, a smirk on his lips, and he crossed his arms. "Why aren't you going, Maddie? Didn't anyone ask you?" His words left me speechless, and I groped for an answer. What should I even say to that?
Actually, my dead brother was going to take me and my sister.
Oh, I had a date; he just had an unexpected death, that's all.
Well, I had plans, just sometimes things get in the way—oh, you know, like death.
Yeah, someone asked me. Then he got a better offer.
My head spun until I couldn't see anything. I dropped to my knees and heard my own voice moan.
"Maddie? Maddie, what is it?" Josh's voice floated in and out, and I shook my head.
"Josh, what're you doing?" Another guy—it was Pete. I closed my eyes, willing the earth to stop moving.
"Gee—all I said was, 'Didn't you get asked?' and she just kinda . . . fell."
"Idiot!" Pete's voice was hushed as he said, "Couldn't you see she didn't get asked?" I buried my face in my hands, my chest heaving, knowing only one thing.
I am going to be sick.
Oh no no no no no no—not here, please not here, not now . . .
Just as a new group of people came into earshot, though, I felt my stomach heave. Right there on the commons, in front of a bevy of couples all dressed up for an evening out, I puked all over the freshly mowed grass.
"Oh, man," I heard a hushed female voice say. "Do you think that splattered?" I gagged, trying to force the taste out of my mouth, and felt Pete patting my back.
"Maddie? You okay?" I wiped my mouth with my hand, then scraped my hand along a clean patch of grass.
"Yeah. I'll be fine."
"Listen, Maddie, Josh and I had plans to go out to O'Malley's, get some dinner, maybe hang out and walk around the Square. You should come along." I could hear the concern in his voice, and for a moment, I was grateful. Then my bubbling rage took over before I could thank him.
"Stop being idiotic!" I shouted, scrambling to my feet and pushing him away. "I'm not upset over the stupid formal!" I saw his eyes widen and his mouth start to open in an answer, but I cut him off. "Tommy was going to take me and Liss, okay? And without him—well, it just wouldn't be the same. It'd be no use trying to make it the same. Tommy's dead, Pete; he's dead! Just leave me alone, okay?!?" Pete's face went white, and I shook my head hard. I saw Josh, pale and frozen beside Pete, and I couldn't bear to look at them a moment longer. Dropping my eyes, I brushed past Josh and sprinted up the stairs toward my dorm. I thought I heard someone call my name, but I ignored it and kept running. Only when I had slammed my room door behind me did I stop running.
Tommy, why did it have to be you?!? Why couldn't it have been any other one of those guys in your car—someone who deserved it, who'd actually been drinking?!? Why did it have to be you? Why didn't they listen when you said to slow down? Tommy, why would God let this happen to you, to Liss—to me? I can't understand it!

I sank to the floor, hugging my knees close to my chest and sobbing into my arms. His sweater on my body still smelled like him, though, and the scent pushed me further into grief.

Oh, Tommy. Oh, God. God, God, God, God, God.

Help me.

And I think, that night, He did.

It'd been so long since I'd hurt bad enough to pray, so long since I knew that God had something I needed. Every since Tommy had died, I'd pretended I didn't know God existed. It was easier to ask why of an impotent, ignorant Fate than it was of an all-powerful, all-knowing God. I just couldn't understand how God—Who said He loved me enough to die for me, Who made me and my brother and my sister—how this God could then so cruelly do nothing to stop my brother's death. There was no good answer to my why . . . so I just stopped asking. It was when I broke enough to stop caring about the answer that I finally woke up in the peace of my Jesus.

Hey—it's been a long time since we talked . . . and I'm really, really sorry about that . . .

Dusk had fallen in deep purple shadows over my dorm room when the phone rang. I opened my eyes and stood up from where I still sat, leaning against the door, resting my arms on my knees. Clearing my throat, I picked up the phone.
"Hello?" A long pause greeted me, then a guy cleared his throat.
"Maddie?"
"Yes."
"Maddie, it's . . . it's Pete." He stopped, as if expecting me to slam down the receiver. When I didn't, he coughed and continued. "Maddie, I just wanted to say we—Josh and me—well, I'm sorry about earlier. I should know you better than to think that you would get so worked up over something . . . well, over something so silly. I guess—well, I guess I wanted to say that I know you're a lot deeper than that, and I'm sorry for making a stupid assumption." The phone line was silent for a long moment, but I waited, feeling like he wasn't finished. "And Maddie?" His voice was so small, I could barely believe it belonged to the same Pete I knew. "I'm sorry about your brother," he finished, sounding stricken. Swallowing hard, I closed my eyes.

Thanks, God . . .

"Thanks, Pete," I mumbled, my voice feeling thick. "And . . . well, it wasn't your fault that I blew up. I was just . . . just so sad, and so hurt, and you were the first one around, and—"
"Hey, Maddie?" he broke in. "Forgive me?" I felt a smile grow on my face.
"Yes. Hey, Pete?"
"Yeah, Maddie."
"Forgive me, too?"
"Of course. Hey, I wasn't kidding about tonight. Josh and I are going out to O'Malley's. It's really clear out tonight, Maddie, and the stars are beautiful. You know what they say about the Square on clear nights."
"'Watch the stars bring your wishes true.'"
"Yeah. Hey, I don't believe in wishes, only God, but it's still awesome to just sit out under a sky like this. You should come with us." I smiled, cradling the phone as if it was a treasure.
"Thanks, Pete. I'd really like that."
"Meet you on the commons in ten minutes?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I'll be out." As I hung up the phone, I hugged my arms against my body.

Tommy, it's not the same without you here, not by any stretch of the imagination, but I think we'll be okay.

I closed my eyes, picturing Liss's smile, Mel's trembling hands, Josh's tousled hair, and Pete's kind eyes.

Yeah, Tommy. We'll be fine here. You just enjoy what you've got there.

I took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly.

God? I think the pain is better than pretending everything's okay.
Yeah. It is. I don't just think that, actually—I know. It's when I admit I hurt, God, that I can give in and run to You for comfort.
So thanks . . . for never letting me down . . .

magic

Stardust
     in every breath
Moonlight's ghostly, hovering omnipresence
       The soothing crash of the sea
  His eyes
            Hers

             A glance
  A moment
       An aching hope
                    . . . magic

snow day

Klick-klack-klick.

            I give up on the bright screen and tapping keys and get up and shut off the lights.

                        Click.

As I open my blinds, I catch sigh of snow falling, visible in the lights of the parking lot.

            Ohhh.

                        For a moment, I watch, and dream—of easier days, of happier times, of the future, of the immediate possibility of a snow day.

But no.

            It’s not a heavy enough snow.

But still . . . I hope and wish and pray that at least we will have a delay and I will not have to sit through my most-dreaded class and think, “I could be studying or finishing a paper right now.”

                        It snows.

                                    I sleep.

                                                And maybe, tomorrow, I’ll wake up . . .

                                                                                                                happy.

God Save the King

            Dorchester, July 22, 1776

To the editor of the ‘New England Chronicle’

Sir:

After receiving and reading the July 18 issue of your Publication, I found it necessary to express my utter disapproval of the decision to include a Printing of the so titled ‘Declaration of Independence.’  Knowing of the publication of this Document some days past, I perused it with some interest, having decided beforehand to read with all the Fairness and Openness of mind I could muster.  Let me inform you, sir, I am neither Strengthened nor Inspired after reading this document.  Instead, I find myself thoroughly disgusted not only with its content, but with the audacity and shamelessness of its authors and signers.

To begin, this document purposes the destruction of our Beloved English systems of Religion and Trade.  To separate our Colonies from the Civil Authority of our Gracious King should only tear our Anglican Church away from its proper Foundation.  It is a boldfaced move to wrench the governing of the Church from the Rightful Ruling of the Archbishop and Authority of the Monarch, and to place it in hands undeserving.  Furthermore, such a split from the Mother Country should strike a grave blow to our Colonies’ current Trade and Economic Well Being.  Separation would lead us to forfeit any and all Trade we now enjoy with Her– a grave mistake, and one that must be of utmost concern to any Tradesman or Merchant.  It is, sir, absolute lunacy and blasphemy. 

Secondly, this document insists upon the Right of Man to overthrow and replace his Government whenever he so pleases.  The authors would shore up this claim with accusations that our Monarch has long abused his Power over us– nonsense, I say.  It is the Duty and Honor of Colonies of the Mother Country to support Her in Her time of need, and to do so Cheerfully and Willingly.  Whether this Support be given through taxes, housing of the Military, or other Contributions, as Citizens we are bound and blessed to fulfill this our Christian Duty.  Furthermore, I ask you, what are we told in the Holy Scriptures, but to Obey and Submit to all Authorities over us?  In his Epistle to the Romans, St. Paul does write, ‘Let every Soul be subject unto the higher Powers.  For there is no Power but of God: the Powers that be are ordained of God.  Whosoever therefore resisteth the Power, resisteth the Ordinance of God: and they that resist shall receive to themselves Damnation.’  Let the authors of this perverse and rebellious ‘Declaration’ take to heart these words of Christ through the Apostle, and let them be warned of the ruin they claim for themselves, so that they may turn unto repentance and once again kiss the hand of our most Gracious Monarch.

As a closing point, call to recollection the ‘Commonwealth,’ as it was named, that was set up one-hundred and twenty-seven years past in our Mother Country.  This ‘Commonwealth’ purposed to be a long-ruling Republic under no Monarch, yet it lasted for fewer than thirty years.  The failure of this body of Government is a clear sign that no Authoritative Republic, or the even baser Democracy, or any form of Government which places all power in the hands of the Citizens, shall ever permanently endure.  This ‘Declaration,’ and its surrounding Rebellion as well, shall soon burn out its fury, and even its blasphemous, treasonous authors shall humbly restore their Loyalty to our Monarch, his Majesty King George III.

In the future, sir, I hope that your Judgment concerning the Publishing of such faddish documents in your Publication shall be much Improved.  May you as well receive the warning of St. Paul to the Romans and even unto us, and may you soon Repent of your poor decision in the Printing of such a thoroughly ridiculous document.

I do remain, Loyal Citizen of England, Subject of His Gracious Majesty King George III, King of Great Britain, France and Ireland, Defender of the Faith, etc., etc.

Francis M. Stewart, Esq.

A Sweatshirt Conversation

            "You're pregnant?!?" I spluttered. "By whom?" She turned toward me, her eyes gleaming with fury, like a cat's.

            "My boyfriend," she snapped. Her mouth twisted. "Who'd you think?" Finding her glare frightening, I shook my head and backed away, mumbling excuses. Her eyes gleamed more brightly and she barked out a laugh. "My God; I'm a live-in, not a slut." I cringed at the words she used to describe herself.

            "Don't say that."

            "It's true." Turning away, she grabbed her sweatshirt and shrugged into it, yanking the sleeves over her hands and arms.

            "Why?" As the question burst from my mouth, she froze, the sweatshirt hanging off one shoulder.

            "Why what?"

            "Why do you do that to yourself?" Slowly she drew the sweatshirt over her shoulder and zipped it up. Her fingers lingered on the zipper and seemed reluctant to let it go.

            "Sleep with him, you mean?" I nodded.

            "Yeah." Her eyes dropped to the floor and her body went limp. For a long moment she stood silent.

            "Because," she burst out. "Because he wants me."

            "Oh—" I reached toward her, but she yanked away.

            "No!" she shouted. "No, don't tell me you understand! I can't even explain it! Just . . . he wants me. He wants me." She repeated the phrase, her voice small and childlike, as if trying to reassure herself. Her fingers twisted with the chain of her silver necklace.

            "Does he want all of you?" I asked in a soft voice. "Or just your body?" Her head jerked up and she stared at me in trembling, wide-eyed silence. I saw her swallow and lick her lips.

            "Maybe," she whispered. "Maybe it's easier to be wanted for something I can give. Maybe it's easier to do that than to be beautiful and good." Before she turned her face away, I saw the tears running down her face. For a long moment, she stared away from me. My gaze drifted over her frame, lingering on the soft curve of her stomach, and I felt a stinging in my eyes. I rubbed my fingers across my face.

            "What are you going to do?" My voice came out in a whisper as well; I felt afraid that too loud a tone would shatter her into a million tiny shards. She swiped at her face with her sleeve and shook her head.

            "I don't know. Move to a cheaper apartment. Get a better job. Something." She pulled her sweatshirt tight around her body and shivered. "Not much else I can do." Her hand rested on her belly for a moment, then her mouth twisted in a smirk and she glanced into my eyes. "My moral code doesn't allow many options." Her eyes flashed, daring me to challenge her, then she glanced away, staring into the distance.

            "Anything I can do? Can I take you somewhere, help you out somehow?"

            "No. Nobody can do anything."

            "You could leave him." She laughed, the same harsh, cold sound.

            "Can't.

            "Why not?" She turned sad eyes to me and tried to smile.

            "If you can't understand, I can't make you." She shrugged, pushing her hands deep into her sweatshirt pockets. "I've got to go. See you later, I guess." Head down, she shuffled away, her gait slower than her years dictated.

            As I watched her, I felt grief swell in my throat. I wanted to call her name, to run after her, to hug her, to save her. But I did understand. And I knew that the wall she'd built in an attempt to protect her truest, deepest self would not fall easily. And that—she was right—was not something anyone could change for her. I shifted my eyes away from her hunched body and tried to forget the desperation in her eyes . . .

My Lover

    I know no other kiss but His,
        The gentle drops of rain upon my lips.

His arms encircle me in the warmth of the sunshine,
    Holding me closely, tenderly, tightly.

    I am terrified, yet captivated, by the power of His wrath,
        Seen in the brilliant lightning, heard in the deafening thunder.

He glances at me through the beauty
    Of a drop of water on a pine branch, the stunning sunrise, the tiny twinkling stars.

    I feel Him finger the tendrils of my hair
        When the wind blows about me.

He breaks my heart with His longing for me,
    Glimpsed in the sensual light of the moon.

    I laugh at His smile,
        Which I see in the clouds flying by above me.

    He wraps my broken being close
        In the velvet blackness of the night.

Who is my Lover?

        You know; you've seen Him all these places.

Flirting

                        I offered her a ring.  It didn't

            mean anything; it was just a small, round piece of cheap pretty metal-- one of those vending machine rings that children wear.

                        I didn't expect her to take it, but she did-- reaching out her small brown hand and holding it between her fingertips.

            She turned the ring around and around, her head bowed over it, the ring shining in the gaps between her fingers.  My eyes caught on the metal, then lingered over her skin-- smooth and young, yet not soft;

tough from working,

            brown from sunshine,

                        used to life.

My fingers wondered what her hands felt like.

                        In a moment she had examined the ring, and she was handing it back.  I felt

            disappointed; with surprise, I found I'd wanted her to keep it, and discovered I'd hoped she'd put it on her finger.

           

                        "Too small," she explained, as if she could read my mind.  I smiled and slipped the ring back into my pocket as she matched my smile

            and sank back into her chair.  She looked relaxed, tired, happy-- her body melting into her sweatshirt and the cushion of the chair around her.  She curled up sideways in the chair,

            her hair falling over one side of her face, her ankles crossed, her feet dangling over the arm of the chair.  Pushing her hair back behind her ear, she glanced at me with warm eyes.

                        I didn't have any words to say; I just enjoyed watching her.

            I felt like a biologist, sitting silent in the forest, watching the creature he's devoted his life to studying slip through its natural habitat.

                        "You know, if you had taken it," I said, referencing the ring, "You'd have had to marry me."

            Her mouth and eyes opened in small circles, then her eyes crinkled and she laughed.

                        "It's a very good thing it didn't fit, then," she replied, her voice light.  I glanced in her eyes, feeling the heat of embarrassment cover me, and saw a flash of something,

            an emotion that didn't match her tone.  Dropping her eyes, she shifted her body and the subject, asking about homework and family and life.  Automatically, I answered her, and we talked for what felt like

            just a few minutes.

But when I finally looked at the clock, hours had passed.

                        I didn't think much about the ring-- or her-- in the next few days; I saw her infrequently, at meals, or in the hallways on her way to class.

            She always smiled.

                        But hen, today, she passed me, her arms empty for once, and her eyes crinkled the way they had that night.

            I glanced at her hands.

They met each other, the fingers of her right hand twisting the ring from her father that she always wore on her left hand.

                        I felt my mouth and eyes open in small circles, and I, startled, jerked my gaze to her face.

            Her lips curved and she dropped her eyes, her feet never slowing.

Before I recovered, she had disappeared around the corner, down the next hallway.

                        I was almost late for class.

           But now, now, burning inside me, is the urgent question demanding an answer.

                                                And I have no defense or reply to it.

Big Blue

I saw a blue heron today.

He was in the pond shallows, standing among ducks, preening himself.

I wonder if he knew how out of place he looked.

There, swimming around him, with their short squat necks and legs and bodies, were ducks and ducks. One was white, but most of them were mallards or wood ducks.
And there stood the heron, serene amongst their small quarrels and spats.

He knew I was there.
I was not aware of his presence until I was halfway down the hill. When I glimpsed his slender body and elongated neck, I sat down where I stood, without thinking about who saw me or how I looked.
I just sat.

For a moment, we were both still, his head turned to one side, one eye appearing to be fixed upon me. I took a bite of my apple and chewed, hoping that he would stay where he was. After a moment, he went back to his preening. I watched as his long bill chewed at and teased the feathers on his throat, over and over. It seemed to make no difference in his appearance, but he moved systematically down his body, smoothing a feather here, ruffling the feathers in another area. I inched my way down the hill, closer to the pond. At times, he would catch my movement out of the corner of his eyes, and once again he would freeze, staring at me. Little by little, though, I came close enough that if I had wanted, I could have hit him with my apple core. I dropped the core into the bushes and stood, my hands in my pockets, just watching the large bird. For some reason, I wanted to be closer to him. I had a flash of how it would feel to hunt an animal, and I breathed thanks that I did not need to kill for my next meal. Slowly, I crept down a path near the pond until I could go no farther in the bushes. Then I stood still, watching and thinking and memorizing.

The ducks remained oblivious to my presence, but when I looked at the heron, I knew he knew I was there. He curved his neck, making a deep noise within his throat. It seemed like a warning, but whether it was to me, or the ducks around him was a mystery. As I stared at the heron, I wondered where he had come from, and where he was going. I wanted to know what his voice sounded like, how he looked when he swam, how he took off from the water, and if he tucked up his legs when he flew. I almost wanted to frighten him so he would cry and take off and soar. But I knew I could not do that. I knew that his peace and serenity were too great for me to dream of disturbing him.

The heron lowered himself closer to the water, bending his legs, and dropping behind the bushes, out of my view. It was my turn to act, my line.

I turned and crept back the way I had come, taking care not to make noise on my path out of the bushes and up the hill.

Shut Your Eyes

Imagine the worst, most agonizing pain you've ever felt.

            Imagine the deepest terror you've ever experienced.

                        Imagine the darkest loneliness you've ever succumbed to.

           

Now—

            imagine being back right in the middle of that hurt, that fear, that loneliness.

Imagine shutting your eyes to block it all out and feeling it remain.

                                       And imagine that when you open your eyes

                                                                                                it's

                                                                                                   still

                                                                                                      right

                                                                                                         there.

                                    That's death.

                                                That's Hell.

Now.

  Imagine the most perfect joy you have ever known.

            Imagine the most incredible, beautiful object or person or place you have ever seen.

                        Imagine the most gentle, tender, special love you have ever received.

Now—

               remember the pain and fear and loneliness we just talked about?

                                    Good.

Imagine being in the midst of that pain, that fear, that loneliness and shutting your eyes to block it all out, and opening your eyes and waking up to

                                                                                                                                                                                                the most perfect joy;

                                                                                                                                                                          the most incredible, beautiful Person in the most incredible, beautiful Place;

                                                                                                                                                                                                                        the most gentle, tender, special love ever.

                                    That's true life.

                                                That's Heaven.

                                                     That's what Jesus bought for each one of us on the Cross.

Now—

              shut your eyes.

                                   

                                    Imagine . . .

                                                what He did

                                                            for

                                                                  you.

truly gone?

Sometimes, late at night, he was haunted by his sins . . .

He slumped at his table, his head in his hands, trying to block out the memories brought on by the flickering candlelight. He remembered night raids-- the cries of terrified children; the frantic, shrieking pleas of women; the terror scrawled on innocent faces as they were rounded up and led away. He remembered his laughter rising over the din, and the smug, self-pleased feeling in his heart as he lay on his bed at night. The images clouded his mind, as the clouds cover the moon, until he'd nearly forgotten where he was and what God had called him to. And, just when he was on the brink of despair, a dark voice spoke to him, its tone low but filling the room. It told him what it tells all followers of Christ-- that he was hopeless, unreedeemable, worthless, unlovable. It was so convincing that he had to gasp for air under its oppressive weight. He often felt like creeping away in the night, like the wretched criminal the voice told him he was.

But at times like this, he knew how to fight.

"No!" he shouted at the darkness. "I have been forgiven! My debt is not only paid, but forgotten! I am living in hope; I am redeemed; I am made worthy; I am loved!" he cried, pounding his fist on the table. "The sins you remind me of have been thrown into the deepest sea, removed from me as far as the east is from the west-- wiped out of God's memory! His Son, Jesus Christ loved me and gave Himself for me-- do you hear me?--" he screamed, rising and supporting himself on the table. "-- Jesus gave Himself for my sins, to rescue me from this present evil world." He paused, panting quietly, and listened. The room was silent, but he knew his enemy still lurked. After a moment, he spoke in a soft voice. "And because of His death and resurrection, I am a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come." He stopped and smiled slightly. "You-- and your accusations-- hold no power over this man," he finished, his voice dropping to a whisper. As he straightened, his body drenched in sweat, he glanced out the narrow window. The stars were out, their lights bright in the night sky. A cool breeze whispered in through the window, and he closed his eyes and let it lift his hair back from his face. Then, he sat down once again and returned to his work.

The past, and its darkness, held no sway in Paul's present . . .
nor over his future.

sleep

                                    Sleep is my anti-drug.

Sleep is purposeful oblivion.

            Sleep is painkiller.

            Sleep is solitude magnified.

Sleep is satisfying darkness.

            Sleep is fear.

            Sleep is safe.

Sleep is temporary death.

Sleep is a necessary long, deep breath.

                        Sleep is inescapable terror.

Sleep is out-of-control, fast-forwarded life.

Sleep is still, quiet peace.

            Sleep is dying in slow motion.

Sleep is not my anti-drug.

                                    Sleep is my drug—my pill that keeps me sane.