What We Wish We Weren't

A friend of mine recently asked the question, 'What is a body?' and then proceeded to answer it in the most beautiful and poetic way imaginable. It caught my attention and I asked if I could share it with all of you, because it's a message that needs to be shared and contemplated. It rings with truth and purity; that's hard to find nowadays.

"What is a body? A literal reflection of our inner selves? A walking organ that functions based off of the whims of some unseen soul? A prison? We become so consumed with the outer appearance of a shell, of the case that protects the vibrant life that resides inside. We color it and paint it, putting on airs and dressing it up telling the world "this is me! Look at my clothes and my skin and my hair. Look at the way I walk and talk and move. This is me." Lies. This is a disguise. A clever trick of the world that allows us to present to our fellow beings exactly what we wish. But what is the point? Who are you trying to impress? They do not live inside your head, they do not spend everyday trapped within the confines of your mind, listening to the endless torrent of thoughts and emotions never ceasing, never letting you rest. We are forced to face ourselves everyday, and often we do not like what we see, because we see what is real. The true being behind the disguise. But what of the world? It cannot handle what resides behind my eyes. Luckily I need not let them see what hides inside. For I have been given a mannequin that I can dress and change to fit my whims. I can make it say what I like and do what I want while I hide within, playing a game with the outside world, waiting to see who will see the cracks in my disguise. My body has become a prison, I have trapped myself with the ideas of what I should be. But is that the function of a body? Is that it's role in the design of the world? To be a cage? I highly doubt it. Our bodies are what we present to the world, merely because we cannot show them what is inside. Therefore what we portray on our outer shell should be a reflection of the inside. Not of the pain and anger. And not of the joy and peace. But a mixture of both. Only then will we be fair to ourselves and say to the world "this is me. Broken and fragile. Sin filled and prideful. But still beautiful." It's time to turn this prison into a home, to build and fix it because it is our residence, to love it because it is a gift, a dwelling to house who we really are, even if only for a short time. It's time to set the captive free and stop hiding away in fear of what we wish we weren't." ~ Caresse N. Hassoldt

Challenge yourself today, dear Reader, wherever you are and whatever your story may be to discover, What is your body? Is it your prison? Complicated machinery? What are you doing with it? Is it meant to impress, is it meant to hide? How can you set yourself free and live the full life? 

 "It's time to set the captive free and stop hiding away in fear of what we wish we weren't."

The Jigsaw People of this Puzzle World

Life is a puzzle and we are all jigsaw pieces, trying to make something of the world.

Each of us have our own little life-puzzle that we have to fit together every day. A child's is simple and has fewer pieces to deal with. It makes more sense to put together because there is a surplus of youthful innocence and eagerness to work with the few pieces they have.  The colors are bright, the picture is appealing, the edges are smooth and straight, and they enjoy everything about them in their little puzzle world.

But as we get older and begin to have more doubts and loves and fears, responsibilities, chaos, and joy, the picture starts to change. What was once clear and defined becomes more confusing, since it has a lot more pieces that need a place, and the edges are rough; there are no more straight lines.  The colors darken with our deeper understanding of a messed up, scary world, and the picture no longer makes any sense. No matter how you tilt your head, you can't see what the picture is, but you still have to add pieces and pieces to the jumbled pile, hoping that something beautiful will turn out.

As we struggle valiantly to make sense of it all, little do we realize that right next door, or across the street, there's another person with a puzzle of their own.  Everywhere you look, each person has a life that needs to be sorted out, put together, and built up, one piece at a time.  Some of us have lives that are bright and cheery, the colors on the jigsaw tiles are bold and beautiful, even tough there's still not a complete picture. Others are shunned because of their puzzle.  Their puzzle-life is so dark and obscure that they feel that their whole world is an abyss without a trace of color, no picture, no beauty, no light, love, or passion. Their's is a puzzle far darker than yours, and the edges are rougher than a jagged cliff where it seems that no beauty can ever penetrate.

But what if we were to put all the pieces together?  All the pieces from everyone's puzzle, could we combine our rough edges with a smooth one, and connect them so that they all fit?  The world is made up of individuals, with individual stories or puzzles. But in reality, if you step back and let it all shrink into proportion, we are all one piece of a greater picture. Each piece in our story that seems so huge or monumental is a tiny drop of color in one sea of paint.

When we combine our puzzles with someone else's, we see the formation of a picture, more clear and interesting than our isolated one. The colors blend and the chaos doesn't seem so glaring. As more and more individuals come together all the bleak pasts and hopeful futures merge into a larger, brighter story. There are dark spots, but they line up and blend beautifully with another colorful life.  The woman down the street who was abused, with dark, ugly colors in her puzzle, found a woman with gentle hands to help her, whose own puzzle has a dark streak, but learned to find the color in the world.

We need each other, we humans. Life would look so drab and impossible without them. Of course, some people can't fit together like others. It will take a lifetime of rearranging, turning, and moving to find a place where we fit beautifully with another soul. That's what families are meant for; even in the searching and scrambling to fit in, there should always be a place to call home and know that you belong.

And we all belong. No piece is not meant to fit in the puzzle of life. Jigsaw tiles will forever be added to the edges, increasing the size and picture. The old ones will fade and lose their color over time, but they're no less important after they are dead, because they're still part of the bigger picture. While we are living, breathing, jigsaw tiles, we should never give up or give in, because just when all things seem utterly desperate and impossible, we'll be ushered into a place where we fit with other souls who know our pain, with souls who can heal and help us, and other jigsaw pieces that fill our empty spots. We are never useless, because if we live the full life, we'll find that even though we need help, we help others too, because no jigsaw in this life is cut with all holes, but with circles or squares to fill another person up.

Life is a puzzle, a mystery, and an awful mess sometimes, but we are the pieces that make a great picture. We're the jigsaw people of this puzzle world, and we create a story of passion, beauty, sorrow, and ultimately, the greatest picture that this world can know.  We fit together, despite our wounds, despite our colors, despite our differences to paint the perfect picture of the Maker's love. We see it on a small scale when we step back and enjoy the view, but every day, every circumstance adds another piece to our lives and another's until the end of time when we will finally have a bird's eye view of the place we called home. The puzzle will be completed and we'll take a sigh and shed a few tears; all the work, good and bad, has led to the moment when we are enveloped, wholly and holy in the love of the Maker, who created the ultimate picture, who hand made every piece, and even when we kicked and screamed, pushed us into the places we best belong.

Where the Road Ends

"The Road goes ever on and on..."

Every life is a picture, or a painting, or a legacy to leave behind, but how is it that we get from one place to another?  Life is a story, but we are all traveling down the road that gets us there, from one chapter to the next. On and on it goes, but few of us can ever see that we are taking a journey that will lead us to our final destination; it will either lead us home or we will be lost along the way. 

“It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door,” he used to say. “You step into the Road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there is no telling where you might be swept off to.” ~ Lord of the Rings

I looked out of the window through the foggy glass, and I saw that a road wound before me, disappearing into the mist and fog of early morning. There's never any time like the present, so I grabbed my coat and slipped out into the chill, determined to see where the road would take me.  As soon as my feet touched the pavement, a little cloud of fog vanished in a whirl of vapor, but it was not enough. I could only see one step ahead of me, and so I stepped again.  As if it knew my intent, the humid smoke disappeared, but only enough to see one step farther. This time I could see a light that helped me to see the edge of the road, but not what was ahead.  In anxious excitement, I resigned myself to follow the road until I came to the end.

It was easy going at first. One step cleared the way for the next and I hurried forward towards the light as fast as my feet could go, making marvelous ground. I could see behind me; it was hazy with dew, but visible, which relieved my fear. I could always go back. 

“Go back?” he thought. “No good at all! Go sideways? Impossible! Go forward? Only thing to do! On we go!” ~ Lord of the Rings

I pressed onward, steadily going on, until I came to a place where there was no fog. It had stopped like a wall and as I pressed out of it, I saw that I had come to a cross road.  One branch of the road was wide and smooth, with large, scented flowers all bunched around the edges.  The other was narrow and coarse with small, insignificant buds blooming along the cracks that ran through the road.  'Why shouldn't I choose the way that is clear and pleasant?' thought I, as I summoned my tiring feet forward. 

But the smooth way was not easier, as I soon found out.  It started leading me downwards towards a valley that smelled so strongly of rich perfumes, I felt myself growing faint with delight. The way was beautiful and satisfying, but as I reached the valley, I saw a terrible creature pacing back and forth along the grass.  At once I was horrified and I turned to escape the beast, but found that there were no longer pleasant flowers and lush meadows, but sharp crags and dusty winds rising up to meet me.  As storms raged and overcame me, I cried out for mercy and hid my face from the gales.  I staggered back the way I had come, but the road was steep and difficult for me to scale. But for my fear of the dragon, I should have laid down and let the storms take me.

"The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater." ~ Lord of the Rings

After a long, arduous fight, I made it back to the little crossroads and took the narrow branch speedily. There was no apparent beauty, and my love for the other path began to taint my view of the small one, but I was reminded of the hideous beast and kept on.  I soon discovered that this road had a beauty of its own; the wildflowers that grew in the path made me stop and gaze at them. The birds were singing cheerfully and the sky was blue overhead.  Suddenly, the fog drifted back over the road and I could no longer see ahead of me further than one step, but the little light held fast in its center.  The birds still chirped and the flowers lingered, but I had to trust that the light would hold true and not lead me astray. 

After much climbing, upwards, as I believed, I began to grow weak from weariness. I shed my jacket and left it by the roadside and continued forward, until I reached the place where the fog again ceased. In its place was a weather-beaten shepherd, who sat with the rod in his hand and a flower in the other. 

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference." ~ Robert Frost

"So you have come," the shepherd said, as if expecting me.

"Yes, but where am I?" 

"You have come to where the road ends. Is that not why you have come? You set out to seek it."

"Indeed, I wanted to know where the road leads to, but I nearly forgot my purpose for coming. It has been a long journey." I said as I sat down to rest. 

Suddenly, the fog on the road vanished and all was clear as light upon water.  I could see the place at which I had started, far off in the distance, but it was as close as if it were before me. I saw the twisting winding road which I had taken, though I thought it to be straight. I saw the forked path and the valley which looked now as dark as midnight. And I saw that I had come to a place high above the rest and could see clearly the road that lay behind me. 

"You, my friend," said the shepherd with his rod, "have come a far way. The fog made it impossible to see, so that you would trust the light to guide your path. You took many turns that you did not know, but now, looking back, you can see what a journey you have taken. You fell prey to the temptations and delights of the wide path, and were nearly overcome by the evilness that lurked there.  But, dear one, you righted your course, and though difficult, you made your way back to the lighted path.  And now you are here, where the road ends. You have come into your home."

"…time has a way of leading a person along a crooked path. Sometimes the path is hard to hold to and people fall off along the way. They curse the road for its steep grades and muddy ruts and settle themselves in hinterlands of thorn and sorrow, never knowing or dreaming that the road meant all along to lead them home. Some call that road a tragedy and lose themselves along it. Others, those that see it home, call it an adventure." ~ The Fiddler’s Gun

How Deep the Father's Love For Us

This is an Easter post that I wrote a couple years ago and read at our church service. I don't remember how I got the inspiration, but I have always liked the idea of supernatural warfare. I pray that you remember this morning how much He loves you, and how deep His love will go. Happy Easter, and He Is Risen! 

How Deep the Father’s Love For Us

Janelle Spiers

March 2013

Icouldn’t look.  I had to turn my face, because I knew if I saw him, I would move.  If I moved, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself, for I would have given into the temptation that tortured me.  If I had given into temptation, I would have ruined the plan, the plan that would bring salvation to the world.

            I didn’t think it could go like this.  I was sure something had gone wrong.  How could God intend this to happen?  But he didn’t give the word.  He didn’t unleash the angelic army waiting by his side to rescue the suffering Prince.  He just watched.

            I felt that I should have done something.  My Prince was down there, suffering for all humanity, but I couldn’t go.  I was obeying the High King of Kings, the Emperor of All, and so I did nothing.  But when I heard the cry of pain that escaped his lips, betraying the utter agony and torment he endured, it made me angry.

            I had been sorry to see him leave.  Thirty-three years before that cruel day he had entered the world called Earth.  I was overjoyed when I welcomed him, singing, “Glory in the highest, Peace on Earth, Goodwill towards men.”  I watched him carefully as my Lord was trapped inside the little body of a human child.  I watched him longingly as he grew, waiting for him to become a man.   I cringed when he was scorned and mocked, and I smiled when he was accepted and loved.                    

             They had come for him in the night.  The soldiers had arrested him, giving him a trial while the sky was dark, because they were cowards.  They couldn’t face a crowd that might have saved my Prince the pain he was enduring.  They found a guiltless man guilty, though they themselves were guilty of breaking the laws ordained by God.  The darkness hid more than the sun, it hid the demons lurking, back and forth, pacing the room where they testified against him, jumping gleefully when they led him away to the governor’s house, and darting quickly through the gathering crowd.

             I was furious that they treated him so.  I fingered my sword, but stopped, knowing that if my Prince wouldn’t fight back, neither would I.  I knew that my Lord could see the beings; he could see their beautiful faces, their scarlet robes, and their shining wings.  I knew he could see us, too.  Our beautiful faces, our jade robes, and our shining wings, but our faces had a different expression.  Instead of happiness, scorn, and mockery, there was pain, determination, and anxiety. 

            We were anxious to go, anxious to do something as he stood silently before the man called Pilate.  Why wasn’t God doing anything to save his son?  Was he not paying attention to what was happening on the earth he had created?  I had glanced at him, during our long vigil that night, breaking into the terrible day.  He sat high on his throne and he watched.  He was fully aware of what was taking place, but he did nothing.

            Then they took him to a courtyard where blood from human men was spattered across the walls.  And then, as they flogged him with a cruel, heavy whip, human blood flew, but it was mixed with something greater, far more powerful than the life source for humans.  It was the blood of Jesus. 

            He was brought out and placed along side a murderer and the crowd chanted.  The demons shouted with them, whispering to the undecided, changing the minds of the ones who had called him their king days before.  And the cold-blooded killer was released, set loose to continue his gory deeds.  And they took the guiltless man, at the crowds affirmations, to be crucified.

            I wanted to scream when they drove a crude circlet of heavy thorns into his head.  Blood streamed down his face and I wept to see my Prince treated like a criminal, when he had done nothing but good.  They gave him a purple robe, and hailed him as their king, but the empty lies they taunted him with were their own demise.  They hit the King of the Universe and laughed.  But the King of the Universe said nothing.  Though he knew that all of heaven would have swept down and stopped the unbearable pain, he said nothing.  He endured it.

            And so they led him to the hill stained with the blood of sinful men.  But as they nailed him to the splintered, rough wood and placed him upright for all to see, innocent, pure blood poured from his body onto the accursed ground. 

            And so I stood in heaven in our battle lines, waiting..but he never called us.  When the sun was at its highest, God blotted it out.  He took hold of the corners of the earth and shook it, calling the people of the world to their knees, but though they fell, few fell to repent.

            And then the hardest part of all came.  After six hours of bleeding, suffering, and suffocating, God closed the curtain of Heaven to its Prince.  The curtain fell, forsaking the dying man on the cross.  He cried out in a loud voice, but we could hear nothing.  The demons screamed with laughter as the Father abandoned his Son. The sins of the world had fallen onto the Prince, and the King turned his back.  But as he gave up his spirit, the curtain tore. 

            The curtain between God and Earth was ripped like the skin on my Lord’s back, and the curtain in the temple separating Earth from God was cut in two.  Jesus Christ took on the sins of the world, and flung them as far as the east is from the west. 

            For three days the demons celebrated their triumph.  They laughed and screamed with glee, for they thought their battle was won.  But on the third day, the earth shuddered, the universe groaned, and the heavens shook.  For out of the earth where they laid him, my Prince came out. 

            He was no longer confined to the body of a man.  My Lord was himself, the God of Heaven, the God of Earth, and the God of Life.  The demons shrieked and fled in terror as Jesus proved to the world, that no power, not even death, could defeat the Son of God.

            I watched with joy as my Prince appeared to his friends and followers, because I finally understood.  It had been so hard for God to watch his Son suffer, but it was his plan.  His humans were sinful and they needed a savior, so Jesus paid the price.  He gave up his life as a ransom for many.

            The sacrifice was immeasurable, the pain was unimaginable, the separation was unfathomable, but the results were unsurpassable.  The Prince loved his people so much; he was willing to take up their sin, and to carry it.  He carried the weight of the world upon his shoulder, and as it was washed by his perfect blood, it dissolved like snow.

How deep the Father's love for us,

How vast beyond all measure

That He should give His only Son

To make a wretch His treasure

How great the pain of searing loss,

The Father turns His face away

As wounds which mar the chosen One,

Bring many sons to glory

Behold the Man upon a cross,

My sin upon His shoulders

Ashamed I hear my mocking voice,

Call out among the scoffers

It was my sin that left Him there

Until it was accomplished

His dying breath has brought me life

I know that it is finished

I will not boast in anything

No gifts, no power, no wisdom

But I will boast in Jesus Christ

His death and resurrection

Why should I gain from His reward?

I cannot give an answer

But this I know with all my heart

His wounds have paid my ransom

Perfectly In Time

The man placed his hand on the woman's back, 

took her hand, 

and waited for the music to begin. 

With adoring eyes the woman 

looked up at his handsome face, 

silently counting the beats of the melody.  

1, 2, 3. 

1, 2, 3.  

The man gave a nod and 

Whirled the woman onto the dance floor.  

Their feet were perfectly in time 

With each other and as the man led.

The dance moved as smooth as glass. 

He took her hand gently

And spun her about across the floor.

They moved in unison, perfectly, gracefully

With his hand on the woman's back. 

The music moved on,

1, 2, 3.

1, 2, 3. 

Never a stop, never a hesitation,

With silent counting of the melody. 

But how can such dancing

Move with such grace?

How can the beating of music

keep tune and time?

The man is the leader, strong and firm

Leading the woman's movements.

The woman must learn to trust the guide,

Or else the dance will falter.

1, 2, 3. 

1, 2, 3.

He offers us His hand to have

He leads us with the graceful steps

And we must try to trust his plan. 

1, 2, 3. 

1, 2, 3. 

Or else the dance will falter.

"He offers us His hand to have..."

A Living House

“Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on; you knew that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised. But presently He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make any sense. What on earth is He up to? The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of - throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards. You thought you were being made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace. He intends to come and live in it Himself.” 
― C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity

This poetic piece of imagery by Clive Staples Lewis has inspired me in countless ways, but three of the emotion-evoking points stand out and clamor to be heard. The Color, the Story, and the Legacy of the passage from Mere Christianity ask to be mused, mulled over, and thought about for years to come.

The color of this passage is so delightful.  Can't you just see the little house in your mind?  It's falling apart in places, and there's probably a shattered window, rusty door hinge, and cobwebby corners.  Can you imagine God, in the appearance of a man, coming in with his tool bag and dirty overalls.  He gets down on the floor and nails the loose planks back into place.  He would do some plumbing and repairing; replacing the windows, mending the door, and sweeping out all those cobwebs.

But then he does things that don't make sense.  He starts carting in lumber, breaking down perfectly solid walls and adding to the little house.  Sooner than later, that dirty, sweaty craftsman wipes his brow and stands back to admire the view. The ramshackle house is now a beautiful estate, a place where even the finest of kings would be honored to live in.

That leads on to the story behind the story.  Lewis is a master at allegory, painting pictures on top of an already painted canvas, and only those who choose to look past the first layer can see the underlying message. If we are the house that Lewis describes and God is the craftsman, why must we go through so much repair?  Because of our sin and stain, God had to come in and mend the holes, wash away the dirt, and fix us from the inside.

But of course, He doesn't want to stop there. He wants for us to have enough room in our hearts and lives for Him to live in us.  All of the little things cluttering up our house, or destroying the woodwork must go, and the long, hard process of rebuilding must begin.  But when He's done, oh, imagine, how beautiful might we be?  I wonder what my heart-house looks like now...and what potential it has to evolve into something elegant.

So, this is the legacy.  The color of the prose blended neatly with the story of the heart melds into one solid truth: our hearts are far from perfect, but if we let God in, He can make a palace out of our cottage.  But it's all a matter of willingness. Think if the landlord of the little house had refused to let the house be restored.  Weeds and animals would inhabit the uninhabitable home.  Walls would fall, and there would be nothing left to repair.

But if we choose to let God work in our lives, to nail down those loose boards, and replace our broken windows, we can see the growth and change within our lives. What better destiny is there for our hearts, then to be molded in God's hands and shaped in a beautiful way?  I don't think that there is; God's blueprint for our lives are the best plans in the world.

So with the colorful imagery of words and descriptions, we see a painting of a dilapidated old house, turned into something glorious.  We see through the story of allegory how that little house is our hearts being "knocked about" into something bigger, better, and more beautiful.  And we can see through the legacy of our hearts how we can be made into the dwelling place of God; a place that He is not embarrassed to live in, and that He Himself created it.

It's a beautiful feeling, this hope that we have that God will not give up on us, not even if it takes years to nail those boards, painful days to hang that chandelier, and countless nights painting the walls.  Thank you, Mr. Lewis, for your wonderful reminder that we are houses, and God is ready or already starting to work on our hearts!

Triumph Over Evil ~ Part II

...“You have no place here,” I said addressing their leader.

“Why can we not dwell where we choose?”  He asked saucily.  Silfun had been a messenger angel and I knew how he worked.  He was bluffing, stalling for time.  I had no time to loose, I wasn’t sure how long their Carrier had been at work, and so I cut right to the point.

“You cannot dwell where you choose, because you have no authority over the Lord.”

The demon paled, as did the others with him.  Without losing a beat, I motioned for Phineas to take out the

Carrier.  Joran and Marcus moved closer to me.  Rolf and Wes moved into a defensive crouch, never once releasing the tension on their bowstrings.  The showdown was about to begin.... ~ Triumph Over Evil Part I

Triumph Over Evil ~ Part II

The Man

I closed my eyes and put my hands to my head.  The voice I argued with was smooth like a polished kitchen counter, and gentle.  I couldn’t figure out where it was coming from, but I didn’t really want it to go away.  It had a soothing affect.

So, what will you do?  Will you give up the chance to eat and likely be beaten again, all for the sake of a dead man?

It was getting harder to fight back and even harder to want to.  Jesus… isn’t… dead.

Really, then why hasn’t He come for you?  Why hasn’t He delivered you from this trial?  Eat the food.  What harm would it bring?

I opened my eyes and picked up the plastic fork next to my plate.  What harm would it bring?  I thought hungrily.  I could see the Afghans grinning and rubbing their hands in pleasure.

Before I could scoop up a bite of steaming rice, a second voice broke through my thoughts.  The voice was strong and powerful, but not as calming as the first.  Be alert and of sober mind. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour.  Resist him, standing firm in the faith, because you know that the family of believers throughout the world is undergoing the same kind of sufferings.  And the God of all grace, who called you to his eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast.  To him be the power forever and ever.  Amen.

Stand firm against, what?  The first voice hissed.  Suffering?  Pain?  What is the point?

The first voice did not answer the questions, but continued to address me.  Be on your guard; stand firm in the faith; be courageous; be strong!

I will.  I will!  I thought.

NO!  There is no point!  Eat the food.  Stand up after you have had a chance to rest!

The first voice was sounding desperate, but I was feeling encouraged.  “NO” is right! I will not rest until my work is done!  I am a soldier of Jesus.

You are no soldier of Jesus.  You thought things that Jesus would not approve of.  He will hate you!  The first voice was beginning to sound more like a shriek.

He is right, I acknowledged soberly.

Yes, the first voice said soothingly, I am.  Come, you are hungry.  You cannot think well on an empty stomach.  Your reasoning is disjointed.  Eat.

I am the bread of life.  Whoever comes to me will never go hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.

The second voice spoke with such authority I could almost feel the first voice cringe.  The second voice wasn’t finished.  Have I not commanded you?  Be strong and courageous.  Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.  Submit yourselves, then, to God.  Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.  Be strong and courageous.  Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.

Be strong and courageous!  With those words in mind, I knew what I had to do, and without giving any more thought to the matter I threw the fork onto the floor. “I will never eat your food if I have to deny Jesus to do so.”

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The Being

“NOOOO!” The demon Carrier shrieked in horror.  I smiled with satisfaction, knowing that Kasil probably won that battle.  The cry was cut short as the demon crumpled to the ground.  Phineas had tapped him a little too hard over the head with his hammer.  Enraged, the demons retaliated, immediately engaging Joran and Marcus in combat.

Silfun pulled a black, double-sided ax carelessly from his belt.  As he moved forward, a bloodthirsty gleam entered his eyes.  Instead of lashing out at me as I anticipated, he swung towards Rolf.  Rolf ducked and fumbled with his bow, but Silfun swatted it away.  His blade lacerated Rolf’s arm, leaving a deep gash.  Rolf fell to the ground with a cry, cradling his arm.

The demon drew back his arm to finish Rolf off, but before I could block him, Wes shot an arrow straight into the demon’s eye.  Silfun howled in pain and ripped the arrow from his skull.  Wes moved to comfort his brother.

Silfun threw the arrow at me.  I gingerly avoided it.  I moved towards the unprotected Kasil, who seemed undisturbed by the pandemonium around him.  Silfun’s face was streaming with blood and he had an empty socket where his eye had been.  He raised his ax and brought it down with a tremendous thud, right where my shoulder would have been had I not moved in time.  I thrust my blade into the monster’s unguarded rib cage.  Infuriated and wounded, he roared, swinging his ax at my mid-section.  I plunged my sword into his thigh and he screamed.

Pulling the sword out of his leg, he flung it to the ground and backed up weakly.  He glared furiously at me, then flew away on his bloodstained wings.  The other demons retreated too, taking their unconscious Carrier with them. “You can’t win every time!” Silfun screamed over his shoulder.

“NO, but God can!” I shouted back.

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The Man

The three men stopped smiling.  As they looked from the fallen fork to me, then back to the fork, I could tell that these guys weren’t happy, and I figured I wouldn’t be either when they were done with me. Shorty was the first to break out of his trance.  He bent over and picked up the fork, nearly stabbing me in the eye with it.

“Won’t eat? Still love Jesus?” he spat.

“Yes.  I still love Jesus,” I replied, knowing I had made the right choice.

But when the Cheshire Cat Man drew a gun and pointed it at my chest, I wasn’t quite so sure.

“Deny Jesus, or he shoot you,” Tall Guy threatened.

“I won’t deny Jesus.” I said strongly and soberly.  I had just resigned to die, but I didn’t feel afraid.

Cheshire Cat Man started his obnoxious grinning again as he came closer and closer to me, changing the aim of the gun to my face.  He kept coming until he was inches from me.  I looked into the barrel of the gun, and closed my eyes.

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The Being

Joran and Marcus both had minor scratches from their skirmish.  Phineas was unscathed, so he carried Rolf.  Wes wouldn’t leave his side.  Rolf’s arm was severely wounded, but he would survive.  Kasil had his arms folded across his chest again.  I didn’t understand how he could always stay so calm.

Suddenly, a loud popping noise shattered the silence.  The Veil burst and we were suddenly standing outside John Morton’s door.

“Captain, what happened?” Joran asked.

I didn’t really know, but I stated the obvious, just to sound smart. “Something broke the Veil.”

“How?” Wes queried, without looking away from his brother.

“I don’t know,” I admitted, shaking my head.

“Look.” Kasil said softly.  His voice had changed, but it was still full of authority.  We all turned to see where Kasil was pointing.

The door that led to John Morton’s Veil was gone.  In its place was a purple cross.

Lord God, why did you let John die? I prayed in horror as I flew down the corridor. I was commissioned to help him, but I failed.  All I accomplished was getting my men wounded. Please give me a glimpse of your will!

I was silent.  The Lord answered in His own timing, so I waited.  It wasn’t long before I heard the voice of my Maker, my King.  His voice made me feel small, yet at the same time, great, because I had the ability to speak with the King of the Universe with an intimacy that startled most humans.

Daric, you did not fail.  You did exactly what I intended.

But how, Lord?

My way is the best way.  John was being tested.  I wanted him to make his own decision, as I want for all of my people.  Had you not done as I wished, John would have suffered.

Did he make the right choice?

Daric, what did you see on the wall in place of the door?

A cross, my King.

John Morton died for my sake.  So, did he make the right choice?

Anything done for your sake is the best choice anyone can make.

You are correct, Daric.  Remember, all things work together for good for those who love me. Nothing I am a part of happens in vain.  Do you believe this?

I do, Lord.

When I was finished, I felt better.  I no longer felt tired from my fight, and I was filled with a sense of peace and contentment.  I kept that feeling all the way back to heaven, even when I went through the portal.  I no longer felt frustrated that I had wasted my time when the Lord already knew John was going to die anyway.  I felt glad that I had gone.  If we hadn’t, John Morton might still have been alive, but he would have rejected the Lord to do so.  I was glad I could be part of such a life-changing moment. 

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The Man

I had heard the gun go off, and everything around me went black.  I could hear the men talking in Arabic, but it soon grew muddled and a single Voice rang out above the din.

Well done, good and faithful servant.  Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven!

A pinpoint of light shattered the darkness.  It was small, but it gradually became bigger as it came towards me.  No, I realized, I am going towards it.

Home is where the heart is, people always said.  Well, my heart belonged to Jesus, and as the light shone brighter, I knew that I was going home.

"Well done, good and faithful servant..."